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“Glutton for punishment, huh?”
He grinned, thinking about all the ways being with her was punishing him, forcing him to be so close to something he couldn’t have. “You might say that.”
“So… rugby?”
“I was going to see if you wanted to come by tomorrow,” he said. “It’s indoors during winter.”
“Come by to watch you play?” she asked.
He winced. “It sounds so narcissistic when you say it like that.”
She smiled. “I don’t know…”
He knew what she was thinking: that it was a terrible idea, that it would look bad for both of them, that they’d already pushed the envelope by having a second meal together.
He’d thought all of the same things, and yet he couldn’t help the fact that he was almost desperate to see her again.
“Your call. We play at Union Point at four tomorrow. It’s down in Weymouth.” He hesitated before taking a couple steps backward. “No hard feelings if you don’t make it. But I hope you do.”
12
Alexa parked her car in the lot outside the sports complex and got out before she could change her mind. She’d spent half of the last twenty-four hours calling herself an idiot for even considering Nick’s invitation and the other half rationalizing her desire to go. She’d fallen asleep no closer to a decision than she’d been when she parted ways with Nick outside The Friendly Toast, but when she’d woken up Sunday morning she’d showered, dressed, and gotten in her car as if the decision had been made for her.
Union Point was a sports complex comprised of several white domes, plus a nondescript concrete building that looked like office space. She assumed the domes were taken down in summer to allow for players to compete outdoors, but she didn’t know all that much about sports so she couldn’t be sure.
She crossed the strip of pavement that separated the parking lot from the complex and realized she had no idea which dome was host to Nick’s rugby game. They hadn’t exchanged numbers, but when she got closer to the first dome she saw a sign announcing an indoor soccer game.
She tucked her chin into her coat as she moved onto the next dome, her stomach fluttering. She didn’t know if it was because she was going to see Nick again or because she felt exposed, like all the other people hurrying to and from the domes knew she was an assistant AG fraternizing with the subject of a potential indictment.
It was a paranoid notion. No one gave her a second thought. Her title was impressive, but she was just one of many assistant AGs in the county. No one knew her from Adam, and they definitely didn’t know anything about her lineup of potential cases.
The sign on the second dome listed the event taking place as a rugby game between a team named Old Gold and one named Boston Rugby. Did Nick play for one of the teams on the sign? Or was rugby a bigger deal than she’d realized? Maybe all this time when she’d assumed everyone spent Saturday and Sunday grocery shopping and picking up their dry cleaning and dusting their apartment, they were really running around the city playing rugby.
She ducked into the dome, hoping she would be able to make Nick out from the sidelines so she wouldn’t spend the next hour (or two? three?) watching the game only to realize it had been the wrong game all along.
She shouldn’t have worried. It took her less than two minutes to spot him, wearing black shorts with one of the black and gold jerseys. He stood with his teammates, waiting for the next play (whatever that was), and she felt a thrill of lust at the expression on his face.
This wasn’t the Nick Murphy she’d gotten to know over waffles and eggs, the one with the easy smile and the warm green eyes. This Nick Murphy wore a vicious expression, his eyes flat and cold as he surveyed the field, his body coiled and ready for action.
She stayed along the edge of the dome, watching as the whistle blew and the men sprang into action, throwing and kicking a ball down the field. It was like soccer but with hands, and a lot rougher. She remembered from soccer when she was kid that you weren’t allowed to use your hands, but here it seemed anything was fair game. The players grabbed at each other’s clothes and locked each other in wrestling holds, sometimes dog-piling on one player all at once.
Her heart raced as she watched, wincing when Nick was put into a headlock by a player from the other team. He spun to get free, then leapt on the guy who’d been holding him, both of them falling onto the Astroturf in a tumble of legs and arms.
She had no doubt there were rules of some kind: she just didn’t know what they were, and she had to admit there was something strangely satisfying about the spectacle. It was competition on a primal level, a place where the urge to tear at an opponent, to win by any means necessary, was still allowed.
She watched Nick grapple and kick and was ashamed to feel the bloom of moisture between her legs.
She stuffed down both the desire and the shame. She couldn’t be faulted for biology. Civilization as she knew it had existed for a relatively short period of time in the grand scheme of things, and she worked in an office surrounded by polite men in suits and ties. It was only natural that she would have a visceral reaction to something so raw.
When the final whistle blew, the men broke apart, patting each other on the back like they were old friends even though a minute earlier they’d been fighting it out like gladiators.
Alexa was wondering how to go about approaching Nick, if she should even bother or if she should duck out of the dome while she still had a chance to rethink the recklessness of coming at all, when he started toward her, a lazy grin transforming his face back into the man she’d talked to over French toast and coffee.
He stopped a foot away and her heart battered against her chest, another shot of lust shooting through her core. She caught the scent of soap and sweat and the musky scent of maleness so primitive she had to shut her mind against the image of him naked and moving over her.
“You came.” He smiled, making no effort to hide his pleasure.
“I was curious. I’ve never watched rugby before.”
