Until It Was Love (Copper Valley Pounders Rugby, #1)

by Pippa Grant

Fletcher Huxley’s upper lip is where Wyatt Earp’s mustache went to die.

He smells like a summer sunrise hike in a pine forest.

is still sporting a mustache that could be a stunt double for Stuart Little.

If it were me, I know what I’d be thinking. Temporary fuck buddy. She’s leaving. I’m staying. Moving is stressful. And fucking is the best part of dating, so why not do the fucking part and skip the dating? But I’ve been on this earth for thirty-four trips around the sun, two divorces, at least three drinks in my face for voicing my opinion, and enough lectures from my father about how to treat a woman that I don’t say it out loud. Anymore. I don’t say it out loud anymore.

But my body’s reaction to Fletcher’s growled get your hands off my girlfriend? That has me completely off-kilter. There’s some squishy-squishy action happening in my chest. A dash of weakness in my knees. Unexpected thrill in my belly. And some wetness in my panties that does not get better when Fletcher sweeps his bulky, solid arm around me, pulling me against his crisp white shirt and hard body as we hit the edge of the dance floor.

My eyes get hot. She could be saying her r’s and her l’s clearly every time the next time I see her in person. This could be the last time she pwetty pwetty pweases me.