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remember most of the conversation. “Your practice is at two?” I asked nervously. My itinerary gave me the time. Chalk up one more check mark for idiocy.
    “Y eah. I won’t have time for more questions then, but you can watch and I’ll explain what you don’t understand tonight at dinner.”
    “Dinner?” I squeaked. Why would he want to go out with me?
    His fuck me smile appeared again. “Yes, I’d like to take you out.”
    “Van, I…”
    He cut me off, lifting his hands in the air, palms facing me. “Best behavior. You’ll have lots of questions. Rugby is nothing like football. Scoring is different, terms are completely different, and you’ll need clarification.”
    He’d correctly assumed I knew nothing about rugby , and I felt deflated. “Then I’ll buy you dinner,” I said so he knew this was business only. Not that I expected he wanted anything more than to embarrass me.
    He only laughed. “I’ll arm wrestle you for it. Come on, I’ll walk you out so you’re not mauled by one of the players.”
    Like that would ever happen. I don’t know where my snappy comeback came from ; it just fell out of my lips. “I take it rugby players do a lot of mauling?” I saved myself by pointing to his t-shirt.
    He laughed that low sexy chuckle of his and casually put his arm over my shoulder, steering me out of the locker room back to the front doors of the stadium. “You have no idea, baby.”
    Van w as so smooth, but, yuck, my father called me baby.
    With his arm around me, I could smell him again and I didn’t want to like it. But I did—too much. Surely he had women at his feet daily. Walking next to me, I judged him at a little over six foot. His muscular arm was bigger than my thigh. And that made me think of other bigger things. God, I was hopeless. A week ago I’d have bet good money that my wild side was gone forever. Now, I couldn’t think straight with his scent and the warmth of his arm wrapped around me. I had no idea how to wiggle away gracefully as he walked me clear to my car.
    For all my shyness and pride in appreciating a good mind, I was a sucker for the Van Stelsons of the world. Though really it wasn’t me, it was wild Cami and I needed to lock her away and throw out the key. I couldn’t handle another heartbreak at the hands of a jock.
    When we got to my car, Van gave me a final squeeze, like he had the right to do it—releasing me with a, “See you at practice, baby.” He walked away.
    Crap, crap, crap . I should know how to handle these situations. I jumped in the car and locked the door like he would turn around and attack me. I looked over my shoulder to check behind me before pulling out. A huge man leaned against the tailgate of a lifted smoke gray truck. Arms crossed, muscles bulging beneath a plain white t-shirt, he stared at me with an unpleasant expression. It took a moment before I realized it was Joel Stelson. His head turned slightly as I backed up, and the scar on his face showed prominently. It was almost scary. A shiver of awareness ran across my skin. I turned the steering wheel to pull forward. Joel was now even with my window, his gaze still locked on me. I gave a tentative smile. His expression never changed, and the look in his eyes told me to get away as quickly as possible.
    What the hell?
    I drove through the parking area and pulled onto the main street before taking a slow, deep breath of relief. I’d noticed Joel’s large size in the picture when he stood beside his brother, but the real life version was bigger and scarier. Eventually I needed to interview him and the thought wasn’t pleasing. If this was a typical adventure in sports journalism, I needed to request a series of articles on knitting. Large pointy needles were much less terrifying.

Chapter Six
     
    I had a half day to myself, though I needed to interview some rugby fans. I decided to eat lunch at The Slam Tavern and see if anyone would talk to me. Getting through the meeting with Van