Page 33 of Full Tilt
I’m on my feet before I realise I’ve moved, shouting, watching Camden throw himself into the breakdown like a man possessed. He’s relentless, tactical, every movement controlled strength. He clears a ruck with the kind of power that makes the crowd collectivelyooof, then lurches up again, barking something to a teammate I can’t hear.
And then, blessedly—finally—the whistle blows, and the stadium erupts.
Thousands of people become one deafening roar of celebration—flags waving, voices hoarse from yelling, cups of beer sloshing with careless joy. The guy next to me lets out a shout that’s half war cry, half sob of relief, clutching his pint like it’s the last one on earth.
I laugh, still half in disbelief, clapping along even though I’m not really part of it. Or at least I wasn’t, until now.
“Bloody hell,” the man says, turning to me with a grin that stretches to his ears. His face is flushed from sun and adrenaline, his white Seagulls jersey streaked with something that looks suspiciously like ketchup. “That last five minutes took years off my life.”
“Same,” I say, breathless, heart still hammering.
His mate—a shorter guy with mirrored sunglasses pushed onto his head and the most spectacular farmer’s tan I’ve ever seen—leans over, eyeing me speculatively. “First game?”
“Yeah,” I admit, wondering if it was my American accent or how much my inked skin, piercings, and black clothes make me stand out that has him asking. “First live one.”
“Well, you picked a banger. That tighthead—Crawford—he’s a wall. Don’t know how he keeps getting back up.”
My chest warms a little, pride sneaking in like a secret. “Yeah. He’s something.”
One of the guys beside me leans over, clearly catching my tone. “You a fan of his?”
“Yeah,” I say, keeping it neutral. “Seen a few of his matches.”
He nods, satisfied. “Solid player. Doesn’t say much, but he gets the job done.”
The men nod before turning back to the pitch where the players are still shaking hands, swarmed by kids and camera crews. I’m still on my feet, still scanning the field, still watching for one very specific figure in the middle of it all.
Camden moves with purpose, focused even in the aftermath. I catch glimpses of him—mud-streaked, jaw tight, his hair pushed back from his face, eyes scanning the crowd. For a moment, I wonder if he’s looking for me.
Probably not.
Still, I fish my phone from my jacket and fire off the text:
Me: Congrats, Captain. You earned that win. And I hope your offer still stands, because I could definitely go for a pint.
I hit Send before I can second-guess it.
Beside me, the older fan claps me on the back, hard enough to jostle my arm. “You’ll be back for the next one, then?”
I grin. “Yeah. I think I might.”
And I wait, phone in hand, eyes on the pitch, hoping.
The pub’slouder than usual. Doors are open to the early-evening air, the buzz of victory still fresh in everyone’s voices. There’s singing in the corner, and someone’s already spilled their pint before even reaching their table.
I get there early. Too early, I suspect, as I have no idea what Camden has to do after a game before he’s able to leave. I grab a beer at the bar, thank the server with a smile that’s probably too polite, and move to the side, trying not to look like I’m waiting for someone—even though, yeah, I absolutely am.
I nurse my drink. I check my phone even though there are no new messages. I pretend not to keep glancing at the door.
And then I see him.
Camden.
In a shirt and dark jeans that look sinfully hot, hair still damp from the showers, that same no-nonsense expression on his face that’s probably sent grown men running. And he makes a beeline straight towards me. My chest does something it really shouldn’t—a jump, a flicker—and I brace myself.
He stops in front of me, towering just enough to remind me how much space he takes up. There’s not quite a scowl onhis face, but it’s close. That usual furrow between his brows remains. Except his eyes… his eyes aren’t tense. They’re… searching.
“You came,” he says, voice low, already edging towards that familiar gravel.
