Page 3 of A Game of Ruck

---

Yeah, sure.

Cute marketing.

I should charge royalties.

But me?I’m just trying to keep my head down, stay in shape, and maybe get through this night without grinding my molars to dust.

That’s the plan at least.

Until the auctioneer rings the little bell and yells “Sold to bidder #69!”

I blink.Is this a fucking joke?

Then I see her, and I know it is.

A grand cosmic fucking comedy and I’m at the butt of it.

She’s different from the usual bored socialite, living for likes on her social media profiles.

Curvy.Confident.Cool as fuck.

And she is completely unimpressed by me.

She doesn’t bat a lash at the biceps, the tailored tux, my two hundred dollar haircut, or my flawless smile.

I wonder if the headlines, or the Moretti name I don’t use, would make a difference?

But I think not.

In fact, she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Like bidding on me is a thing shehasto do.

Like she’s participating in this whole dog and pony show for some plot twist known only to her.

I don’t know her name.

Not yet.

But I know one thing.

I am fucked.

Royally fucked.

And this time, it’s not because of my last name.

It’s because of her.

Chapter One-Annabeth

This is officiallythe dumbest thing I’ve ever done.

And I say that as someone who once tried to bleach her own eyebrows in eighth grade and ended up looking like Voldemort’s chubby cousin.

But here I am.

At a freaking rugby bachelor auction.

---