Page 19 of Scrum Heat

I’m still getting to know them—one-on-one chats here and there, mostly between training sessions and the suspicious amount of time they spend doing laundry for four men who exclusively wear shorts. But I can’t lie: I’ve grown to feel much more comfortable here already.

And living like this? It’s kind of every omega’s dream. Four hot alpha rugby players who are all nice to me, all weirdly emotionally available, and all shirtless ninety percent of the time—just walking around like it’s normal to have arms the size of ham hocks and thighs that could crack a skull during casual conversation.

Honestly, if I die tomorrow, bury me in the towel nest and writeshe lived the dreamon my gravestone.

Evie video calls me early on Monday morning, precisely two minutes after I finish my second slice of Finn’s banana bread, and it feels both calculated and cruel.

Her face fills the screen—flawless, glowing, and terrifying. Her cool blond hair is styled within an inch of its life, and while her lips sayHi, sweetheart, her eyes sayDeliver results or I will erase you from every database in existence.

“Frankie!” she greets me. “You look... flushed.”

“It’s the hoodie,” I say flatly. “It’s made of wool and poor decisions.”

“You’re not feverish, are you?” she asks, her brow furrowing. “No bonding urges? No desire to violently rearrange soft furnishings or claim anyone via eye contact?”

“What?No. Absolutely not. I slept like a log. A very dry, fully-regulated log. No urges. No nesting. No... humping.”

Evie narrows her eyes. “Hm.”

“It’s a totally normal morning,” I insist.

Jax appears behind me and silently slides a jar of hormone-balancing herbal tea onto the table. I just look at him for a moment before shooting him a closed-lip smile.

Finn is humming from the sink area while slicing strawberries into precise shapes, while Theo eats another round of heavily buttered toast with the confidence of a man who’s never experienced consequences. Meanwhile, Rory has been keeping a perfectly reasonable, regulation-approved, omega-safe distance from me all weekend, and is currently wiping down the already-clean counter with militaristic aggression.

Evie’s lips purse, and I get the distinct sense she can smell chaos through the screen.

“Well... that's good,” she nods. “Because I’d like to give you your first assignment.”

“Oh. Right. Okay. No pressure.”

“Since you’re up and about, I’d like you to film a little something for the club socials. Nothing too gruelling—just a quick intro to start getting content flowing on our pages again.”

“Ah—I mean… sure? That sounds…good?”

“Excellent!” she beams. “I was thinking about just having a quick behind-the-scenes piece. Nothing too polished, since those never seem to be effective. Maybe some footage of the guys doing warm-ups and light drills—some candid moments between them. Think:intimate, authentic, sponsor-safe thirst trap.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “That’s… not a phrase that should legally exist.”

“I sent you all the logins for socials along with individual asset folders over email last night,” she says, pointedly ignoring me. “Check your spam if you can’t find them—the subject line is‘Digital Branding & Organic Engagement: Phase One.’”

Yep. That sounds like something Evie would send.

“You’ll have creative freedom,” she adds, “but send it to me for approval before posting—just for this first one.”

“Got it,” I nod.

“And Frankie?”

“Yeah?”

“Make sure we get some shots of their thighs. That’s what the commenters keep asking for.”

“…I—”

“Statistical data,” she says before I can comment. “Not opinion.”

I look down at my phone like it might catch fire. “Evie, do yousleepin a power suit?”

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