Playing it Cool (Sydney Smoke Rugby) (17 page)

Everyone in the room sprang to their feet, clapping like crazy. Harper stood, stunned, looking down into his breathtakingly handsome face as the crowd hushed again, waiting for her answer.

Could this
really
be happening?

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a ring for you right now,” he said. “I hadn’t really planned this.”

Harper gave a half-laugh.
Clearly
. He was obviously suffering from temporary insanity. Or maybe it was a sign they should slow things down. She didn’t want any buyer remorse come tomorrow. “Maybe you need to think about it a bit more?”

He shook his head. “Hell no, baby. When I know what I want I go for it, and I want you. Every day. Not just Sundays. And I’m not going to rest until I put a ring on it.”

“Hey, Dex!” The interruption brought Harper back to the reality of where they were. Suddenly Tanner was jogging up to the stage. When he was close enough, he lobbed something which Dex, still on bended knee, duly caught. It was the round plastic ball from their goody bag, and he smiled at it as he cracked it open and a plastic ring with a gaudy red fake stone in the shape of a heart fell out into his hand.

“Well?” he said, holding it up. “What do you say?”

“Say yes,” someone called out.

Harper smiled even as tears pricked her eyes, her chest so full of love for him she could barely breathe. He loved her and wanted to marry her. He thought she was sexy and proved it by his very public declaration.

What more could a woman ask for? Especially when she loved him so much it hurt.

“Yes,” she whispered.

The audience went into meltdown as Dex shoved the ring on her finger then hauled himself to his feet. “But you can’t give up rugby,” she said, raising her voice over the mad applause as she planted a hand on his chest keeping him back. His pecs strained against her hold. “Because you’ve worked too hard for that. Plus, mac and cheese is not thigh friendly.”

He grinned. “I, on the other hand, am
very
thigh friendly.” He pulled her toward him and she went willingly. “Something I plan to prove to you every day.”

Harper slid her arms around his neck, accepting the hungry slant of his mouth with an answering hunger of her own. It had only been a handful of days since he’d kissed her but it felt like an age.

And it was good.
Very
good. It felt like forever.

And promised it, too.

Epilogue

Harper couldn’t believe the difference a month could make, as she and Dex hosted a BBQ in his back yard for the team and their families after their win the previous night.

She’d already moved in, turning Dex’s sparsely appointed inner city pad into a home, instead of just a place to eat and sleep. Her furniture fit right in with the polished blonde floorboards, as did the addition of colourful rugs and curtains. Her art decorated the walls, and she’d just started working on a mural—a wicked version of the smoke and flames she’d painted on Dex’s body—on the wall above their bed.

It was strong and masculine and turned her on just looking at it.

“So you guys set a date yet?” Valerie asked, as a few of them huddled around the BBQ watching Dex flip steaks and turn sausages. Jace and Tabby were frolicking in the nearby pool with some of the other kids, and the smell of charred beef and frying onions hung heavy in the air.

“As soon as humanly possible,” Dex growled, slipping an arm around Harper’s waist and planting a kiss on her neck.

“Dude,” Linc said. “Don’t tell me you’ve put a bun in her oven already? Jeez!”

Donovan clipped Linc across the head. “Just because no one wants to be impregnated with your demon spawn doesn’t mean others don’t want to procreate.”

Linc grinned, completely unabashed. He winked at Em, who was standing next to Harper. “Yeah, but plenty of women want my demon
seed
.”

Em folded her arms. “Not even in the ninth circle of hell. Not even if you were the last man on earth.”

Linc clutched at his heart as if he’d been wounded, and everyone laughed. Harper had to give it to Em. She’d stuck to her guns where men were concerned, and Harper was damn proud of her. Em was working her shit out, and she was stronger because of it.

“No,” Dex said, looking into her eyes as the laughter died down, and Harper’s heart just about burst out of her chest. “We’re not pregnant. But I can’t wait to give this woman one more curve.”

He kissed her then, and she melted into him, uncaring of their audience. It was hard to believe this man who had wanted only rugby a couple of months ago now wanted it all. Rugby, marriage, kids.

The whole enchilada.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryder grouched. “You’re going to incinerate the bloody snags if you’re not careful.”

Harper pulled away, grinning. “I want a whole damn rugby team, Dexter Blake.”

There was clapping and cheering at her statement, and Harper’s chest felt tight. She was a part of them, and she was so grateful to these guys and their women for the way they’d embraced her.

Dex’s eyes widened a little bit, then he broke into a grin, too. “You’re on. Is it rude to ask everybody to leave so we can get started?”

Harper laughed. “It’s okay, we’ve got time.” And she kissed him again.

They had all the time in the world.

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Glossary

I’ve probably used some words in here that some readers may not know—both rugby ones and strange Aussie-isms alike. So I thought a handy-dandy glossary might help. It is, of course, written entirely from my perspective and so is heavily biased, female-centric, and quite possibly dodgy. It probably wouldn’t stand up to any kind of official scrutiny.

