Page 13 of A Game of Ruck
It’s a fantasy wrapped in abs and a smirk and zero long-term viability.
So I cross my legs, sit back, and smile just as sweetly as I can manage.
“Just so we’re clear, this whole thing is fake.I’m not looking to fall in love on an airplane ride to the beach just to have my heart broken after, okay?”
Luca leans forward, eyes glinting.
“Good.Because if you were, we’d have to talk about your timing.I usually like to at least hit cruising altitude before I start making plans to fall in love.”
I choke on a laugh.
Oh no.He’s really quick and funny.
This is going to beverynot easy.
“So,” Luca says, popping open a bottle of sparkling water like he’s done it a hundred times.
Probably has.
He’s the kind of man who makes economy seating spontaneously combust on sight.
Besides, professional athletes have their own planes, don’t they?
“Not us.We’ve been doing a bus caravan type thing.Anyway, so,” he says, and damn it, I must have said some of that out loud.
“So,” I echo, trying not to stare at his stupid, perfect hands.
“What exactly are we walking into here, Angel?”he drawls, eyes skating over me with lazy curiosity.
I arch a brow.“My name’s Annabeth.”
“I know.”
“So, why the whole Angel thing?”
His brows furrow.
I want to smooth them with my finger.
Want to kiss that confused expression right off his too sexy face.
“You don’t like it?”Luca asks.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then that’s settled.”He grins.“So tell me—how awful is your family?On a scale from harmless teasing to full-blownSuccessioncosplay?”
I snort.“Imagine a group of genetically blessed size-two piranhas in pastel sundresses who view emotional warfare as a sport.That’s my cousins.”
“Ah,” he says.“Shark week in heels.”
“Exactly.”
He leans back, one leg stretching out into the space between our seats, brushing mine—accidentally, probably, but my body doesn’t know that.
My body thinks we’re on our honeymoon and is preparing the appropriate hormones.
“So, do they always pick on you?”
