Page 29 of Playing Rucking Hard

Sage:No

Me:Have you got friends coming over?

Sage:Yes

I should be grateful for one-word answers. It took weeks for us to get past emojis. I didn’t know that emojis change meaning over time—replying with too many thumbs up for mytoo cool for schoolyounger sister. We argued—which was difficult since she refused to speak—and compromised with me asking simple questions and not getting frustrated withyesornoanswers.

I vow that one day, Sage will graduate from one-word to one-sentence texts. One day, Sage will yell at me with words instead of looks. One day, I’ll get my bratty sister back and, hopefully, Dylan will still be interested in more than coffee.

Me: So you don’t mind me meeting a friend for coffee?

When the pause becomes deafening, I reword.

Me: A friend invited me for coffee. I’d like to go. Do you mind?

Sage:No

Me:I love you parsley

Sage:

I want to celebrate—my sassy brat sister sent me an empty text. We added a newwordto her arsenal of responses. And she just took away my last excuse.

I head across two suburbs to the coffee shop Dylan selected and find a parking spot on the street, eliminating another excuse. When the clock passes three, I’m still sitting in my car, one leg bouncing so hard I’m surprised the vehicle isn’t vibrating.

I can’t do it. I can’t go inside. My brain cells are fighting for control, giving me all the reasons I shouldn’t go in. Logic should dictate, right?

But what if I take a chance with Dylan? What if once we start talking, we realize the only chemistry between us is forbidden, and outside of our one night together, we have nothing in common? Then Mr. Perfect will become the dreaded Mr. Next Ex.

The risks haven’t disappeared overnight or because he gave me a kiss that could be used instead of a defibrillator. Dylan is still off-limits. The team’s no-fraternization policy isn’t a suggestion—it’s a contract requirement. I start hyperventilating just contemplating the consequences—this coffee could cost me my job. And if I lose my job, Sage loses her therapies … her progress … our hope.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but the memory of last night refuses to go away. That kiss. The way Dylan’s lips moved against mine, how his hands felt on my waist, steadying me when my legs threatened to give out. And then the way he held me, sheltering my body from the rest of the crowd with his, until I pulled myself together.

And those beautiful, delicate swans. Today, I stashed some where I need his inspiration to make me smile. I glance atthe swan taped to my dashboard. It came out of the blue, in the middle of one of our conversations. Because it seemed so random and sweet, I want it to be the last thing I see before heading to my version of an office, and the last thing before heading to the battlefield that is my sister.

Don’t forget to smile. Your smile could power small cities. #13275

Who even does that? He’s a rugby league player, for crying out loud, not some poet with too much time on his hands. And why does a simple note make me want to melt or cry?

He’s not just a footballer. He’s...Dylan.

I open my eyes, and look around, hoping to see Dylan walk into the coffee shop, running just as late as me. What’s the worst that could happen? I could walk in there, and someone from the Mavericks staff could see us. Or worse, a fan with a phone could snap a picture.

But what if I don’t go?

The question I haven’t dared to ask—what if I don’t take the risk? What if I spend the next decade looking after my sister and compare every man to the mythical legend that I’ll build myOne Night With Dylaninto? That’s not fair to my hypothetical next boyfriend.

Then, there is my green-eyed monster. When I saw photos of Dylan and that Tessa bitch, I lost my shit, glaring at everyone I met and punishing myself in the gym until I found his first swan. If I don’t have coffee with Dylan, I can’t blame him for having more than coffee with every woman he meets. I need to do this.

I force myself out of the car. The cool air hits my face, and for a second, I hesitate. What would my parents want me to do?Live your life with no regrets.They were the words my father livedby. That’s why he was the first to help me with the scholarship application, even though meant moving to the other side of the world. Then, there are my mother’s words,Always follow your heart, my love. It will never steer you wrong—although I did follow your father into questionable fashion trends back in the day.

For the first time, I smile when thinking about my parents. I had nineteen years of their lectures and one-liners, and have to believe their words will pester or guide me for the rest of my life.

Let’s do this. Despite all the reasons I shouldn’t and my pounding heart, I take a step toward the door. Then another. And another.

Before I can second-guess myself, I push the door open.

The smell of coffee and fresh pastries wraps around me, but my eyes look past the counters to the tables until I find him. He’s here. Dylan. He wanted to arrive first.

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