Tackled by Trouble, Paperback

I can’t believe she’s making me do this.
I can’t believe I fucking let her.

It’s been ten days since the cooking show, and I’m still getting tagged in videos of me talking about Nonna’s sauce like a cheap Gordon Ramsay.
And now this.

Weans.
The children’s section of the Stirling library looks like a Crayola factory exploded. Shelves crammed with picture books, bean bags in shades that should be classified as visual assault, and walls plastered with cartoon frogs and worms with glasses perched on their non-existent noses.

A fucking nightmare.
And in the middle of it all? A plastic chair designed for someone a quarter of my size. Just waiting to collapse under me and humiliate me in front of twenty tiny humans.

‘This another sick joke?’ I level another of my death stares at Charlie, who leans against the wall looking far too pleased with herself.

Her black turtleneck hugs curves that have no business being that distracting in a children’s library. She’s always been classy – stunning, actually – and somehow that pisses me off more than the fact that I have to actively force myself to look anywhere else. I hate that I’m this easy to wind up.
‘Problem, MacRae?’ Her lips curl into that grin I want to wipe off her face.
Preferably with my mouth. Which is a thought I need to delete from existence.
‘I’m not sitting on that.’ I gesture at the plastic chair. ‘It’ll snap like a twig.’

‘There’s a bean bag,’ Charlie says. 

‘I’m not sitting on a fucking bean bag, either.’
A librarian wiggles a reproachful finger at me. Her glittery nails catch the light with every movement. ‘Language, please. The children will be here any minute.’

Charlie’s grin widens. ‘Yes, Brodie. Language.’
I scrub a hand over my face, half-heartedly scanning the room for escape routes. There is no escape. Not with Charlie watching over me. I’m doomed. Twenty tiny chairs arranged in a semicircle. A box of puppets. A stack of books.

‘I’m a rugby player, not a clown.’
‘You’re whatever I need you to be today.’ Charlie pushes off the wall and saunters over. ‘The Rebels’ community outreach program needs this. You need this. Your image needs this.’
She pats my chest, her touch burning through my shirt. ‘Now be a good sportsman and read about Hoppy the Hungry Rabbit.’
The librarian offers a thin smile. ‘We’ve actually selected Gordon the Grumpy Goalie today. We thought it would be…appropriate.’
Charlie bursts out laughing, the sound rich and warm and infuriating.

‘Fuck me sideways,’ I mutter.

‘Language!’ The librarian and Charlie retort in perfect stereo.
The door bursts open, and a stampede of small children floods in, chattering and pointing and staring. They’re five, six, seven. I guess. I know fuck all about wee ones. Twenty pairs of eyes fixate on me like I’m some exotic zoo animal.
‘Is that him?’ One small boy tugs his friend’s sleeve. ‘The man from the telly?’

Charlie leans in close, her breath tickling my ear. ‘Smile, MacRae. They can smell fear.’

I glare at the chaos like I can intimidate it into order.
The kids are one thing, at least they’re honest in their curiosity. But the mums? They cluster by the bookshelves pretending to browse, whispering behind paperbacks, and shooting glances that could melt steel. One adjusts her neckline, tugging it lower when she catches my eye. Another acts riveted by her toddler’s attempt to eat a cardboard book while sneaking peeks at my legs. The worst offender doesn’t even try to hide it. Just stands there with her phone, angling for the perfect shot.
I grab Charlie’s elbow and yank her closer. ‘This was the “safest option”?’
‘Scared of being mobbed by mums? Maybe you should stop treating every female in sight like she’s out to mount you.’ Her eyes dance with unholy delight. ‘No one here to yell insults at you, so yes. Or would you rather do a training video for the detection of testicular cancer? Because that was an option, too.’
A jolt of tension roots me to the spot. ‘You wouldn’t.’

’The script had specific instructions about demonstrating proper examination technique.’

‘You’re evil,’ I hiss. ‘Actually evil.’

‘On the contrary.’ Charlie beams at me. ‘I’m your lord and saviour who’s rehabilitating you. Now go read about that grumpy goalie before I sign you up for prostate cancer awareness month.’

The librarian clears her throat. ‘We’re ready when you are, Mr MacRae.’
I trudge toward the bean bag, wondering if getting tackled by the entire Glasgow Knights defence might have been less painful.

Aye.

• Rugby romance
• Enemies to lovers romance
• Scottish Romance
• Literature
• Relationships
• Romance
• Sports

May 27, 2025

9781068576881

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