Page 39 of Pucking Revenge

Hannah’s brows are high on her forehead as she watches me, waiting for my response.

Though she’s probably silently hoping I’ll be her wing woman, I’m desperate to get back to the conversation Brooks and I were having. I want to get the power turned back on and cross my fingers that the movie from earlier will pick up right where it left off. Ya know, in that moment when Brooks almost kind of maybe might have been thinking about kissing me.

“I’m gonna hang too,” I tell my friend. “Go play.”

Hannah doesn’t put up a fight, and a moment later, she wanders over to Liv. She’s really itching to hang out with Daniel Hall, and if I wasn’t so invested in finding out what’s going through Brooks’s head, I’d be searching for a bag of popcorn to snack on while I watched that interaction play out.

At this moment, though, I want nothing more than to focus solely on the man who’s settling in a seat at the bar beside me.

The slow way he lowers himself and the grimace that flashes across his face make it obvious he’s in pain.

I hop up onto the stool beside him and drop one elbow to the lacquered bar top as I swivel to face him. “You always this sore after a game?”

Brooks sips his whiskey and shrugs, his attention fixed on the variety of bottles behind the bar. “It’s nothing.”

Lips pursed, I eye him. “Maybe your girlfriend should give you a rubdown when you get home.”

That makes Brooks choke on his whiskey. “Fuck, Pumpkin.” He pounds his chest with a fist and gasps for air.

I giggle, bringing my drink to my mouth. It’s a pumpkin martini that seemed to magically appear when I turned around. Brooks is always seeing to my needs in that way. “This is delicious.”

Lips tugged up on one side, he shakes his head and turns away.

“So are we going to talk about earlier, secret lover?”

Brooks hums, still studying the fascinating bottles of liquor behind the bar, it seems.

Commotion from the entrance has me turning, and when I catch sight of Sebastian walking in with his nephew Vin, I scowl.

“Seriously?”

Brooks follows my line of sight and stiffens. On instinct, I scoot closer to him, and he surprises me by turning until he’s facing me and widening his thick thighs. Then he pulls my stool so I’m wedged between his legs. His heavy hand lands on mine, and he tugs my fingers into his and squeezes.

I’m not sure if his natural inclination is to protect me from Seb, or if he’s doing this for show. Knowing Brooks, he’s being protective.

The thought sends a wave of relief over me. I lean my head against his chest and sigh, letting my shoulders ease a bit lower.

Still holding tight to my hand, he drapes his free arm over my shoulder and pulls me even closer, if that’s possible. The feel of his strong chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat, and the smell of him—all man and musk from his shower gel—coax my body to soften against him further. I’ve never been quite as comfortable as I am when I’m in his arms. His thumb scrapes softly against my shoulder as he whispers “I got you, Pumpkin”into the top of my head.

What he doesn’t understand is that I don’t need protection. What I’m doing here, and what I did at the game tonight, is all for him. But if it makes him feel better, then I’m okay with letting him believe he’s my superhero.For now, at least.

And while I’m a girl who likes to stand on her own two feet, even I can admit that it’s nice being taken care of for once.

“Thought only Bolts and Revs players could come in here,” I mutter.

I don’t know why I’m surprised that, once again, Seb is breaking the rules. The man has zero moral compass. Why would a little hockey code mean anything to him?

“And our friends and family. Vin is Seb’s family.” Brooks’s tone is dark and resigned. Obviously he doesn’t love that fact, and who could blame him? Vincent Lukov is an asshole.

When the two men stop to say hello to Gavin and Beckett, I consider pushing Brooks up so that we can disappear before we have to deal with an awkward encounter, but I swear that as the guys step farther into the room, the arm draped over me gets heavier, holding me in place. Like Brooks wants this awkward interaction. Like he’s claiming me.

The prospect is thrilling. And to be honest, it’s fucking hot.

It’s like standing beside a bomb and watching the seconds tick down. Anxiety plagues me as the guys turn toward the bar. The feeling is so visceral it forces my leg to bounce while simultaneously causing my stomach to sink. They head in our direction in what feels like slow motion. Seb raises his head slowly as he comes closer. It’s like we’ve been transported into one of those movies full of aliens with laser eyes. Any second now, I expect him to start shooting us.

“Dammit, where’s Will Smith when we need him?” I mumble.

Brooks snorts, the reaction jostling me. “What are you going on about?”

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