Page 17 of Playing Rucking Hard

I barely control my anger. Ever since the Mavericks upped my media profile, the media are divided over whether I’m overrated and overpaid, a whoring asshole who plays rugby league in my spare time, or worth the money on my good days. I’m over it. I hunt down Cooper after he’s done the post-match interview and shove my phone in his face. “What the fuck is your woman doing about this? The game only finished twenty minutes ago and this is the shit they’re writing.”

“First, back the fuck away from me.” When Cooper uses his “I’m the captain and am willing to make your life hell” voice, I know I’ve gone too far. “Secondly, and let me use simple words so there is no room for misunderstanding.” He walks me back towards the locker. Shit. I’m glad I had the good sense toconfront him without witnesses. “You. Do. Not. Ever. Talk. Shit. About. Kenzie. Do. You. Hear. Me.”

“I didn’t mean any disrespect.” I hold my hands in surrender. I need him on my side so he can work his magic with Kenzie so she makes my reputation a priority. As the club PR magician, it’s her job, but I want her to do more than the bare minimum. “I’m just sick of seeing this shit.”

“She’s doing her best, but you’re not doing yourself any favors.”

It’s not worth explaining that if this is her best, then I’d hate to see the press if she were mediocre.

The sporting and mainstream press are relentless. No one cares about the game—we lost by two points, thanks for asking. The press only cares about my attitude, my right hook, and my ill-discipline. Gee, I’m sensing a theme. As for the headlines, I wish they’d come up with original clickbait instead of the predictable “If You Can’t Beat Them, Beat Them”, “Is Fleski’s Career F’d?”, and my favorite, “When The Bantom Weight Punches Outside His Class”. Imagine what the press will do when they’ve got time to come up with captions?

“I guess I should be grateful that most media agree I won the one-on-one battle with Mortimer, and the Mavericks won the fight.”

“There is that,” Cooper says, laughing and backing away. “I’ll have another word with her, but you gotta meet her halfway. Do something good. Turn up to the sponsor thing next week and give her something positive to report on.”

“Does that mean I should wear a suit instead of gym wear to the thing?” I call out to Cooper’s back, only to get his middle finger in return.

My agent ghosts me for an entire day. Asshole.

The next night, most of the team plan to go out “pussy hunting”, but I’m not in the mood. I plead wanting to keep a low profile for a week or two, but the truth is, only one woman gets my blood boiling. If I go out with the guys, they’ll expect me to reel in the women, take my pick, and introduce my leftovers to my friends. It’s how we’ve always rolled—the hottest or most in-demand player is used as bait. I don’t want to be bait. I don’t want random pussy.I don’t want anyone other than Emma.

“Come on, Fleski,” Loki whines after training. I’m showered and changed, but he’s still pouting like a naked two-year-old who’s been denied candy. “It’s not like you got other plans.”

My cell rings and I don’t know whether to cheer the interruption or send Warner to voicemail. Hmm, explain why I don’t want to go out, or explain to my agent why my name is trending in all the wrong ways.

“Yeah?” I pick the safer option.

“Nice of you to take my call.”

“My pleasure, what do you want?”

“Next time you feel like throwing a punch, how about you take a calming breath instead.” He sounds rattled. “I mean, my commission is linked to what I can get for you, and you’re killing me here.”

“Geez and I thought you cared about me more than the money.” Covering the mouthpiece to hide my thick sarcasm, I dodge other players and head to behind the coach’s office to where I’ve set up a secret study nook. No one needs to know I’m trying to fit a business degree around work, and with Janice about to fill my nights with fake dates, I need to get ahead on watching downloaded lectures and assignments.

“Focus,” Warner snaps. “All that press about the fight is drowning out theotherstory—the one that was supposed tobe good news. I worked hard to get youAustralia’s Favorite Bachelor.”

“At least everyone knows my name.”

“Thereissuch a thing as bad publicity. If you want the big sponsorship dollars, you must show that you’re not just the bad boy of rugby but someone the public can root for. Except now, I can’t get anyone interested in you as an eligible bachelor. Journalists only care about the violence and whether you want a boxing career after football.”

“Hell no.”

“Then stop being a dick.” Warner doesn’t even pretend to hide his pretentious frustration. “The Southern Mavericks are scrambling to control the narrative. They want to polish your image, make you look like the approachable, charming guy the public will fall in love with. My team are working with Kenzie, but we need you to meet us halfway.”

“Fine.” I run my hand through my hair while powering up my laptop. “What do you want from me?”

“I’m setting up a series of stage-managed dates with influencers and B-list celebrities. Be charming, be polite. Sweep the women off their feet—but don’t land any of them in bed.”

“Fine.”

“I mean it, Dylan, no fucking the … wait, what?”

“I said fine. My cock’s on a temporary hiatus. I’ll wine them, dine them, smile for the photos, and leave them with a chaste kiss on the cheek as I open the car door. I’ll even pay their driver and leave a tip.”

There’s a long pause while Warner decides whether I’m full of shit, or not. Truthfully? I am full of shit, but not in the way that he thinks. Over the next ten minutes, I agree to each step of his reputation rehab for two reasons. First, Emma isn’t going to date me if I keep the man-whore rep. Being able to point to the fake dates as part of my job will help. Secondly, if I do end up datingEmma, I’ll need a strong brand to protect her from having her employment contract torn up.

“Is that all?” I ask when Warner finally pauses.

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