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Benji goes still, his glass halfway to his lips.

“Bannings is all flash, no follow-through,” I continue quickly. “Man can’t hold a defensive line to save his life.”

Benji’s throat works as he swallows a hefty gulp of beer, and I have no idea why I’m so focused on watching, fascinated by the way his Adam’s apple bobs.

He sets his glass down with deliberate care, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“What Bannings lacks in discipline, he makes up for in vision,” he says, leaning toward me slightly like he’s sharing a secret. “Besides, have you seen his sidestep? He could dodge raindrops in a thunderstorm.”

The debate about whether Bannings or Jones should start continues well into our second round of beer, voices getting louder and opinions getting stronger with each empty glass until Pete sets up player formations with the salt and pepper shakers and other condiments on the table.

This is serious.

This is rugby.

What none of the guys here know, not even Lance, is that Aiden Jones is actually one of our neighbors.

Six years ago, I sold off the five acres of land that held the old farm manager’s cottage. When I’d gone to sign the contract and seen the purchaser’s name, I’d almost dropped my pen.

But Aiden Jones is quite a common name, so I’d figured it must be a coincidence. The odds of a New Zealand rugby player buying my rundown manager’s cottage seemed about as likely as finding a Michelin-star restaurant in Old Thompson’s hay shed.

It wasn’t until I’d gone to drop off a spare key after the possession date and been greeted with those familiar steely eyes and granite jaw that I discovered I actually did have a New Zealand rugby legend as my new neighbor.

Since then, I’ve kept my distance and my mouth shut.

Because Aiden Jones has one of the most high-stress jobs in the country, constantly scrutinized by everyone from professional sports commentators to the guy behind the counter at the local store. He deserves a place where he can unwind without anyone gawking at him.

I also feel a weird kinship with Aiden Jones.

He’s known as the Ice King. Someone who simply gets the job done, doesn’t make any fuss, and doesn’t waste more words than necessary.

He couldn’t be more different from the flashy Bannings.

Of course, the media likes to play up their rivalry and the contrast between them.

You can see Jones’s contempt for Bannings every time he’s asked about him in an interview, although he always keeps his comments professional. Unlike Bannings, who often seems to try to bait Jones with some of his remarks to the media.

Benji’s still arguing passionately about Bannings’ style of play, and it’s distracting how he keeps shifting closer to me every time he makes a point, like proximity will somehow make his argument more convincing.

Benji always talks with his whole body when he’s excited about something, his hands moving, eyes bright. And even though everyone is listening to him, he seems to focus mostly on me as he makes his points.

The heat from his leg pressed against mine makes it difficult to follow the conversation, but I do my best, arguing back just as fiercely about Jones’s tackle success rate and defensive line statistics.

“Bloody hell,” Lance cuts through our argument with a knowing look that makes me want to kick him under the table like I did when we were kids. “Last time I saw you this fired up was when the stock agent tried to undervalue your two-tooths at the autumn sales.”

“Rugby’s important,” I manage to reply.

“My brother manages to use up his monthly word quota arguing with you, Benji,” Lance says with a grin at Benji.

Benji stretches back with a smile. “Sadly, I don’t think the New Zealand selectors really care about our opinions.”

“It’s a good thing they’re not listening to you,” I say.

Benji meets my gaze, his green eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that always sends a jolt down my spine.

For a split second, it feels like everyone else in the pub fades away. I can’t tear my gaze away from him.

Lance laughs, and it shatters the strange tension. He claps me on the shoulder as he turns his attention to Benji. I clear my throat, looking down at my beer.