Page 30 of Scrum Heat

It’s happening anyway.

I bury my face in the edge, breathing in Finn like his scent might ground me instead of completely undo me. My hips grind into the plush fabric, slow and needy, chasing a friction I can’t reason with anymore.

But it’s Theo’s voice that plays again in my mind.

"Go lower, sweetheart. I want you shaking."

I moan into the blanket, into the scent, into the madness I’ve somehow agreed to cohabitate with.

I force my eyes to stay open as the video cuts to Finn—his training shirt riding up, green eyes wide, cheeks flushed, all sweet, golden-boy apocalypse—and it only makes it worse. I canfeelhis warmth, the weight of his kindness. The way he’d whisperit’s okay, I’ve got youwhile his body pressed mine into the mattress.

My thighs tense as I grind down harder, my slick soaking straight through my panties.

"Frankie,"video-Theo drawls—closer, deeper,rougher—

And I come.

Hard.

My orgasm crashes through all hot and sharp, leaving me whimpering into a peppermint-scented blanket. My thighs tremble with the force of it, and my chest heaves as I attempt to steady my breathing.

And then—nothing.

Nothing except heavy, embarrassed silence.

I flop back against the blankets, Finn’s blanket still tangled between my sticky thighs, hair matted and pressed up on my sweaty forehead.

Holy. Shit.

I twitch as I blink up at the ceiling, then at the phone—

Then the stain on my moral record.

Fuck.

I’m going to hell.

Chapter Nine

Frankie

Evie left town three days ago without warning. There was no meeting, no briefing—just a voicemail timestamped at 6:12 a.m.

“Something’s come up, and I have an emergency meeting over in Denton Vale. I’ll be back before the end of the week.Don’tlet Theo post anything without supervision—including on his personal accounts.”

That last part felt targeted.

When I asked the guys what was going on, I got four very different levels of unhelpful.

Rory said club drama. Jax muttered something about lawyers and wouldn’t make eye contact. Theo claimed it involved a cursed foam roller and a decades-long pack feud that escalated into property damage and “at least one mild haunting.” Meanwhile, Finn blinked, looked around at the others, and then nodded like the whole thing made sense.

I quickly realized that no one reallyknows, but whatever it is, it’s bad—the kind of bad that makes the club’s Director of PRand Internal Affairs disappear mid-week in a tailored blazer and heels that could wound.

All anyone agrees on is that it has something to do with Denton Vale RFC—one of Alderbridge’s oldest rivals. Apparently, the tension goes way back to at least two generations of grudges. Something about a player poaching scandal in the nineties, an unsanctioned bond during a summer tournament, and one particularly controversial incident involving a mascot and a smoke bomb.

There’s not much I can do. Evie didn’t tell me anything beyonddon’t let Theo near the internet,and I’ve already changed three of the club’s passwords.

So, in the meantime, I start a new note in my phone titledPossible Rugby Beef. You know—just in case.

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