Footy—
We love this term in Australia. The confusing thing for most non-Aussies is they never know which game it refers to because we have three separate but distinct codes of football in Australia:

1. Rugby League (Jarryd Hayne played this code before he went and played Gridiron).

2. Rugby union—the code the Sydney Smoke play, and the one this series is based upon (Jarryd Hayne tried his hand at this code for a bit after the whole Gridiron thing didn’t work out but is now back playing League).

3. Aussie rules football—different altogether. Tall, fit guys in really tight shorts.

There is also soccer but we don’t really think of that as football in the traditional sense here in Australia.

The confusing thing is we refer to all of them as the footy, e.g., “Wanna go to the footy, Davo?” And somehow we all seem to know which code is being referred to at any given time. Even more confusing, the ball that is used in each code is often also called the footy, e.g., “Chuck me the footy, Gazza.”

Pitch—
Apparently the rugby field is called a pitch but colloquially here we just call it the footy (see, I told you we liked that term) field. A pitch is more a cricket term. No, don’t worry, I won’t ever try to explain to you a game that lasts five days…

Ruck—
No, not a typo. That’s ruck with an R, ladies! Happens after a tackle as each team tries to gain possession of the ball.

Line-out—
that weird thing they use to restart play where each team lines up side by side, vertical to the sideline, and one of the guys throws the ball to his team and a few of the guys from that team bodily lift one dude up to snatch the ball out of the air. It’s like rugby ballet. Minus the tutus. And usually with more blood.

Scrum—
another way to gain possession of the ball. I’m going to paraphrase several definitions I’ve read: a scrum is when two groups of opposing players pack loosely together, arms interlocked, heads down, jockeying for the ball that is fed into the scrum along the ground. It’s like a tug of war with no rope and more body contact or, as I like to call it, a great big man hug with a lot of dudes lying on top of each other at the end of it all. Very homoerotic. Win/win.

Try—
a goal. Except in rugby union, we don’t say someone scored a goal, we say someone scored a try after they’ve dived for the line and a bunch of other guys have jumped on top to try and stop it from happening. Very homoerotic. Win/win. A try is worth five points.

Haka—
a ceremonial dance performed by all Polynesian cultures but made famous by the New Zealand All Blacks rugby team, who perform it before every match in an awesome, spine-chilling display of power, passion, and identity. I’m sure it’s only coincidental that it’s also crap-your-pants scary. There are few things more fearsome than an advancing All Black haka!

WAGS—
wives and girlfriends. These are partners of the dudes that play rugby. Although we also use the term here in Oz to refer to partners of our cricket players. I think in the UK, WAGS is also a term used for football (soccer) partners.

Pash—
not a footy term but one I used a couple of times that confused the heck out of my editor. A pash is a kiss e.g. “Did you pash him, Shazza.” It’s the Aussie equivalent to the British term snog.

Akubra—
an iconic Australian brand of hat worn by country guys and gals. Vaguely similar to the Stetson, but I’ll probably have my nationality revoked for saying so! It has a distinctive shape that’s about as Aussie as vegemite.

Chocolate topping—
this is what we call chocolate syrup and you put it on your ice cream. Although I’m fairly sure it gets put on other things as well, none of them food.

Lolly—
Americans call it candy, the Brits call it a sweetie, we call ’em lollies.

Arvo—
in that long tradition of shortening everything and sticking an O on the end, this is Aussie for afternoon, e.g., “Hey Robbo, whatcha doin’ this arvo?”

Wank—
to wank is to masturbate. Pretty much always referring to a guy. Although, we embrace all terms for this biological process. Jerking/jacking/tossing off are well known, as is spanking the monkey and choking the chicken (or chook, as we say here). There’s also the term “wanker,” which is actually rarely used to describe one who wanks. We much prefer to use this as an insult for someone who is a bit of a jerk, e.g., “That Johnno is a wanker.”

Acknowledgments

My thanks, as always, go to the team at Brazen. A hell of a lot of work goes on behind the scenes to get these fabulous books into your hands, and it’s much appreciated. Special thanks to Kaitlyn Osborn for doing all that publicity stuff, and to Liz Pelletier for her editing insights, her collaboration, and her cheerleading.

To Heather Howland for the fabulous cover, and Lindee Robinson, photographer, for shooting it. A cover shoot has long been on my author bucket list, and I am beyond thrilled that this has finally come to fruition.

My undying gratitude to David Grice and Jon O’Brien for their continued help with all the rugby stuff I don’t understand. There’s Google, but these guys are better.

About the Author

Multi-award-winning and
USA Today
bestselling author
Amy Andrews
is an Aussie who has written fifty romances, from novellas to category to single-title in both the traditional and digital markets for a variety of publishers. Her first love is steamy contemporary romance that makes her readers tingle, laugh, and sigh. At the age of sixteen, she met a guy she instantly knew she was going to marry, so she just smiles when people tell her insta-love books are unrealistic because she did marry that man and, twenty-odd years later, they’re still living out their happily ever after.

She loves good books, fab food, great wine, and frequent travel—preferably all four together. She lives on acreage on the outskirts of Brisbane with a gorgeous mountain view but secretly wishes it were the hillsides of Tuscany.

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