Page 34 of Star Rucked Lovers

“Like what?” George asked, his lips twitching upward as he tilted his head to glance down at her.

“Like you’re trying to figure out if I’m real or not,” she teased, lifting her face just enough for him to see the faint smirk playing on her lips. “I promise, I am.”

“Jury’s still out,” he replied. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face so he could see her more clearly. Her pale blue eyes met his, and something in his chest tightened, not unpleasantly, but in a way that made him wonder how he’d ever thought he could live without her.

“Well, if you keep staring, you might scare me off,” she joked lightly, though her own gaze didn’t waver.

“Not a chance,” George said, his voice dropping lower, rougher. He let the words hang there between them, unspoken promises and everything else they hadn’t yet figured out. And then he kissed her again, slow and lingering, like he had all the time in the world.

The smell of coffee hit him first when George wandered into the kitchen the next morning, barefoot and still tugging on his shirt. Tommy was already seated at the table, a mug in hand and a knowing grin plastered across his battered face. Elisa, stood by the stove flipping pancakes while their two kids giggled over something incomprehensible at the far end of the table.

“Morning, lover boy,” Tommy said, his grin widening as George froze mid-step.

“Don’t start,” George warned, though the corner of his mouth quirked up despite himself. He glanced over his shoulder just as Myst appeared in the doorway, her hair piled messily on top of her head and one of his oversized rugby shirts hanging loosely off her petite frame. She looked completely out of place in the humble chaos of Tommy’s kitchen, and yet somehow like she belonged.

“Good morning!” Myst chirped cheerfully, sliding past George to grab a mug from the counter. When she turned to flash a bright smile in Tommy’s direction, George swore his old teammate nearly choked on his coffee.

“Is that your shirt she’s wearing?” Tommy asked, his tone mock-serious as he pointed at George.

“Looks better on her, doesn’t it?” George shot back smoothly, earning a delighted laugh from Myst and a groan from Tommy.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” Elisa interjected with a good-natured eye roll, setting a plate of pancakes on the table. “Let them eat before you start grilling them like it’s an interrogation.”

“Thank you, Elisa,” Myst said sweetly, taking a seat beside George and nudging him playfully under the table. “And I’m sorry for, ah, disappearing on you yesterday afternoon.”

George couldn’t help but admire the way she handled herself, effortlessly charming, even when thrown into the deep end.

As breakfast continued, the teasing softened into easy conversation. Tommy’s kids peppered Myst with questions about her music (“What’s your favourite song you’ve ever written?” “Do you know Taylor Swift?”), and George found himself watching her again, marvelling at how seamlessly she fit into this little pocket of normalcy. It wasn’t glamorous or staged, but it was real. And maybe that was why it felt so important.

“Hey,” Myst said softly, nudging him out of his thoughts. Her expression shifted, more serious now, though her eyes still sparkled with the warmth that had drawn him to her in the first place. “So, I’ve got a few days before my next concert… Rome, actually. Would you come with me?”

“Rome?” George repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You mean, like... Italy?”

“Yes, George,” she said, laughing. “Italy. You’ve heard of it, right?”

“Funny,” he deadpanned, though a smile tugged at his lips. He leaned back in his chair, considering her for a moment. “You really want me to come?”

“Of course I do.” Her voice softened, her hand reaching for his under the table. “I want us to have more than just... stolen moments, you know? Even if it’s just for a few days.”

He stared at her for a beat longer, then nodded, his decision feeling as natural as breathing. “Alright. Let’s go to Rome.”

Her grin lit up the entire room, and George couldn’t help but feel like he’d just made the best choice of his life.

Chapter Twelve

The train hummed steadilybeneath them, carrying them through southern France towards Italy. Myst leaned against the window, her legs tucked under her, scrolling absently through her phone as George stretched his long frame across from her, one leg angled into the aisle. He had a paperback rugby memoir in one hand and a bag of gummy bears in the other.

“Do you evernotthink about rugby?“ Myst teased, when he paused to fish another gummy bear out of the bag and pop it in his mouth. Her pale blue eyes sparkled mischievously as she gestured at the book. “Even on a romantic train ride through the French countryside, you’re strategizing.”

George looked up, pretending to be scandalised, his deep voice laced with mock offense. “And do you evernotthink about Instagram? You’ve been glued to that thing for half the trip. What are you doing, checking if your followers approve of your snack choice?”

“First of all,” Myst said, holding up a finger as she tried not to laugh, “I was answering an email. Second, my fans love knowing what I’m snacking on, thank you very much. And thirdly,” she dramatically dropped the phone face down on the table, “I am now fully present for this riveting discussion about gummy bear tactics.”

“Good.” George popped a green gummy bear into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before leaning forward. “Because I could use some advice. Which flavor is the best team player, the red or the yellow?”

“Neither,” Myst said without missing a beat. “It’s the orange ones. Everybody underestimates them, but they always come through in the end.”

“Interesting theory,” he mused, nodding solemnly. “You’d make a decent coach, you know. If this whole music thing doesn’t work out.”

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