Page 30 of Bad Ruck

"I could fall for you," I told him.

"You're not getting rid of me either way," he said. "You're mine."

The words sent shivers up and down my spine every time he said them. In the very best way. How did I get so lucky?

Sure, life was hectic and dangerous, but these six guys, who all cared for me… I was still trying to get my head around it. Six gorgeous men who wanted to share the rest of their lives with me. Somehow, I managed to score the jackpot.

"I don't want to get rid of you," I told him. "You're mine too."

"Yours," he whispered. "Always."

We held each other as the balloon slowed and bumped gently back to the ground.

"Then we go, folks," Gavin said. "Another perfect sunrise here in Aotearoa." The local's preferred name for New Zealand.

"Thank you," I told him as Ramsey helped me out of the basket. "It was lovely."

Gavin nodded and hurried to secure the basket to the ground. "Any time, folks."

I laced my fingers in Ramsey's and we headed back to the car. Back to Auckland and the airport.

Back to reality.

Fuck.

Chapter Twelve

Atlas

I stood,balanced on the balls of my feet, watching the boys form a scrum. Adrenaline roared through me. Anticipation.

Watching, waiting.

Finally, our side had possession of the ball. A blink of an eye later, it was passed to the fly half, who passed it to me. I took off at a run, slamming my way through the defensive line. I‘d hurt later, but right now, I didn't feel a thing but the thrill of the impact. Shoving guys back and forcing my way through.

They held up, giving me no choice but to pass the ball back behind me.

The crowd roared, screaming and shouting. Thousands of voices chanting in time to the throb of blood through my ears.

"Smashers! Smashers! Smashers!"

Nothing in the world was like a home crowd to drive you on. Like me, they loved a good, hard game, and we were giving it to them. They adored us for it.

I swiped a hand over my forehead, wiping sweat away before it trickled into my eyes.

This was what I fucking loved, playing this brutal game. This, right here, was the best fucking job on the face of the planet. Every time I stepped out on the field, every time I brought downan opposition player, slamming them into the grass, my blood sang.

I was a warrior, this was my battle. We'd fight until the bitter end, giving it everything. Blood, sweat and tears.

Brent Evans, usually known as Frog for some reason that was lost in time, caught the ball and bolted down the field, running like he was navigating a maze. The opposition tried to stop him, but he darted around them, brushed them off and threw himself over the try line. He slid almost a metre across the grass before coming to a stop, the ball held out in front of him.

No one in the stadium would doubt that was a try. And a fucking well-executed one too. They'd show that on replay for the next couple of days.

"Fuck yeah." I grinned. I glanced at the clock. From the start of the game, the opposition was never going to catch us and now they were out of time.

Three.

Two.

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