Page 10 of A Game of Ruck (Carolina Rugby #2)

It’s nighttime, and I feel like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life.

Scratch that—someone else’s romcom.

A private beach swim with a professional rugby player who looks like he should be illegal in forty-nine states and all of Europe?

Check.

Said rugby player carrying me through the waves like I’m the heroine in some kind of hot-and-heavy Nicholas Sparks reboot?

Also, check.

And now I’m standing in this insane luxury suite getting ready for a rehearsal dinner that I was dreading three days ago, but tonight?

Tonight I actually want to go.

And why?

Because of him.

I spent the entire day with Luca.

And not just the parts where we had to keep up appearances in front of Lisa and her pastel army of Stepford Bridesmaids.

He’s been glued to my side the entire time.

Protective. Flirty. Stupidly sweet.

Laughing at my jokes like I’m the funniest person on the beach.

Stealing glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking.

And touching me like he means it.

And I think he does.

God help me, I think he really might.

Even Jasmine, my little cousin and forever background add-on in every family photo, came up to me when the rest weren’t looking and admitted she reads my magazine .

She even bookmarked one of the articles on body image and PCOS.

Like what?

Sure, she said it in a whisper like she was passing me state secrets, but still. It meant something.

For once, I wasn’t just the cousin they had to invite out of obligation. I wasn’t invisible. I was seen.

But more than anything—it’s Luca who’s changed the way I see myself.

With him, I don’t feel like the odd girl out or the chubby cousin tagging along.

I feel wanted .

Like I’m this stunning, irresistible thing he can’t get enough of.

Like the way I carry my curves, and my sarcasm makes him hungry.

And the worst part?

I like it.

A lot .

I keep having to remind myself this isn’t real.

That Luca Warden—the smoldering-eyed, abs-for-days, starting forward for the Carolina freaking Rovers—isn’t actually mine.

That this is temporary. A favor.

A performance.

But then he touches me like I’m precious. He feeds me strawberries like I’m royalty. And I’m kind of having a hard time believing I ever cared what Lisa and the rest of them thought about me in the first place.

Still, reality has a way of creeping back in at the worst possible moments.

Like now, when the zipper on this slinky emerald-green dress refuses to cooperate.

“Ugh, seriously ?”

I grunt, twisting at an angle that would make a chiropractor weep.

The damn thing’s snagged halfway up my back and refusing to budge, no matter how many creative curses I throw at it.

Because of course it sticks.

Because the universe is petty and I’m already thirty minutes behind schedule, sweating like a sinner in church in front of a full-length mirror while this gown tries its absolute best to assassinate me.

I groan and drop my arms in surrender.

“Death by designer dress. That’s how it ends,” I mutter. “Lisa will be thrilled.”

I’m just about to grab my phone to text emergency help to the manager of the hotel when there’s a knock at the bedroom door.

“Angel?” Luca’s voice, low and teasing. “You fall in?”

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

“Everything’s fine!” I call too fast, too high.

“Uh-huh.”

The knob jiggles.

I freeze.

“Do not come in here unless you’re prepared to see an extremely flustered woman mid-wardrobe malfunction.”

There’s a pause. Then a chuckle.

“I’ve seen you in a bikini, remember? And nothing about you flustered me. Except maybe how hard it was to keep my hands to myself.”

My cheeks ignite.

Before I can reply, the door creaks open and there he is.

God help me, there he is .

Luca’s in black linen slacks and a white button-down rolled at the sleeves, top buttons undone just enough to hint at the kind of chest that could bring about global peace.

His eyes trail slowly over me, lingering in appreciation. And I think I might actually pass out.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs. “You look like a dream.”

I press a hand to my hip, trying to play it cool. “A dream currently losing a battle with her zipper.”

His grin spreads, slow and sinful.

“Then let me be your hero, Angel.”

And as he steps toward me, hands already reaching for the stuck zipper, I forget about everything else— Lisa, the dinner, the nerves.

