Page 18 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Okay,” Myst began, breaking off a piece of battered cod. “Teach me some rugby lingo. If I’m gonna date Australia’s Player of the Year, I should at least sound like I know what I’m talking about.”

“Fair enough,” George said, brushing a few crumbs off his jeans. “What do you want to know?”

“Start with the basics,” she said, taking a fry and popping it into her mouth. “Like… what’s a scrum? That’s a thing, right?”

“That’s a thing,” he confirmed. “It’s when the forwards from both teams pack together and try to push each other off the ball. Kind of like a wrestling match with more rules.”

“Sounds intense,” she mused. “What else?”

“Okay, here’s a fun one: What’s a ‘dummy pass’?” he asked, leaning toward her with a playful gleam in his eye.

“Uh…” Myst scrunched her nose, thinking hard. “Is it when someone pretends to pass the ball but doesn’t?”

“Exactly!” George exclaimed, pointing a chip at her like it was a gold medal. “You’re a natural.”

“Clearly,” she said with faux modesty. “See? I’m ready to join the team.”

“Sure, we’ll just need to bulk you up a bit first,” he teased, giving her a sidelong glance. “Not sure how you’d fare in a tackle drill.”

“Hey, don’t underestimate me,” Myst shot back with a grin. “I’ll have you know I’m scrappy. And fast.”

“Fast, huh?” George’s expression softened as he paused, staring out at the river for a moment before speaking again. “You know, my dad always used to say speed was the most important skill in rugby. He used to take me and my sisters out to the park and make us race each other when we were kids.”

“Really?” Myst asked, her voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” George said, his tone warm with nostalgia. “He’d line us up, blow this little whistle he kept in his pocket, and we’d sprint as hard as we could. No prizes, no pressure, just fun. I think that’s where I learned to love the game. It wasn’t about winning; it was about playing.”

Myst felt something tug in her chest at his words. She reached out and nudged his elbow lightly. “Your family sounds amazing.”

“They are,” George said simply, turning back to her with a small, genuine smile. “Guess I got lucky.”

“Or maybe they did,” Myst replied softly, her gaze lingering on him a beat longer than intended.

The light danced on the rippling surface of the Thames, and a gentle breeze tugged at the ends of her wavy hair. George was beside her, balancing the last few chips precariously on the edge of the paper tray like he was setting up some kind of tiny rugby formation.

“Right,” he said, pointing a chip at her. “Ruck or maul? Quick, what’s the difference?”

“Ugh, I just learned this,” Myst groaned dramatically, pinching the bridge of her nose for effect, though her lips quirked into a smile. She turned to him, narrowing her pale blue eyes as if deep in thought. “Okay. Ruck is… when the ball is on the ground, and players are trying to push each other off it?”

“Not bad,” George said with a grin, tossing the chip into his mouth. “And a maul?”

“Uh…” Myst hesitated, tapping her chin. “When the ball’s still being held, but everyone’s shoving around like they’re in a mosh pit?”

George laughed. “Close enough. Wouldn’t want to be stuck in a mosh pit with you, though. Sounds dangerous.”

“Hey, I’m small, but I can hold my own,” she shot back, giving his arm a playful shove. She felt lighter than she had in weeks, the weight of schedules and expectations kept at bay by the simple joy of being here with him.

Her phone buzzed on the bench between them, cutting through the moment. Instinctively, Myst grabbed it, already dreading what the screen might show. Sure enough, Jessie’s name glared back at her, followed by a string of emojis that hinted at urgency. She unlocked it with a swipe, her stomach tightening as she read the message.

“Big media push for the single release next week. Need you at the gala Friday night. Remember: no dates. Focus has to be on you.”

“Everything alright?” George asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity. He’d noticed the way her posture stiffened, how her easy smile faltered just slightly.

“Yeah,” Myst said quickly, locking the screen and slipping the phone back into her bag. “It’s just Jessie being Jessie. Nothing important.” She tried to inject some levity into her voice, but even to her own ears, it sounded forced.

George studied her for a moment, his sharp blue eyes searching hers. “You sure? You went from scrappy mosh-pit warrior to… I don’t know, someone who looks like they just dropped the ball during a World Cup final.”

“That bad, huh?” Myst laughed lightly, deflecting. She didn’t want to bring this up now, not when the day had been so perfect. “I promise, it’s nothing.”

---