Page 3 of Worth the Try (Atlanta Granite #1)

Elodie

Two Weeks Later

“ C OME ON,” KARI wheedles as she grabs my hand and tugs me across the parking lot toward the Atlanta Granite’s offices. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

“I still don’t think this is a good idea.” Even still, I let her pull me out of the scorching mid-July heat and into the nearly Arctic-level air of the building.

“Rugby players are always a good idea,” Kari shoots back. “Well. Most of the time.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You been keeping something from me?”

She waves me off with a flip of her black bob. “Just trust me.”

I’m still not sure. But my best friend has been awfully insistent that this is the way to go, so here we are. Despite how it makes my stomach hurt.

After Mr. Brown’s pronouncement that I wouldn’t have a place to live on the same day that I lost my job, I might have…

well, I might not have lived up to my “nice” reputation for a few days.

It was more like “unwashed” and “feral.” But I can’t stay angry or sad for long, so after a solid seventy-two hours, I was upright and focused once more.

I needed a plan.

Kari was more than happy to help, and that’s how I find myself being dragged into the Atlanta Granite’s corporate offices on a Saturday afternoon.

Offices that are situated at the top of the stadium, where the team practices and plays.

Like me, Kari landed what she thought was her dream job right out of college, but unlike me, she hopped around until she got the position here as the senior public relations specialist. Which is a fancy title but really just means she still has a boss.

And that she still does a lot of grunt work, but she does it while kicking butt.

Plus, she has her own office. Which I, in my jobless state, am more than a little envious of.

But it’s fine. Remember? Everything is fine.

I shove down the rising anxiety. I can do this. I have a plan. It’s paper-thin, and I’m pretty sure I’ve thrown up almost every day at how ridiculous I feel about it, but it’s a plan.

Kari roots in her oversized tote for the swipe card she needs to get us to the top of the building, then lets out a whoop of triumph as she yanks it into the air. “Success!” she crows. As we exit a moment later, she turns to me with a mischievous grin. “You ready to watch some practice?”

I shrug. Even though Kari’s been here a couple of years now, I know only the barest facts about rugby.

I know it’s kind of like soccer, and kind of like football, is super popular all over the world, and is starting to get popular here, too.

Also that the guys wear shorts and no padding to speak of.

After that? It’s all a bit of a mystery.

“Is asking them to help me move after they’ve practiced all day really a good idea? ”

“Trust me,” she says. “They’ll be more than happy to do it. Besides, we only need four of them, max. You don’t have much stuff. It’ll take one trip. We offer to pay in beer and pizza.”

“We’re not in college anymore,” I admonish. “Beer and pizza can’t really still be a form of payment.”

She snorts a laugh. “Oh, you sweet, innocent woman. You clearly haven’t met a rugby player.

” She swipes her card another time, leading us into a lush VIP lounge that stretches almost the entire length of the building and overlooks the field below.

Wait: pitch. Not field. The term is pitch .

I’ve really got to get better at learning the right words.

After pulling out my phone, I make a note in my to-do app. Learn rugby. There. Done.

“Miss Kari!” a high-pitched voice exclaims from the row of tables set up against the windows.

I look up in time to see a little girl barreling toward us with a smile nearly as big as her face. She practically tackles Kari, who takes two steps back and pretends she’s almost been knocked down.

“Now that’s a hit your dad would be proud of!” Kari says with a laugh. Then she kneels for a hug before standing back up and introducing us. “Rosalie, this is my friend, Elodie. Elle, this is Rosalie.”

“Hi! Our names rhyme. I just turned five. Everyone asks, so I’m telling you so you don’t have to.”

I grin. “Hi, Rosalie. Our names do rhyme, like a melody.”

Her face lights up even more, her braided ponytails bouncing with the movement. “You’re fun. Wanna color?”

Okay, honestly? Yes. Seems better than asking a bunch of enormous strangers for help. I beam. “That sounds amazing. Lead the way.”

I follow Rosalie back to her table. The biggest box of Crayola crayons that I’ve ever seen sits open, surrounded by stacks of coloring books. Girlfriend has nailed this coloring thing. “Wow. So many choices!”

She shrugs. “I had to promise my daddy that I’d stay put. Figured I could use the opportunity to get more coloring books.”

I snort out a laugh. “Smart girl.” Big words, too, but I’m not pointing that out.

Kari looks out onto the pitch while Rosalie and I settle in at the table. I follow her gaze, and almost immediately have to fight to keep breathing.

Holy fluffing airballs.

There are easily two-dozen men below us, all in close-fitting shorts and shirts, skin of all shades glistening with sweat in the mid-morning heat.

Admittedly, their legs are, erm, really nice to look at.

Thick as tree trunks with muscles so defined I can see them from up here.

As I watch, a bunch of them seem to get in two lines where they’re facing each other and crouching down.

It’s almost like they’re preparing to tackle.

Then, on a command I can’t hear, they surge against each other, each row tightly bound up and trying to push the other row back.

“That’s a scrum,” Rosalie explains, noticing my focus. “They practice that all the time. Daddy says it’s so they can get stronger. They have to scrum a lot in games.”

“Where’s the ball?” I look around, but don’t see it.

“On the pitch between them. The hooker’s gotta get it with his foot and kick it out.

Then another player takes it and runs, and all the guys in the scrum explode across the pitch and start playing.

” She pauses. “Once the ball comes out of there, the whole game moves really fast. You’ve gotta focus or you won’t keep up. ”

I grin at her. “You know, that’s the first time anyone’s made sense describing rugby to me. You’re officially my new rugby teacher.”

A cute blush stains her cheeks as she dips her chin.

“Are you up here by yourself?” Kari asks.

Rosalie plucks a crayon out of the box and studies the half-finished page in front of her.

It’s a scene from Beauty and the Beast. “Yep. I was supposed to go next door, but Miss Sharon is helping another friend today. And Daddy says it’s not a good idea for me to be down on the pitch when they’re practicing.

Lots of swear words.” She sighs dramatically. “As if I don’t know them already.”

I laugh again, but I don’t miss the concern that passes over Kari’s face. Something tells me she’s not a fan of Rosalie being left alone up here, and I tend to agree. But I don’t know this little girl or her circumstances, and am not about to judge.

Kari looks at her watch. “They should be finished any time now.”

I nod absently, opening up a coloring book, grabbing a green crayon, and going to town on a certain Scottish princess’s dress. I’ve always liked her best. Probably because she has hair problems like me.

A while later, the boisterous sound of laughter drifts into my consciousness, and I blink back into reality. I’d lost all sense of time while coloring, but now, some of the men are coming into the lounge. Kari looks over at me. “Ready to meet some rugby players?”