Page 42 of A Game of Ruck
Not even a little.
I am all in.
And I think she might be, too.
Chapter Ten-Annabeth
Holy.Shit.
Did he just do that?
DidLuca Warden, professional rugby demigod and walking thirst trap,actuallyhand my snooty cousins their perfectly contoured asses in front of the entire bridal party?
Like did all that really just happen?
Judging by the stunned silence and the way Lisa was blinking like she’d just been slapped with a monogrammed invitation to her own takedown, yes.Yes, he did.
And now he’s looking at me like I hung the moon.
“You ready to go,” he asks, his voice rough velvet, “or do you want to dance,Angel?”
Angel.
Jesus.
My knees forget their job.
My heart decides it’s a drummer in a rock band.
And my brain?Yeah, she’s busy buffering.
“Um,” I manage, “we should maybe say hello to the rest of my aunts.”
I whisper it, like maybe if I say it too loud, he’ll realize what a hot mess I am and vanish in a puff of cologne and good genetics.
He nods, hand still warm in mine, and together we make the rounds.
My father’s two sisters are as warm as a pair of tax audits—tight smiles and disinterested nods.
I give them my most respectfulgood eveningsbecause manners are survival in my family.
My uncle's wives, at least, smile politely and compliment my dress, which I suspect is their way of sayingwe see you trying, and we appreciate the effort.
Luca never lets go of me.
Not once.
Not when Brittany sneers from behind her wine glass.
Not when Lisa flips her hair and pretends, like she wasn’t just verbally eviscerated.
Not even when some older relatives whisper and tilt their heads in our direction like they’re wondering if I’ve been photoshopped into real life.
But eventually, cocktail hour ends, and I make a polite excuse to slip away to the ladies’ room.
I just need a second to breathe.
To recalibrate.
