Page 40 of Playing Rucking Hard

Emma shakes her head, laughing softly. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not when what I want is right in front of me, and she’s just refusing to know it.”

Her smile falters for a second, replaced by something softer, more hesitant. “Dylan, this... whatever this is... it can’t happen.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

I lean forward, dropping my voice. “Rules are meant to be bent, Emma. And we’ve already broken them once.”

She swallows hard, her fingers tightening around her mug. “I can’t. I shouldn’t.”

“You can and we should.”

“But … my job. I should walk out of here and toss all my blank origami dragons in the nearest bin … but I can’t. I should, but I can’t … even though I know you’re trouble.”

“The best kind,” I say, and for a moment, we just sit there, staring at each other. All I can think about is whether our hotel room would still be available, and how quickly I can convince Emma to meet me there.

“Why are you even interested in me? Surely there are a million other women who wouldn’t play so hard to get? There must be other women who would love to fake fake date you.”

I laugh, not wanting to admit that when it comes to team fan mail, I’m in the top three of requests for signed everything from footballs to jerseys and photographs. The team has even asked me to do personalized video messages to raise money for local rugby league clubs so they can provide equipment for all the kids who want to play. I’m working out the logistics with my agent, but need a way of vetting the requests. I can see a whole basketful of clusterfucks if I start sending happy birthdays to teenage girls.

“What’s so funny?” Emma asks. Do I tell her the truth, or lie?

“Truth?”

“No, lie to me and see how far that gets you.”

“I don’t date. I don’t date the women who come on to me after a game.”

“You just screw them?”

“If we’re talking last year, sure. After a game, the adrenaline is pumping, and either I need to celebrate or commiserate. Either works better when there’s a head between my legs.”

“Nice imagery.”

“I said … last year. Ask me about this season.”

“We’re only a couple of games into this season. Are we talking double or triple figures?”

“Zero.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I haven’t been with another woman since you vacated my bed … and I mean after our first time.” Emma looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads. “Let me break it down for you. I haven’t accepted one invitation to fuck another woman, and I have not liaised with any one-use girls.”

Emma arches an eyebrow at me, her lips twitching with a barely concealed smile. “One-use girls? Did you really just say that out loud?”

I groan and run a hand through my hair, feeling my face heat. “Yeah, not my best choice of words. Look, I’m trying to be honest here.”

“Well, congratulations. You’ve succeeded in being both honest and incredibly awkward,” she says, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“Awkward?” I feign offense, leaning back in my chair. “I’ll have you know, I’m very smooth under normal circumstances.”

Emma leans forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Oh, I can tell. You’re a real Casanova, stumbling through conversations about yourone-use girls.”

I chuckle despite myself. “Alright, alright. Forgive me. I’m out of practice.”

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