Page 16 of Arrogant Rucking Player

So much for not letting the kitchen staff in on her private life.

He shrugged. “They just fight when they’retogether. A lot.” His soggy looking trainers shuffled about on the floor leaving dirty marks that the cook guy would have to clean up later if Brady didn’t. “And I don't call him dad.”

“Yeah, I got that.” I ruffled his hair with my hand. “If there’s trouble, I’m right upstairs, alright?” I kept my eyes on Brady, but I’d said that last loud statement enough for the entire kitchen to hear because, fuck it. If they were nosy enough to eavesdrop in on the conversation, they could damn well keep an eye on our girl too.

Because she was my girl, and nothing in this world would change that. Not after the way she kissed me back a few minutes ago.

“You’re on.”

Unsurprisingly, the chef guy answered me.

I gave him a tight nod and followed Leon back upstairs to join the rest of my team. I had a party to fake it for the rest of the night. Hell, if Nyla was gonna be alright, I might even join them.

“Another two sets and you’re done,” Leon called from the bottom of the stairs while my thighs screamed at me.

I’ll never skip leg day ever again. I’ll never skip leg day again.

I repeated the mantra over again in my head as I powered through the third to last flight in the stair climb challenge, trying not to count the rows in the stadium that I still had to go to, knowing that Leon was full of shit. He had a bad habit of adding an extra set of reps onto whatever training we were on. Today would be no different, even if it was a solo run.

I’ll never skip leg day…

I would have bitched at him aloud if I didn’t think I’d earn myself another double set of reps and a whole lot of cussing—if I had the breath to spare. Instead, I threw that energy into working through a hell of a hangover cure for drinking too much the night before with the team in a rare effort to match them one after I watched Nyla walk back into the restaurant and push her ex away when he tried to manhandle her.

She hadn’t let me or anyone else near her for the rest of the night, but one of the girls slipped me her number—that I already had from her contact form for Brady’s summer coaching clinic, though I’d never used it, not being for the right reasons. But this felt different.

The moment I walked out of the themed restaurant and she was out of my sight, I lit her phone up, figuring she’d answer me if she had time, if I was lucky, or the other side of never if I wasn't, and I’d be begging her on my knees with an apology today.

If my knees would take it.

But she hadn’t left me hanging after all.

MASON: Good to see the asshole left you alone. Brady gave me some pointers.

MASON: I’m still gonna ask you out on that date.

MASON: Let me know if you get home safe after work? Not stalking. Just looking out for you.

I left it after that, pocketing my phone as I walked along the main street with the team who sang their favourite rugby rock anthems—badly—at the top of their lungs. Hell, after a few rounds, I started to join them, until my pocket vibrated enough to break through my whiskey and beer induced haze.

NYLA: Please tell me that’s not you singing.

NYLA: OMFG. It is you singing. I can tell.

NYLA: Stuart isn’t a worry. He’s just frustrating. But thank you.

I watched the dots come and go after that last message for long enough that the team walked on without me. I dropped back, my feet half turned in the direction of the restaurant when her last message finally came through.

NYLA: I’ll hold you to that date sometime. Life is kinda crazy right now but… sometime.

MASON: Sometime works for me. See you at the Granny Grapple in the morning.

My thumbs fumbled the keypad in my haste to spell out a reasonable reply. I had no idea what thevarious coloured hearts meant, but the purple one suited her in my head, so that’s what I sent. She hearted the message after a moment, but didn't reply and I figured I wasn't in too much shit.

Pocketing my phone, I jogged after the team, wrapping my arm around someone’s neck and let myself be drawn into the next pub along the street. The boys drank and made merry. Hell, after a few I joined them while Leon leaned back and watched us get tanked.

That had been an easy decision at ten p.m. the night before. Now, with the sparrows not quite farting just after sunrise and every muscle straining while I sweated myself stupid before the charity event on the last day of the summer training clinic, I ran stair after stair after stair until I knew I’d dream of the things.

Finally I collapsed at the end of the third set—called it—at Coach’s feet. “Fuck, you’re cruel,” I gasped, reaching for my water.

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