Page 11 of Hard Ruck
He looked at me in surprise and almost dropped his stick. He grabbed it at the last moment and turned his sausage around. “You’re planning on having a long-term relationship with more than one of them?”
“Have you seen them?” I asked, joking lightly. “How could I choose one?”
“No idea,” he said dryly. “I don’t know how you could chooseanyof them.”
“You want me to choose you?” I kept the same joking tone, but I was curious. We hardly knew each other, but he was willing to insert himself into an already complicated situation. Mostguys wouldn’t. There was definitely more to the inside centre than I previously suspected.
“If I was you, I’d choose me,” he said evasively. “What happens if you want me and them?”
“Then you have to learn to get along with each other,” I said bluntly. “I’m a lover, not a mediator.” I decided my sausage was cooked and pulled it out of the fire. It was perfectly black on the outside. The smell made my mouth water.
Atlas handed me a couple of slices of bread and a bottle of tomato sauce. I squeezed on a big dollop before handing the bottle back to him and taking a bite.
“Mmm, so good.” The fire gave the meat a smoky flavour that only made it more delicious.
Atlas bit into his and nodded. “Nothing like food cooked on a fire.” Holding his in one hand, he reached into the cooler for a couple of beers. He opened both with his teeth and spat the lids aside, before handing one to me.
“Lucky I’m your doctor, not your dentist.” I nodded my thanks and swallowed down a gulp.
“Is that your goal?” he asked. “Team doctor for the Smashers?”
“Yeah, it is,” I said. There was no point in not answering honestly.
“Why them… Us?” he quickly corrected. “Why not the Devils? Or any other team? Why rugby?”
“Dusk Bay is my home,” I said. “And I might be obsessed with rugby players… I mean, rugby.” I grinned before taking another bite of my sausage.
“I think you meant the first one,” he teased. His expression quickly turned intense. His moods seem to change like the flick of a switch. Light one moment, dark and brooding in the next. If he wasn’t careful, he’d give me whiplash. “What do I have to do to make you obsessed with me?”
“Do you have marshmallows in that cooler?” I peered over but couldn’t see inside.
“If marshmallows are all it’ll take, I’ll buy you a truck full.” Flames flickered in his golden eyes. His mischievous side was back, for now.
“I don’t need a truck full,” I said. “It’ll take more than marshmallows to impress me anyway. They’d be a good start, though.” I didn’t mind surrendering to my sweet tooth once in a while. Especially if it took my mind off Belinda, wondering if she was still alive. If she hadn’t harassed me and the guys, she might have enjoyed toasting marshmallows on the beach with someone. There was no doubt in my mind she was regretting that life choice, if she was still breathing. If she wasn’t, I didn’t want to know what my brother did with her. The less I knew, the better. As long as he kept me out of it. No one would ever know I was involved.
“Only a Neanderthal or an idiot would take a woman to a beach with a fire and not bring marshmallows,” Atlas said. “Of course I brought those.”
Before I could say anything else, he added, “Growing up with five women, they made sure I wasn’t oblivious. I just give the impression I’m a massive meathead.”
“There’s definitely more to you than meets the eye, Atlas Underwood. You have me intrigued.” I meant that. His switches of mood and seeing the real him after what the guys said, were fascinating. I suspected there was a good guy under the tough exterior.
“You have me intrigued too, Doctor Chelsea Miller,” he told me. “Did you always want to be a doctor?”
“More or less,” I said. “Once I realised I wasn’t going to make it as a rugby player myself. Or a soccer player. Or a swimmer. The only things I was ever good at were dancing, and healing people.” I looked over at him.
“Is that what you’re doing?” he asked softly. “Healing me?” If he knew about the kind of dancing I used to do, he gave no indication. Either he didn’t know, or he knew and didn’t care. I suspected it was the former. Most guys couldn’t help themselves when they knew I took my clothes off for money. He might be that restrained, but I suspected not.
“I don’t think you’re as broken as you think you are,” I told him.
“No?” He looked sceptical. “I could be more broken than I think I am. Which is only slightly less broken than Storm Keller.”
“I think he’d consider that a compliment,” I remarked. Storm seemed to get off on his own brokenness. Revelled in it. He claimed he owned me and never backed down from that. Never had a moment of indecision or regret. He didn’t care how fucked up it was. I was his, that was that.
Atlas snorted just as he was about to take a sip of beer, making the bottle whistle. “Not even a little bit surprised. He likes being an asshole. The second he knew the Smashers signed me and Jay, he decided to make life hell for us. He can’t fucking help himself.”
“What about you?” I asked bluntly. “Did you take your frustration at the transfer out on him and the other guys?”
“Yep,” Atlas said with no hesitation. “I did, and so did Jay. I wasn’t going to pretend I was fucking happy about it. I’m not.”
