Playing the Player (Sydney Smoke Rugby #3)

by Amy Andrews

  “Of course. But you’re doing fine, right? That’s what you told me?”

  “Yes,” she said, as much for herself as for the two women in the car as she put her seat belt on.

  “So don’t you want to show him you’re doing fine?”

  Em’s heart tap-danced at the thought of coming face-to-face with Linc. How pathetic was she, hoping for a glimpse of him, even when it’d probably tear her heart out all over again.

  “Yes,” she said again. Or it should want to be at least. And she was doing fine. If putting one foot in front of the other and getting to work on time every morning was fine.

  “All right then.” Harper smiled at her as she started the engine. “Let’s go do that.”

  An hour later they were seated in the stands at Henley. Being a charity match, they weren’t using the box. The stadium that, on game night, could sit fifty thousand only held about two thousand this afternoon, and the WAGs were out in the sunshine right down the front, soaking up the relaxed atmosphere.

  It was a family day; it was about fun and raising money, not winning or losing. It was hardly like the Smoke could go hard against their opponents—a mixed amateur team of welfare workers, shelter managers, and some local celebrities.

  It took Em less than a heartbeat of clapping eyes on Linc when he ran on the field to realise, despite putting one foot in front of the other, she was still impossibly in love with him.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m not doing fine.”

  Harper, sitting next to Em, nodded. “Yeah. I figured.”

  Her eyes ate him up. Her heart swelled inside her chest. He looked so strong and vital and perfect, and she’d missed him so damn much. “I still love him,” she said.

  Before meeting Linc, falling in love had been a tick in a box to accomplish on the way to her end goal—getting married. Proving that she could do what her parents hadn’t been able to. Creating the perfect family life that she’d missed out on as a child.

  But now it was everything. It was the end goal. As Harper had pointed out a month ago.

  Harper slid her hand onto Em’s and gave it a squeeze. “He still loves you, too.”

  Em nodded at the truth in her friend’s voice. Somehow that made her even more miserable. Of course he loved her. The guy who’d professed that it wasn’t for him had shown her that in so many ways. From checking all those crazy, impulsive things off her crazy, impulsive lists and helping out at her school to inviting her into his rugby family, giving her his grandfather’s clock, and finally opening up his mouth and saying those three little words.

  A guy who by rights could have been bitter and screwed up and angry all of his life.

  Why had she been so bloody insistent that he prove it to her in yet another way?

  She’d been a bloody idiot. A blinkered fool. Harper was right. Love was the goal. And she could take his love as the gift that it was and just enjoy it and him, or she could put provisos on it, keep asking him to quantify it, to prove it, and lose him forever.

  She stood abruptly. “What are you doing?” Harper asked, putting a stilling hand on Em’s arm.

  “I have to fix this,” she said, her heart beating madly, frantic suddenly to make it right. “I have to let him know that I don’t care about anything other than being with him.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to wait ’til halftime.” Harper laughed as she pulled Em back down into her seat. “It may just be a friendly out there, but there’s no point getting yourself injured. I have a feeling Linc’s going to want you in one piece.”

  Waiting for the clock to tick down on the first half was agony. Em’s left leg jiggled so much Harper ended up putting her hand on it to quell the distraction.

  At the halftime whistle, Em shot to her feet, her heart jiggling almost as fast as her leg. “Wish me luck,” she said to Harper.

  Harper grinned. “Go get your man.”

  It took Em a minute to work out how to actually get to where she wanted to go. The team didn’t go to the locker room, like they would normally at halftime, but hung around the sidelines. An emcee with a microphone in the middle of the field was encouraging the crowd to come up and say hi to the players, who were happily signing their names to whatever was thrust at them by enthusiastic kids and happy parents.

  There was one person who wasn’t signing autographs, though, and seemed to be scanning the stands for someone. “Linc,” she called, pushing past enthusiastic crowds to get to him.

  His eyes lit up when he saw her, and once she was clear of people she actually started to run toward him. God, how could she have passed up on the loving this man had offered her for an ideal that didn’t guarantee happiness, either?

  She launched herself at him as soon as she was near enough, practically crawling up his body to mash her mouth to his. He was sweaty and dirty and grassy, and nothing had ever felt this good. It felt like a decade since she’d kissed him, and she let him have it all. He groaned against her mouth, and for long moments she lost herself in a heady sexual beat.

  Em slowly became aware that people were clapping and cheering around them, but it didn’t matter. “I love you,” she said, pulling out of the kiss, noticing the smudge of grass on his cheekbone. “And I know you love me. You’ve shown me in so many ways, and I just went a little crazy there for a while, but I’m done with letting the past ruin my future. I don’t care about getting married. Ever. I just want to be with you. Let’s shack up, baby.”

