“You must be Chiara!”she says immediately.
“That obvious?”I ask.
“Well,” she says, eyeing my suitcase and the slightly shell-shocked expression on my face, “you’ve got the ‘new girl who just moved here and hasn’t yet been tackled by a 250-pound forward’ look.”
“That bad?”
“Give it time.”
I blink.
She laughs and sticks out a hand.
“Mitchell Knight said to send you straight to the indoor paddock.Practice is already underway.”
Yep.It definitely is.
The sounds of shouting, cleats, and bodies colliding echo down the hall like a small war.
I follow the noise until the hallway opens into the massive indoor field.
And then I stop.
Holy hell.
I knew rugby players were big.
But seeing them up close?
It’s like someone released a pack of Greek statues onto an unsuspecting populace.
Men built like trucks slam into each other, bodies colliding with a bone-rattling force that makes my professional brain catalog injuries automatically.
Shoulder strain.
Possible hamstring pull.
Minimum two concussions just waiting to happen.
And then there’s him.
He stands out immediately.
Massive.
Broad shoulders.Glossy hair.Striking blue eyes.
And a scowl carved permanently across his face like the world personally offended him before breakfast.
“I see you’ve noticed our resident bad boy,” the woman from the front desk says suddenly, appearing beside me like a cheerful ghost.
I jump slightly.
“Oh!Um—yeah.I’m just doing a quick catalog of who might be needing me sooner rather than later.”
“I see,” she says thoughtfully.“Well, Noah is definitely going to need you.”
“Really?”
