Page 75 of Worth the Try
I love her.It hits me like a damn freight train. I love her.
Fuck me. I love her.
Smiling, I finish dressing and hustle downstairs.
Chapter 26
Elodie
IGRAB THE Irish liqueur and make each of us a drink before joining Ansel on the outside patio. The night is far from quiet, crickets and frogs and cicadas all making their usual noises. It’s muggy, too, and the overhead fan serves only to move the humid air around.
Ansel straightens from where he’d been turning on the candles, his attention finding the drinks. He grins. “Smart woman.”
I hand him one of the glasses. He takes it, clinking it against mine before bringing it to his lips. We drink, then take a seat.
“Tell me,” I say without preamble.
He gives a reluctant smile. “Just diving right in, are we?”
I give him a look. “Yes. We are.”
He sighs and runs a hand over his face, scratching at his beard. “There’s not much to tell. Once I got out of college, I was never one to, um, indulge in the opportunities that being a rugby player presented.”
“Opportunities like rugger huggers?”
He winces. “Yes. I hate the term, but…yes.” After a beat, he continues, “But there was one night. We’d won our first game—not just of the season, but the first game as an official team in theleague—and one of the guys, Jake, had made the winning try. It was the first try he’d made on the team, and there’s a tradition.” He breaks off, smiling sheepishly. “I’m not sure you want to hear this.”
“Jake, the giant Samoan who’s marrying Allyson? Jake, the man whose honeymoon I’m planning?”
He nods. “The one and the same.”
“Oh, I want to hear all of it,” I assure him with a smile. “Spill it.”
With a grin, he tells me, “Any time a player on the team scores their first try in a game, they have to take their clothes off at the bar, and we throw beer on them.”
I let out a shocked laugh. “What?”
His cheeks tinge pink in the candlelight. “It’s tradition. I don’t make the rules. They have to get naked and run a lap around the bar. And we’re all waiting, usually with pitchers of beer, to splash on them as they go.”
Still smiling, I ask, “And what about the poor patrons who aren’t rugby players?”
He shrugs. “They…get wet? Enjoy the show?”
I laugh. “Poor Jake.”
“PoorJake?” Ansel says, pretending to be shocked. “I’ll have you know that I was the first one to have to do it on that team.”
I leer at him. “Bet that was a fabulous sight to behold.”
“Shut up,” he laughs.
“Wait—is this still a thing? This tradition?”
He shakes his head. “Sort of, but we don’t do it in public bars anymore.”
“That whole famous, pro athlete thing?” I tease.
“Something like that,” he grins. Then he grows serious again. “So, that night, Jake has to do the thing. And there’s the usual batch of women hanging out at the bar with us, hoping to get lucky.” He exhales. “Lauren was one of them.”
