Page 68 of Dump Tackle My Heart
She glances up. Pauses.
Then she narrows her eyes.
“Ohhh. Sothat’swhy the big guy’s been walking around with the goofiest smirk on his face since before I got here at six a.m. He was practically humming in the locker room.”
I arch a brow. “Humming?”
“Like a man who’s spent the weekend getting laid, or he just won the lottery.”
“Maybe he just likes snow.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says, totally unconvinced.
“You two good?”
My stomach flips.
Because,yeah, we’re good. At least, Ithinkwe are.
But there’s a fine line between good and real, and I’m still trying to figure out where we land.
“We’re figuring it out,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek.
Finley smiles, soft but sly.
“Well, in case you missed it, you’re trending. Or should I say,you and Tankare. People are shipping it hard.”
“What?”
She taps the screen and turns it so I can see.
“Realtionshipping.You know, they are into this whole fake relationship thing. Very enthusiastic!”
I freeze.
There it is.
A blurry screenshot someone took from a long-range drone during the snowstorm.
The cabin, the glow of firelight through the window, and whatdefinitelylooks like a man hauling a blanket-covered woman out onto the porch to make snow angels.
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “Is that?—?”
“Yup,” she grins. “Welcome to fame, baby. You’re officially America’s sweetheart. And Tank is now ‘rugby’s sexiest sports snack.’”
I groan and bury my face in my hands.
This is fine.
Totally fine.
Just, you know, also a little bit terrifying.
“What’s the problem? You two were certainly lighting fires in those Thanksgiving sequences, I didn’t think this was a secret,” she observes,
“Oh, come on! I mean, yes, we were flirting a little in the clips I shared on the team’s socials. But I had no idea some paparazzi weirdo would stalk us and take a pic, for fuck’s sake!”
“There’s another,” she says, and her cheeks go bright red.
