Physically?
I feel fantastic.
Mentally and emotionally?
I am a walking disaster.
Because this was supposed to be a fling.
A casual arrangement.
Two consenting adults relieving tension and moving on with their lives.
Except Noah did not receive that memo.
Not when he kisses me goodbye after practice like I belong to him.
Not when he shows up with coffee.
Not when he texts me dumb memes about scrums and pretends he doesn’t care whether I laugh.
But when I start to doubt or question it?
When I try to bring it up?
It’s right back into smexy fun times again—and there go my brains.
Which is why I am currently sitting in a fluffy white robe at a spa with a group of women who call themselves—God help us all—theLady Rovers.
It’s Carolina’s fault.
She started this wholecircle of friendsritual.
Finley loved it.
Annabeth thought it was hysterical.
Dani is all in.
And now, apparently, it’s a thing.
The spa itself is gorgeous—soft music, eucalyptus steam, lemon water with floating cucumbers like we’re all delicate forest nymphs instead of women who spend most of their time around sweaty rugby players.
Carolina is stretched out beside me, getting a facial.
Finley is scrolling through her phone, probably scheduling, or checking on her social media kingdom.
Annabeth is sipping champagne like she belongs in a magazine spread.
And Dani—Tank’s wife—is watching me with the sharp attention of someone who knows exactly when a person is about to crack.
Which means I am in trouble.
“Okay,” Finley says finally, lowering her phone.“You’ve been staring at that cucumber water like it cursed your firstborn for the last ten minutes.”
“What?No, I’m fine.”
“You are not fine,” Dani says.