  He laughed, but it faded quickly to a frown, drawing attention to the beads of sweat on his brow. “Oh dear.” He eased her down until her feet touched the ground again. “That’s going to be a bit of problem.”

  Em swallowed as a shot of dread hit her system like a slug of peach schnapps.

  Oh God. She’d really blown it.

  Somebody gasped nearby, and Em was grateful for the distraction, looking around wildly as more spectators gasped. Were they as shocked by Linc’s withdrawal from her as she was?

  “Oh wait, boys and girls, what’s that in the sky?” the emcee announced as Em tuned in some more, noticing people looking at the sky and pointing, becoming aware of the drone of an engine. “Is it a bird, is it a plane?”

  Linc looked up. Em, operating on autopilot, followed suit in the direction of everyone’s fingers. A light plane was approaching. Maybe there were skydivers going to jump from the plane. Land on the field with coloured smoke streaming from them. She’d seen that before at similar events.

  It was then she noticed that the plane had a banner trailing behind it, with a message written in bold red capitals.

  Marry Me Clementine Mildred Clarence Newman.

  Em read it several times over, its meaning taking longer to sink in than the words themselves. The clapping and cheering grew louder as the plane made its way across the sky. When she finally dragged her gaze away, Linc was grinning at her, the plane forgotten.

  Her pulse skipped madly as she stared at him. His beautiful, beautiful face. “I really don’t need you to marry me,” she said faintly.

  “Is that a no? Do you have any idea how much it costs per letter to propose this way? Your name has thirty-one letters. You can’t turn a man down after that.”

  Em smiled. “Em only has two.”

  He slid a hand onto her waist and dragged her close. She went willingly. “So marry me, Em.”

  “I…are you sure? I don’t need the piece of paper. Just you.”

  He dropped his head to rub his nose against hers, blocking out the rapturous response from the crowd. “I’m sure. I’m backing myself from now on.”

  Em couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Linc was making all her dreams come true. “We could wait a while?” she suggested. “We don’t have to do it straight away.”

  He shrugged. “If you want. As long as our life together can start today.”

  “Oh yes,” she said, going up high on her tippy toes, kissing him hard, clinging to his neck, not pulling away until she was good and ready.

>   She wanted every woman here to know that Lincoln Quinn was hers.

  He pulled something out of his pocket then and presented it to her. A box. A small velvet box. Em’s breath hitched. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Sure is,” he grinned, opening the lid. “It’s a one-carat princess-cut pink diamond set in platinum. Picked it out myself.”

  The women in the crowd gasped as the sun glinted off the facets. Em’s heart felt like it was going to break her ribs. “Princess cut, huh?”

  He smiled as he pulled it out. “I did my homework.”

  Her hand trembled as he grabbed it and slid the ring on. It fit perfectly. Just like Linc.

  “You like it?”

  “Like it?” She jiggled her finger, watching the sparkle as the diamond caught the sunlight. “I freaking love it.”

  He kissed her hard, pulling away as the hooter sounded for the second half to start. “Go,” she said, her voice husky, a lump the size of Sydney lodged in her throat. “Win the damn game, then take me home so I can show you just how much I love it.”

  She smiled, her gaze tracking him as he ran out onto the field.

  Her man.

  Hers.

  Always.

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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 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 things 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 a game that lasts five days to you…

  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 homo-erotic. 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 homo-erotic. 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!

  WAG–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 which 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.”

  Physio–Short for physiotherapist or, as in known in the US, physical therapist. An interesting side note–Australian nurse Sr. Elizabeth Kenny actually laid the foundations of what is now modern physiotherapy through her work with polio victims in the 1930s where she believed movement, not immobilisation was critical to recovery.

  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, eg. “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, eg. “That Johnno is a wanker.”

  Budgie Smugglers–A term (now an actual swimwear brand name) for a pair of tight Aussie swimming briefs (very, very brief) for men that shouldn’t ever be worn by anyone unless they are a buff Bondi life saver. So called for how snug they sit against the err…budgie…Yes, they are as gross as they sound.

  Uluru–For years the great big chunk of ochre in the middle of Australia that is one of our biggest tourist attractions was known as Ayres Rock, but we now know it by the name the first peoples of our country gave it–Uluru. If it’s familiar, it’s probably because “that dingo took my baby” really put it on the map….

  Grade point average–Universities score GPAs out of seven here in Oz and it goes up in .1 increments.

  Witches hats–Bright orange fluorescent traffic cones so named because they look like a witch’s hat. Apart from being bright orange. And not something any respectable witch would be caught dead wearing.

  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, collaboration, and her cheerleading.

  Thanks, once again, to Heather Howland for the fabulous cover and Lindee Robinson, photographer, for shooting it.

  To David Grice and Jon O’Brien who continue to promptly answer my crazy rugby questions with head-spinning thoroughness. It’s nice to have a couple of gurus on speed dial.

  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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