by Andrews, Amy
Juliet blinked, her chest expanding at the gesture, her air thick as tar in her lungs. “Really? That was sweet.”
He winced a little at the compliment but took it on the chin. “It was Spidey’s idea. But he was right,” he added hastily. “I needed a kick up the bum. He’s not as dumb as he looks.”
Juliet made a mental note to kiss Bodie hard on the lips next time she saw him.
“So my poster made you change your mind?”
“Sort of. I was standing there, feeling worse and worse about leaving, and then there you were, looking at me, and the whole world fell out from under me. I knew. I just knew that I’d been kidding myself, that I’d fallen for you. So I couldn’t go to Italy. Not today. I couldn’t live with myself if I went away without giving us a chance.”
“To think I hated doing that goddamn ad.” He laughed and it settled deep into her marrow. “It was freezing and raining and the photographer was a snob who usually shot for Vogue and had a hard-on about his”—Ryder made air quote with his fingers—“vision and did not appreciate working with amateurs.”
She smiled. “If I was into any of that woo-woo stuff, I’d say it was a sign.” At the very least, it felt like their stars were aligning. His hand slid over hers and she entwined her fingers with his.
“You want to come home with me?” Mona growled and he grinned. “And Mona.”
Juliet laughed. “Yes. But just so you know, I’ll be sleeping in the spare room. With Mona. There is no way in hell I’m having sex with you again until you take me to Italy at the end of the footy season because I’m going then—with or without you. I’m not giving up my dream, Ryder.”
She loved him and she wanted to be with him, but she wasn’t nineteen anymore. She could have her man and her dream. She’d make it work.
“You sure know how to motivate a guy.”
For a man who’d just been told he wasn’t getting any for months, Ryder didn’t seem too perturbed by her edict. “I like to think so.”
“Except I have it on reliable information that you couldn’t stay celibate that long.”
Hell no, she couldn’t. Not with Ryder walking around the apartment in his Akubra and underwear. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll stock up on batteries.”
He leaned in on his elbows. “Can I watch?”
Juliet leaned in, too. “As long as you don’t mind me using you as a visual stimulus.”
He groaned, nuzzling his lips against her temple. “You can use me any damn way you please. But”—he cleared his throat and straightened, making an obvious effort to pull himself together as he reached into his back pocket—“there’ll be no need for celibacy.”
He placed what looked like a travel wallet on the desk between them and slid it toward her.
“Will you take this as a guarantee? Two business class tickets to Rome in September. The season will be over, and I’m reliably informed it’s the best time to visit Italy.”
Juliet blinked, her eyes suddenly swimming in hot tears as she stared at the tickets. Italy. Business class.
For six weeks.
“I know you wanted to go for longer, to live there for a while, so I’ve also rung my manager, he’s going to put out some feelers to some Italian clubs, see if I can get a contract there next year.”
Juliet glanced up sharply, blinking rapidly. “What?”
He reached across with both his hands and took both of hers. “I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your lifelong dream, Juliet. I want to share your dream with you. If you’ll let me. Will a year be long enough?”
Juliet couldn’t believe what she was hearing. A whole year? “Yes, but…you’d leave the team? For me?”
He nodded. He didn’t hesitate. “As long as I’m with you and I’m playing rugby. That’s all I need. It’s all I’m ever going to need.”
She hadn’t expected that kind of sacrifice. Would never have asked it of him. Her heart felt like the sun in her chest, impossibly big and shiny. “I…don’t know what to say.”
“How about ‘I love you?’”
“Yes.” A sudden well of tears spilled down her cheeks and she smiled at him through them. “Yes. I love you. So much.”
Juliet took three steps to the latch that lifted the segment of counter and was through the other side and in his arms in a flash. “I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you, too,” he whispered back.
She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him until Mona, clearly bored of their display, yipped. They broke apart, his lips drifted to her temple. “Please tell me you’re not going to make me wait until September to be inside you again.”
Juliet sighed. “If Margie wasn’t here I’d be climbing you like a damn tree.”
His soft chuckle ruffled her hair. “Then let’s go home.”
“You hear that, Mona?” Juliet glanced at the dog. “We’re going home.” She yipped again and Juliet’s heart squeezed as Ryder scooped Mona up and tucked her against his chest.
No guy carrying a tiny, yippy dog with a snaggletooth and a pink ribbon should look so damn manly. But Ryder Davis did. And he was all hers. Forever.
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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 homoerotic. Win/win.
Maul— The good kind. It’s when at least three rugby players from either side—one with the ball—are in contact together to challenge possession. Yes, another man hug! Sounds
positively delicious, doesn’t it?
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.
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.
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.
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 are 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.”
Boardies— Shortened (of course) from board shorts, the knee-length shorts worn to the beach by blokes, although women wear them as well.
Togs— Some Aussies call swimming suits togs. No one knows why.
Starkers— Completely, utterly, 100 percent naked.
Bum bag— Known as fanny packs in the USA. But a fanny here in Australia is a “front bottom” on a woman and none of us can keep a straight face calling them that…
Hard yakka— Yakka is work. So, any job that’s heavy or difficult or requires muscle is hard yakka. Also a rugged brand of clothing designed to survive said yakka.
Cattle station— A farm or a ranch where cattle are raised. Usually has to be a very big property to be considered a station.
Woop woop— Out in the middle of bloody nowhere. Usually where you can find most cattle stations!
Ute— Short (just for something different) for utility vehicle. Similar to the pickup.
Fair dinkum— Slang for something that is true or genuine. “Fair dinkum, mate, that bloody cattle station out woop woop got six inches of rain last night.”
Cooee— An Aussie bush call used to attract attention. Or a way of describing how near or far something is. “I was within bloody cooee of Bazza.” Or “I wasn’t in bloody cooee of Bazza.”
Yobbo— An uncouth individual. Or Aussie for dickhead.
Dud root— Someone who is bigly bad in bed.
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 Jessica Turner and everyone in publicity and marketing and to Liz Pelletier for her faith, editing insights, collaboration, cheerleading, and for that week on Keswick Island.
Thanks once again to the Entangled cover fairies 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.
Extra special thanks to Amanda Cinelli who helped me out with the Italian phrases. From the bottom of my heart, grazie.
And many thanks to Elise Lee for her company on Keswick and her help with the tagline.
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.
Discover the Sydney Smoke Rugby series…
Playing by Her Rules
Playing it Cool
Playing the Player
Also by Amy Andrews
No More Mr. Nice Guy
Ask Me Nicely
Taming the Tycoon
The Colonel’s Daughter
’Tis the Season to be Kissed
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