Page 7 of Playing Rucking Hard

Eventually, all the Mavericks have been introduced, and we’re released from the formalities. I make my way through the tables, taking time to chat with potential personal sponsors, and smile for photos like a good little Maverick with the VIP fans. All the while, I’m tracking her.

She’s sticking to her squad, laughing at something one of the other girls says, her hands tucked neatly behind her back like she’s on a high school field trip and giving off a perfect cheerleader image.

I don’t buy it.

I know what she looks like when her guard’s down; when she’s laughing with her eyes; when her cheeks flush and her lips part around my …

I grab a drink from a passing tray and take a long swig. I need to get a grip.This is not me.The women who hung around after training got my autograph and a selfie, but no invitation. The women here offering to blow me in the restroom? Hard pass. They can find their bucket list fuck somewhere else tonight.

From the moment I saw Miss Next Ex batting away men at the bar as if they were flies, I wanted those eyes on me and only me. I want her hands on me, and only me. I want Miss Next Ex to look up at me from between my legs and apologize for leaving when we were not done.

But being a Mavericks cheerleader is a complication. The same company signs our paychecks. Fuck. I don’t know what to do.

Maybe tell her off for leaving? Maybe ask her why? Maybe—no. Nomaybes.I need to focus. The season’s about to start, and I need to cement my position as Mavericks’ fullback and reclaimmy representative spot. One mistake, one injury, and there’s a line of guys ready to take my jersey.

I need to remain focused, not distracted—especially by a sexy as fuck temptress who can make me dismantle myone night onlyrule.

But as free drinks flow and the crowd thins, I edge closer to the cheerleaders, casually move from group to group like I’m not trying to get her attention.

It takes more patience than I’m known for, but I finally join Loki and Bodhi, two of the forwards, who are harmlessly flirting with a group of cheerleaders. I say, harmlessly, because we’ve all been given the same lecture—no fraternization. The club will fine us and sack the women. But Miss Next Ex and I weren’t fraternizing last night. Last night, we were just two people who connected.

I need to know if the connection was all in my mind or real. Is sheMiss Next Ex, or just another cheerleader to avoid?

Bodhi says something to make the women laugh. Her head tilts back, showing the faintest mark down her slender neck. My body reacts, remembering when I made it, remembering how silky smooth she moved underneath me, and how her purring climax had me hard enough to go again.

It’s her. No doubt about it. There isn’t an inch of my body that doesn’t recognize her.

Loki moves to the side, giving me access to the group, and I take my place next to her. Her eyes widen in surprise, but before I can say something, she slightly shifts her body and turns her back on me. Like I’m nothing. Like we’re nothing.

I’ve been knocked down and knocked out on the football field, but that’s nothing like being shown her back. It’s a head-high tackle followed by a body slam by the biggest forwards in the league. It’s being caught in the air when I’m holding onto a balland can’t protect my body from being smashed head-first into the ground.

But I didn’t fight through players twice my size and with buckets more ability to give up easily. I know what we had. I know what I want … and it includes the thrill of the chase.

For once, Dylan Fleski isn’t the one holding all the cards.

And damn it, I want them back.

Chapter 3

Let The Chase Begin

Dylan

Only days until our first game, and the team gym smells like sweat, metal, and old rubber mats. My body feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder, and my brain is too tired to care. The guys are scattered around, slamming weights and pushing through sets. Me? I’m halfway through my next level of hell with the weight bar pressing down on my chest.

I’m supposed to be focused and keep my form perfect. I’ve bulked up in the off-season so the forwards can’t toss me over the sideline like a sack of potatoes, but instead of working each set, my mind keeps slipping back to her.

Emma.

Yes, the players now know the names of the new cheerleaders. Just because they’re off-limits to us doesn’t mean we aren’t interested. They are hot as fuck, and we’re … hot-blooded guys. Our left center, Nate Dixon, stalked their training session earlier today, before coming back to announce the names of the three new cheerleaders. There’s blonde Kalli, buxom Trinity, who Coops said looks like Jessica Rabbit, whatever that means. Then there isthe sweet one, Emma.

At least I know her name. If only I could shake the memory of how she’s essentially ghosted me three times now. When she left my bed, last night at the event, and now. She’s one of the last to walk through the weights area to the dance studio. Most of the girls at least wave, or give us a “how’s it going, guys,” but Emma gives away nothing.

Something in my gut twists and burns. How the hell can she keep acting like I don’t exist?

“She’s gonna be the first one, you know?” Bodhi Kalani’s voice cuts through the air, thick with that low, raspy tone. The guy’s an animal, all muscle and brute force. He’s the biggest guy on the team and is a rougher version of his younger, model brother. Most of the guys think he’s a joke, but there’s no denying the power in his hits. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s got the mental maturity of a toddler, but I’d rather he be on my team than coming at me with a crusher tackle.

“Who, Kalli?” I grunt between sets. I’m trying to stay focused, but it’s fucking impossible not to eavesdrop as the conversation shifts from the usual locker room banter to the newcheerleaders. I can’t stake a claim, but I can at least show some interest.

---