Page 63 of Scrum Heat

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We’ve done sprints. We’ve done contact drills. We’ve done some kind of horrific uphill relay Finn called fun and I called an act of deep personal betrayal.

And now Coach has us in the middle of a high-intensity reactive sequence—which, for the record, is just chaos disguised as cardio.

Then—

“Rory.”

Stiletto boots. Sunglasses at full glare. Clipboard wielded like a weapon.

Evie.

I jog over to where she’s standing by the edge of the pitch, already bracing.

“Afternoon, boss,” I greet her.

Theo materialises beside me like a scent-triggered spectre.

“Evie!” he beams, hands on hips. “Finally—someone who recognises the artistic merit of my glutes.”

Evie doesn’t flinch. “You slow-mo lunged at the camera, Theo.”

“I slow-mogave the people what they wanted.” He flashes her a grin. “You’re welcome.”

She sighs. “You know, Frankie already cut that video down as much as she could, and Istillhad to edit out two full minutes of you making bedroom eyes at your own reflection.”

“Brand awareness,” he shrugs. “This body is our most profitable asset.”

I groan. “Are we really monetising our quadriceps now?”

“Don’t knock it. Wexford brought in twenty grand in one quarter from targeted thirst-trap highlights and a gym wear collaboration,” Evie says. “Do you want a new water bottle or not?”

“What, so you’re confirming that you’reactuallypimping out our thighs?”

“No. It’s strategic asset deployment,” she says smoothly. “And don’t look at me like that, Rory. I hate it just as much as you do, but the internet wants what it wants.”

Theo slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t fight it, Captain. We could do calendars. Limited edition. Signed. Maybe with glitter.”

“Glitter’s a biohazard,” I mutter.

Evie ignores him. “How’s Frankie?”

I glance toward the far edge of the pitch, where the rest of the team are finishing drills. Frankie’s perched on a bench with one of the club’s interns—Harper, I think—tapping something into her phone, jaw tight.

“She’s… holding it together.”

Evie raises an eyebrow. The kind that saystry again.

I sigh. “She’s brushing it off, but I know it’s getting to her.”

“She won’t show it,” Theo adds. “But she looked pale this morning. Didn’t touch her breakfast.”

Evie clicks her pen like she’s ready to use it on someone’s neck. “I told her not to read the replies, but I get it. Easier said than done.”

“Yeah. Even I read them. The first hundred were nice,” I mutter. “Didn’t expect the rest, though.”

Theo scowls. “It’s the same recycled omega hate. ‘Who did she blow for the job?’ That kind of crap.”

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