Page 23 of A Game of Ruck (Carolina Rugby #2)

The wedding reception is a blur of champagne, happy tears, and way too many photos of Annabeth's perfect kiss with Luca.

I should be focused on uploading content for the team socials.

I should be polishing the heartfelt caption I drafted about love and commitment and blah blah blah.

But I’m not.

Because somehow, I’ve ended up outside on the pool deck of the Rovers' new team house—pressed up against the sliding glass door by a very large, very hot, very shirtless man with his hands up my dress.

Hudson "Tank" Jackson smells like whiskey, wood smoke, and trouble.

His lips are on my neck, his breath hot against my ear, and my brain?

Not working. At all.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps, his Kiwi accent so damn cute it makes me ache.

I don’t.

Instead, I kiss him like my life depends on it.

Because maybe it kind of does.

His tongue tangles with mine, one big hand palming my ass like it belongs to him. He lifts me like I'm weightless— what is with these rugby guys and their human forklift powers? —and suddenly I'm straddling him as he walks us down the hallway to the nearest guest room.

I’m not thinking. Just feeling.

It’s messy. It’s hot. It’s over way too fast.

We collapse in a tangled heap on the guest bed, both panting, both staring at the ceiling like we just got tackled by a damn freight train.

And for a second, I think maybe— maybe —this was something.

Until he opens his mouth.

“Damn,” Tank mutters with a satisfied grunt. “You got, like, the perfect ratio of butt to boobs. Like a sexy hourglass. If the hourglass was also a snack.”

“What?” I blink.

He turns his head and grins. “A snack. Like a sexy Scooby snack. You know. Curvy and biteable. Rrrr.” He even adds a growl.

A growl .

I stare at him, mouth open. “Did you just compare me to a cartoon dog treat?”

His grin falters. “Wait. Was that not a compliment?”

I sit up, dragging the sheet with me. “Oh my God. I just slept with a golden retriever in human form. ”

Tank frowns, adorably confused. “But golden retrievers are loyal. And fun.”

“I need to go,” I mutter, stumbling out of the bed, snatching my dress from the floor.

“Was it something I said?”

“Yes! All of it! ”

He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I was nervous!”

“Next time? Try silence. It’s a classic.”

I slam the door behind me, my heels clicking down the hallway like gunshots.

One night. One mistake.

That’s all it was.

Except I already know, I’m gonna be thinking about that mistake way too much.

The end.