Chapter 3
Noah
It’s officially Opening Day.
And right now, we’re about to play the Twisters—one of our biggest rivals in the league.
The whole place is buzzing.
Our PR team has been laying it on thick all week. Posters, videos, hashtags, you name it.
They even had some local artists design these ridiculous cartoons showing our mascot—a massive Great Dane wearing a blue spiked collar—snarling at a giant tornado with fists and eyes.
It’s absurd.
Also kind of brilliant.
The kids in the stands absolutely love it.
The stadium itself is packed tonight.
Proper crowd, too.
Real rugby fans who understand the game.
You can tell by the noise. The rhythm of it. The chants rolling through the stands.
Of course, there are a few fans more interested in the players than the game scattered around as well, because every sport has them.
But it’s all good fun, isn’t it?
We line up in the tunnel as the announcer starts calling our names.
My shoulders roll loose as I bounce on the balls of my feet, adrenaline already humming through my veins.
This is the part I love.
The anticipation.
The roar.
The moment before everything explodes.
“Number two… your Carolina Rovers Hooker… NOAH WALKER!”
The noise hits me like a wall as I jog onto the pitch.
And then I hear it.
“SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL HOOKER!”
“Hit ‘em hard, Noah!”
“Hooker, hooker, hooker!”
I glance toward the stands.
Sure enough, fans are waving huge banners with my face printed on them alongside the slogan.
One of them even has a cartoon of me holding a rugby ball like it’s a weapon.
It’s loud.
A little crass.
But also very rugby.
I laugh and give them a quick salute before jogging into position.
Normally, this is the moment where everything in my head goes quiet.
Game mode.
Focus.
But right now?
My brain is a mess.
Because I can’t get her out of my head.
Chiara.
All bloody week she’s been avoiding me.
Ever since that little session in the physio room after Tank flattened me during practice.
Every time I walk into the facility she suddenly has somewhere else to be.
Another patient.
Another meeting.
Another reason not to look at me.
But I know what I saw that day.
The blush.
The way her eyes darkened.
The way she froze when we stood too close.
I didn’t touch her.
Not yet.
But I’ve been thinking about it.
Dreaming about it.
And the worst—or maybe best—part?
She’s thinking about it too.
Hell.
She said so. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to be a disappointment.
Which means I’ve got a plan.
The referee’s whistle cuts through the air as we huddle up.
“Alright, lads,” Tank says beside me. “Let’s smash these bastards.”
The pack roars its agreement.
But even as I crouch for the first play, one thought keeps circling through my head.
Tonight, after the game, there’s a little team party.
PR stunt. Sponsors. Drinks. Music.
And Chiara will be there.
This week she might’ve avoided me.
But tonight?
I’m not giving her the chance to slip away.
Because one way or another, I’m finally going to set the record straight.
And not just about the bedroom either.
I’m going to prove to one curvy little goddess that what I want from her goes a hell of a lot deeper than a tumble between the sheets.
This thing with Chiara… it’s gotten under my skin. Into my bones.
It’s not the usual crush. Not just lust or a passing bit of fun.
No.
With her? I want the whole bloody lot.
Her laugh. Her fire. Her stubborn refusal to fall for my nonsense.
I want mornings and arguments and victories and quiet nights.
And I’m done pretending otherwise.
Because when Noah Walker decides something matters?
He fights for it.
And this woman?
She’s worth every fight I’ve got.