Page 56 of Playing Rucking Hard

Dylan isn’t looking to date these women.

Dylan isn’t about to introduce those women to Saxon.

Dylan has gone out of his way to organize our date that fits in with our schedule and doesn’t put us at risk of being caught because he cares about me. He won’t put my job at risk, and he refuses to let the rules stop him from wanting to date me.

He barely waits long enough for me to get in the car and close the door before driving off.

“This is my regular car, not the sporty one the journos will recognize,” he says. “I thought about renting one, but that would only throw up red flags if the vehicle company decided to sell the information.”

“People do that?”

“People will do anything if the price is right, and if they won’t get caught. Luckily, an ex-player owes me a favor and I called it in for today.”

“What sort of favor?”

“How’s Sage,” he asks, changing the topic. “Tell me three amazing things about your sister, and I’ll tell you three amazing things about Little Squid. Then three things each about our jobs.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know you, and once we get to where we’re going, I don’t want to spend our time talking.”

“You talk a big game, Fleski.” I laugh. “Sure, you can follow through?”

He pats the lump in his shorts, and grins, “I’m willing to put my rep on the line, if you’re willing to try it.”

“Oh, I’ve tried it.” I lean over to wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his cheek. It’s nothing crazy, and he manages to stay focused on the road despite my distraction. “And I’m coming back for another taste. It’s up to you to convince me whether you’ve peaked or have more to show.”

“Emma, Emma, Emma,” he moans, reaching over to scratch fingers through my hair like a mini massage. “All the things I want to do to you.”

“Are you asking or telling?”

“Just being real. I know you’ve seen the bullshit being posted about the women I should date. Loki said the cheerleaders have their own list.”

“Spoiler alert.” My voice is full of sarcasm. “My name isn’t on either.”

“Guess it’s lucky I haven’t outsourced my date selection to the cheer team or anonymous podcasters. He drops his hand to find mine, lacing our fingers together. “Spoiler alert, I pick you. No pressure, and we still have to survive until the end of the season when your contract finishes, but trust me when I say the reason they are making up shit about me is because I haven’t given them anything real to post. I’m not dating other women, not even fake dating. I choose you. I’m waiting until you can walk the red carpet with me. Until then, Little Squid will have to step up to be my plus-one.”

“Lucky Squid.”

“Don’t tell him that or he’ll insist on a name change.”

Crisis over his Bachelor status averted, the conversation easily flows as we follow the coast road through little hamlets until turning off onto a dirt path. By the time Dylan pulls to a stop, thelate afternoon sun glows golden, dipping below the mountains behind us.

“Do you want to change your shoes, first?” he asks, looking down at my pumps.

“You didn’t warn me I’d have to go hiking as part of our date.”

“Here, I came prepared.” He hands me a gift-wrapped box. With one eye looking for his reaction, I tear at the paper and open the lid.

“Thongs?”

“Flip flops,” he corrects. “Although, if you want me to buy you the g-string version of a thong, I’d be happy to.”

Footwear sorted, he leaves the car parked in the driveway of an old weatherboard cottage and leads me down a sandy path toward the beach. “I figured we could use some privacy,” he says with what has to be a trademarked sexy smirk. “Food first, and then the cottage is ours if you want to …”

“Wash off the sand?” I say with a giggle.

“Well, I’m hoping by the end of the date you’ll allow me to wash something off you.”

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