Playing Offside by Jax Calder
Tyler
No matter how much you dreamed about it, nothing could prepare you for the reality of New Zealand rugby training camp. Training with the best coaches in the world, alongside some of the best players in the world.
I tried to prove myself in every drill, attempting to run faster than the lovechild of Roadrunner and Speedy Gonzales, worry constantly gnawing at my insides like persistent termites. Was I strong enough? Fast enough? Skilled enough?
It didn’t help that I had a constant string of messages from my father asking for updates and reminding me not to screw up.
He and Aiden Jones had something in common. Apparently, neither of them trusted me not to do anything stupid.
Aiden Jones. For the zillionth time in the last few days, my gaze drifted over to him as I waited for my turn on the tackling mats.
Aiden held a pad up as Zach crashed into it, sending Aiden back a few steps.
Zach said something as he straightened, and Aiden chucked him a smile.
That Aiden Jones smile. Rarer than Plutonium. And I’d probably pay an equal weight per gram to get one directed my way.
We’d laughed together for a few seconds yesterday, and it had made the top ten moments of my life.
Since then, he’d shown no desire to be entertained by me, though.
Instead, he seemed to be doing everything in his power to avoid me. Always at a different table at dinner, always in a different group at training.
He’d hung out with Zach last night, only coming back to our room after I’d switched the light out.
We finished up the drill and stood there panting as we awaited our next instructions. I wiped the sweat off my forehead. It was hot for June, and I’d been pushing myself hard.
“Right, we’ll mix things up for tackling drills. Jones, you and Bannings get together, do some one-on-one stuff,” Coach Wilson instructed.
Jones’s face was tight as he stalked over to me.
“Start with back grips, then progress on to some spear tackles,” Coach said before he turned to the next pair.
Aiden regarded me with a raised eyebrow. “You want to go first?”
I swallowed. “Nah, you go.”
Aiden moved to stand close behind me.
“Ready,” I said, locking my legs into a brace position.
This was like having my personal heaven and hell combined into one. Aiden Jones’s strong arms wrapped around me from behind, his breath hot against my neck.
Even after a day of training, there was still something sexy about the way he smelled. My stomach tightened, and my knees felt weak. It appeared I found every aspect of the guy attractive.
He released me from his grip. “Your turn.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I stumbled around to stand behind him, gulping deep mouthfuls of air.
Aiden glanced over his shoulder. “I’m ready for you.”
Damn. Really not the words my imagination needed to hear right now.
I grabbed at his shoulders, my body aligning behind his, my chin jutting against his back. His hair tapered down his neck in short bristles, and I had to stop myself from reaching up to feel it against my fingertips.
I released him quickly, staggering back a few steps as I tried to cram my mind full of gross things. Ingrown toenails. Rotten teeth. Brussel sprouts. Because if my groin decided to do some speculating of the fun things that could happen when pressed up against Aiden Jones, I was in all kinds of trouble.
Outing myself to Jones. Yeah, that would be a great idea.
At least he’d be someone who wouldn’t spread the news. Aiden Jones was probably the least likely to gossip out of everybody.
But seeing the disgust on his face would be worse than anything.
I shook my head like I was a wet dog, trying to clear it. I’d always managed to restrain myself on the rugby field, keep my head in the game. And I’d played with and against some hot guys over the years.
But it appeared Aiden Jones was an exception to the rule. It made sense my body had trouble coping when it actually touched the guy who was my go-to fantasy when I spent quality time with my hand in the shower.
Jones’s head tilted as he studied me. “You okay?”
I tried to morph my face into a scoff. “Back tackles are about as lame as uncontested scrums. Let’s move on to the good stuff.”
“Fine.”
Of course, it turned out spear tackles—plowing my head into his abdomen while wrapping my arms around his waist—weren’t a great alternative in my mission to calm down my libido.
Actually, come to think about it, there wasn’t much in rugby that couldn’t be twisted into some sexual position with imagination. Why had I never realized that before?
Aiden’s head as he tackled me was close to my groin. I staggered back under the force but managed to stay on my feet.
He released me and straightened up.
“Gotta do better than that, old man.” I knew the bullshit I was spewing was only going to make things worse between us. But having his eyes narrowing, having him regard me as a cocky asshole, was infinitely better than him suspecting how I really felt about doing tackling drills with him.
“Your turn,” he said icily.
He braced himself in a half-crouch as he waited for my tackle.
Adrenaline spiked in me as I drew back to run up. I needed to prove myself against him. I needed to focus on the rugby, on improving my skills, not anything else.
I closed the distance between us, putting all my weight into my shoulder as I drove forward into his stomach, taking out his feet from under him.
He went down heavily.
I lifted my weight off him, but he didn’t get up.
Oh, holy shitballs.