Page 5 of Scrum Heat

“She's awake!”

“Well, don’tcrowdher.”

“She looks pale. Should she be pale?”

“Back up,”anothervoice snaps. “You’re going to scare her.”

Too late.

I crack one eye open and regret it instantly.

I’m lying on a physio table in what I assume is Alderbridge RFC’s medical room. There are rugby-ball-shaped ice packs, a faint whiff of Deep Heat, and a poster of a wolf howling at the phraseBE YOUR OWN BEAST.

And at the foot of my bed?

Four dangerously hot alphas.

As in, scientifically irresponsible levels of hot. The kind of hot that suggests their group chat is just protein macros and sin.

I blink. Once. Twice.

Yep. They’re still there, still massive, and still looking at me like I’m dessert.

I recognize every one of them. After all, I did my research for this interview. I learned everything I could about the rugby club's history, memorized player stats, press quotes, Reddit scandals, and I even read a fanfic I can’t talk about without therapy.

So, now that I've come around, it's safe to say I knowexactlywho’s glaring at me like I insulted his Excel spreadsheet.

That’s Rory James, a.k.a Knife Jaw, a.k.a team captain. He's Alderbridge RFC's lock forward; built like a human tank and allegedly once played through a concussionanda dislocated shoulder because he “didn’t want to be dramatic.” He’s tall and broad, with dark skin and wavy hair, and gives off the kind of energy that makes you saysorryeven when you’ve done nothing wrong.

Beside him is his polar opposite: Finn Whitaker. He’s all floppy sandy blond hair and striking bright green eyes, weaponized dimples and a smile turned all the way up. He’s the club’s emotional support linebacker, and looks like the kind of alpha who’d carry your emotional baggageandsort it by category.

“Jax, do the face,” Finn whispers, nudging the guy beside him. “The one you did to scare off the reporters last season.”

That’smy introduction to Jax Rivera, who doesn’t react—he juststares. With slicked back black hair and a tattooed forearm, he’s the team’s enforcer with a background in wilderness survival—and possibly graveyard haunting.

Then, of course, there’s Theo. He's still shirtless, and now leaning against a cabinet.

“You dropped something,” he says.

“My dignity?” I croak.

He nods. “Somewhere in the hallway. Right after faint number two.”

I shake my head as my brain catches up. “Wait—shit—again?!”

“Right before the medical wing,” Finn nods sympathetically. “One second you were walking, then—” he mimes a collapse “—you were soufflé in a wind tunnel.”

“Oh my god.”

“It was elegant,” he adds. “A very graceful flop.”

“I want to die.”

“Please don’t,” Theo cuts in. “It’s barely past noon.”

I twist toward the wall clock and shriek again as I bolt upright.

“No!My apartment viewings!”

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