Page 24 of Sweet Rucking Temptation
I lean into the microphone, a wry smile playing on my lips. "Well, I'd say it's all about good time management. Luckily, Liv'san expert at scheduling – comes with running a bustling café. She's got me on a strict regimen of tackle practice and taste-testing."
A ripple of laughter courses through the room. I press on, steering the conversation back to safer waters. "But in all seriousness, my commitment to the team and our upcoming match remains my top priority. We've been training hard, and I'm excited to show what we can do on the field."
Another reporter jumps in. "Any truth to the rumors that your growing celebrity status is causing tension within the team?"
I feel a flicker of annoyance, but keep my voice steady. "The only tension in our team is deciding who gets the last protein bar after practice. We're a tight-knit group, focused on our shared goal. Any attention I'm getting is just noise – what matters is what happens on the pitch."
Coach Finnegan catches my eye from the back of the room, giving me an approving nod. I relax a fraction, knowing I'm treading the line well.
"One last question," the moderator announces, and I brace myself.
"Elliott, your farming background is quite different from your current lifestyle. How has that shaped your approach to both rugby and your relationship?"
This one hits closer to home, and I pause, considering my words carefully. "You know, growing up on a farm, you learn the value of hard work, of nurturing something and watching it grow. I apply that same dedication to rugby, to my teammates, and to my relationship with Liv. It's about putting in the effort every day, through all kinds of weather. And at the end of the day, there's nothing quite like the satisfaction of seeing what you've built together."
As the conference wraps up, I exhale slowly, feeling like I've just come off a particularly grueling match. But there's a warmth in my chest too, knowing that somewhere in Ponsonby, Liv's probably laughing at my farming analogies and planning how to work them into her next batch of rugby ball-shaped cookies.
I collapse onto my couch, every muscle screaming in protest. The press conference feels like it happened a lifetime ago, but the tension still lingers in my shoulders. I reach for my phone, thumb hovering over Liv's contact. Will she be busy? Is it too late? Before I can second-guess myself further, her face fills my screen.
"Iceman!" she chirps, flour dusting her cheek. "You look like you've been tackled by the entire NZ squad."
I chuckle. "Feels like it too. How's my favorite baker?"
"Oh, you know," Liv grins, waving a wooden spoon, "just plotting world domination via cupcakes. The usual."
Her smile falters slightly. "Saw bits of your press conference. You handled those vultures like a champ."
I run a hand through my hair, sighing. "It's not the reporters I'm worried about. It's... everything else. The pressure, the spotlight. I don't want it to change us, Liv."
She leans closer to the camera, her eyes soft. "Hey. Remember after we met, you came and bought out all the pastries to impress me?"
"In my defense, I do like pastries.," I protest, feeling warmth spread through my chest at the memory.
"My point is," Liv continues, "we can handle anything. Even nosy paparazzi and my mother's disapproving glares."
I nod, tension easing from my body. "You're right. We've got this. Together."
"Damn straight," Liv winks. "Now, get some rest, superstar. I hear you've got a big game coming up."
As we say our goodnights, I feel a renewed sense of determination. Whatever challenges lie ahead, Liv and I will face them head-on. Just like we always have.
9
A week later
Outside Christchurch
ELLIOTT
The crunch of gravel under our tires fades as I kill the engine, and suddenly the world is alive with the gentle bleating of sheep. I step out of the car, breathing in deeply. The familiar scent of hay and earth washes over me, grounding me in a way nothing else can.
"Welcome to Snow Farm," I say to Liv, extending my hand to help her out of the car.
She takes it, her warm brown eyes widening as she appreciates the sprawling landscape. "Elliott, it's beautiful," she breathes, her Italian accent more pronounced in her awe.
I smile, seeing my childhood home through her eyes. The rolling hills, the weathered barn, the cozy farmhouse – it's all so familiar, yet suddenly new again.
"Come on," I say, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Let's go meet Mum."
