Tank claps him on the shoulder and they high-five like the pair of arseholes they are.
“Get yer shit together, lads!Run it again!”Coach Dane shouts.
I shake it off and reset for the drill.
And I try—honestly, I do—to focus.
But my mind keeps wandering back to this morning.
The way I slipped out of the room before Chiara woke up.
The way she looked sleeping there, curled into the pillow like she belonged in bed—my bed.
I left her a pink carnation right on the pillow I slept on before I went.
Swiped it from the continental breakfast tray the hotel had delivered upstairs.
A bit cheeky maybe.
But I liked the idea of her waking up and knowing I’d been thinking about her.
I also switched the room charges to my card at the front desk.
She’d probably argue about that if she knew.
Bullheaded?
Old-fashioned?
Maybe.
Definitely.
But there’s no universe where I let my girl pay for things while I’m around.
And I plan on being around.
With that thought in mind, I drag my attention back to practice.
Training is in an air-conditioned indoor facility, which is grand because Texas is so damn hot it makes me wonder if Hell can rival it.
The next two hours are brutal.
Full-contact drills.
Scrum resets.
Conditioning runs.
We’re sharing the field with one of the rival clubs in the tournament, which means the usual trash talk starts almost immediately.
It’s just guy nonsense.
Nothing serious.
I don’t pay much attention to it.
Not until I see her.
