Logan-freaking-Oliver. Sure the million-dollar pretty boy can play football. At least that’s what the papers lead us to believe. Me though, I’m not so convinced. Sure he's got a backside you could bounce quarters off, arms you want wrapped around you, dimples you’d drown in and hair you’d sell your mother to pull... but is he a nice guy or has he let fame go to his head. I wasn’t one of his adoring fans, throwing my granny panties at his feet... that was until I met him and he completely screwed me...

Hunter Mitchell is a caveman. He’s bossy. He’s demanding. He always gets his way. He’s the number one ruckman in the AFL. He’s good in bed. No! Scratch that. He’s a god in bed and he knows it. And he’s a great mate. But that’s all we are. Friends with benefits. Which suits me fine. I don’t have time or energy for anything more. Until something unexpected happens to change the game. Now we have to figure out, is it possible for us to be something more.