Page 12 of These Pucking Boys

“Thanks.” I’m glad I got a pedicure last weekend and don’t have troll feet. The sandals are surprisingly comfortable, but when I stand up, I’m wobbly. “Shit. How can anyone walk in these?”

“Easy. I do it every day.” Melissa points at her stiletto pumps.

I glance at my ballerina flats with longing. I wish I could wear them, but it would be a disservice to this gorgeous dress.

“Do you want to do something with your hair?” Nayara asks. “I’m not a professional hair stylist, but I brought tools.”

“What kind of tools?”

“Hair straightener and curler. I can do your makeup too.”

I glance at Melissa. I don’t want to abuse her generosity. As if sensing my train of thought, she says, “Go ahead, June. Nayara will do my makeup as well. It’s all good.”

“Okay, sure.”

“Melissa is your very own fairy godmother.” Nayara laughs.

“The hell I am.” She tosses her long hair over her shoulder and stares at her reflection. “I’m too young to be that frumpy old lady.”

Nayara and I trade a look, and I don’t know why, but we both start to laugh.

“What?” Melissa frowns at us.

“I’m laughing because it feels like I’m stuck in a wonderful dream.”

“Wait until you meet the boys.” Melissa winks at me.

Butterflies wake in my stomach. I’m getting giddy, and I’ve only seen them sweaty and with helmet hair.

“I’ll probably never want to wake up.”

CHAPTER 7

JUNE

We arrive at the Titans’ party two hours after the end of the game. Getting ready took an hour, and the drive to the five-star hotel took another thanks to traffic. Melissa changed into a stunning bodycon dress in a deep red that hugs her curves in all the right places but doesn’t show any excess skin. She’s clearly a master at balancing sexy and classy. My own style is cute and practical, and what I’m wearing tonight is way out there for me.

Once again, Melissa links her arm with mine, and together, we enter the upscale restaurant on the rooftop reserved entirely for the private party. I’m thankful for her support because, one, I’m still getting used to the high heels, and two, I’m shaking like a leaf.

“Relax. Everyone here is a friend,” she tells me.

I nod, unable to reply with words. How can I explain that I get flustered at social events full of strangers? I’m bound to make a fool of myself many times tonight. I hope not in front of my hot benefactors.

“I think I need a drink,” I say.

“Sure. Let’s head over to the bar.”

Halfway there, Melissa stops in her tracks. “Hold on. My purse is vibrating.” She unlinks her arm with mine and pulls her phone out. “It’s my fiancé. I need to get this. I’ll meet you at the bar.”

I panic. There are steps leading to the bar, and with my two left feet and wearing shoes I’m not used to, I can foresee the disaster already.

“Fork me gently with a chainsaw,” I mutter.

“Did you just sayforkme?” a man to my right asks.

My eyes widen, and I’m pretty sure my jaw drops all the way to the floor as well. Ryan Bertrand, one of the players who invited me to the party, is next to me, watching me with vibrant and intense blue eyes.

“Yeah. Force of habit.”

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