Because with Luca this close, murmuring praise and touching me like I’m something soft and sacred, there’s just no pretending.

Only the very real possibility that I want this man.

With my eyes locked on his, I hear the thing as it finally zips.

“There. Perfect,” he murmurs.

I turn and glance at my reflection.

Not bad.

Hair’s decent.

Makeup’s passable.

Cleavage is aggressively present.

Perfect for distracting nosey aunts who want to talk about “healthy eating habits” like it’s a sport.

But none of that is what’s got my pulse tripping over itself.

It’s him.

“Look, I should, um, warn you about tonight?—”

“What? It’s a rehearsal dinner, right?”

“Yes, and admittedly, my cousins are the worst, but there will be more of them. Like a hundred more. And Aunts. And Uncles.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, Angel.,” Luca says, smiling at me.

The thing is, even though he might be right, I feel nervous. Like I could potentially be leading him right into the lion’s den.

“Okay, tell me what’s your worst fear for tonight?”

“Easy, it’s the moment when I walk into a room by myself, full of judging eyes, smiling relatives, and size-two cousins who still call me Chubs under their breath—and pretend it’s affection.”

“Okay, I hear you. And that sucks. But you’re not alone this time, I’ve got you .”

He’s right. I have him.

Luca Warden.

My rented date.

Except he doesn’t look rented.

He looks like a goddamn bodyguard for an heiress in a spicy Netflix drama.

All golden skin and hair, stunning blue eyes, and dangerous charm.

And he’ll be walking into that dinner like he belongs, because of course he will.

But me? I never belong.

“Yes, you do, Angel. Now breathe with me,” he says, and takes a few slow deep breaths,

I try to slow my racing pulse, but it’s no use.

Then I panic.

What if he gets overwhelmed? What if he leaves me hanging? What if they eat him alive?

“Easy, now. You good?” he asks, voice low, eyes scanning me with something that makes my knees go dumb.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“Your eye’s twitching.”

“Shut up.”

He leans against the doorframe, crosses his arms, and tilts his head. “You sure you wanna do this?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” I exhale. “It’s just the rehearsal dinner. My aunts, my uncles. Everyone but my dad.”

“You keep mentioning things about your father. But what about your mom?”

I glance down.

“Oh, um, my mom died when I was a baby.”

He sobers instantly.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I never knew her.” I try to shrug, but my voice wobbles a little. “And my dad’s not flying in until the wedding tomorrow. He doesn’t exactly have a lot of spare time.”

“Yeah, sorry, you told me that already. My bad.”

But that makes his expression shift again— softening, somehow.

Like he’s tucking away that piece of information somewhere private.

I hate the look on his face. The concern.

“You don’t have to do this if it’s too much,” I blurt. “I know you didn’t sign up to meet all the Martinezes in one room. I just—I didn’t think this through.”

“Stop.” His voice cuts clean through my spiral. “I’ve been to worse family functions, trust me.”

I narrow my eyes. “Have you met my Aunt Cecelia?”

He grins. “No. But I’m looking forward to it.”

“Why are you like this?” I groan, half-laughing, half-sick with nerves.

“Relax, Angel. I’m used to crowds. I can handle a few uncles in stuffy suits and judgmental side-eyes.”

“See, that’s what I don’t get.” My words tumble out before I can stop them. “How could you be used to this? You’re, well, you .”

His brow arches. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re hot and confident and you have fans and abs and a Wikipedia page.”

“I also have a family, remember?” he says quietly. “And believe me, I’ve got my own ghosts.”

That makes me pause. There’s something in his tone— raw and quiet —that knocks the sarcasm right out of me.

He steps forward, brushing a hand lightly down my bare arm.

“All you need to know right now is that I am your guy. I got you, Annabeth. Tonight. Tomorrow. However long you need.”

My breath catches.

And for the first time all day, I almost believe him.