Page 115 of Playing for Keeps
Along with being the anchor in Australia’s back line, Mitch Ashdown was almost as well known for his modeling and TV work as he was for his moves on the field. I’d heard his nickname among his teammates was Show Pony, and it didn’t surprise me.
Apparently an advertising campaign featuring him on a billboard in his underwear had caused the crash rate to go up by over fifty percent.
He walked up to me, holding out his hand. “Good game.”
“Thanks.” I shook his hand.
His grin was full of cocky bravado. He dropped my hand but took another step toward me, intruding into my personal space.
“I’ve got two words for you, Hunter,” he said, his voice low and husky.
“What’s that?”
He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against my ear. “Next time.”
I drew back.
He arched an eyebrow, a flirtatious smirk on his face.
Was that just part of his cocky persona, that he flirted with everything that moved? Or was there something else going on?
A former member of Australia’s international rugby team had come out as gay years ago, but only after he’d stopped playing. Currently the Australian team had no openly out players that I knew of.
Sorry mate, I’m taken.
“Bring it on,” I said.
He tipped his head back and laughed. He threw me a saucy wink then sauntered away.
I watched after him, bemused. I was sure Mitch Ashdown had no shortage of admirers, both male and female. Gorgeous guy, but fuck, he’d be a handful. And I couldn’t be further from “on the market” right now.
“Hey, Hunter,” someone called. I turned to find Jansen approaching me. He offered a beer, which I took.
“Your contract with the Marauders was only for this season, right?”
“Right,” I said slowly.
“You should think about joining the Greens next season.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to tempt me over to the dark side?”
Jansen looked at Kelso coming past us.
“Eh, Kelso, I’m telling Miracle Man he should sign with us. Our back line would be unbeatable.”
Playing alongside the two New Zealand starting wingers would give me a massive advantage to being the starting fullback. A season’s worth of chemistry would make it hard for the New Zealand selectors not to give me the nod.
But I had a hell of a lot of reasons to stay in Christchurch right now.
“Nah, I don’t see myself becoming a JAFA,” I said.
Jansen rolled his eyes. JAFA, which stood for Just Another Fucking Aucklander, was a beloved term in most parts of the country, but understandably most Aucklanders had less enthusiasm for it.
I shot the shit with my teammates and some of the Aussie players for another half hour before making my excuses and heading to Ethan’s hotel.
Ethan opened the door with the widest smile on his face. He was still wearing his New Zealand supporters’ jersey, and his face was painted with a silver fern on each cheek.
I stepped inside the hotel room. Then I grabbed him, backing him into a wall, boxing him in between my arms, and proceeded to kiss him fiercely. Ethan kissed me back just as desperately, his teeth grazing my bottom lip, his tongue stroking up against mine.
