Page 50 of Pucking Revenge

Gavin: LOL! OH, now I get it. Jill kicked Aiden out and now Aiden is cramping Brooks’s style.

Aiden: Thanks for the play by play of my life dickhead.

Gavin: It was for Beckett. By the way, Sara now knows that your wife likes anal.

Beckett: Mention my wife and anal again and we’re going to have a problem.

Beckett: Seriously, Aiden, run while you can. But get your own place. Brooks finally got the girl of his dreams. Don’t ruin it for him.

Me: Well this has been…enlightening. I’m going to make dinner for “the girl of my dreams” now. Aiden, if you lock me out I’ll be sure to tell everyone about your fear of bunnies.

Aiden: Fuck you. It’s their damn eyes.

Gavin: I agree. Bunnies’ eyes can be very scary. Especially when they’re on their knees.

Aiden: You sick fuck.

Me: LOL No. Aiden is afraid of real bunnies.

Aiden: I’m coming up for dinner.

Me: You show up at this door and I’ll punch you.

Beckett: Are we done here? Liv is giving me non-scary eyes and I’d really like to enjoy it.

Gavin: Dude, what the duck? Do you want me to picture your wife like that?

Beckett: Picture my wife like anything and I’ll tell our brothers what you’re really afraid of…

While I’m interested in the secret fear Beckett is alluding to, the oil in the pan is crackling, signaling that it’s time to put the chicken on the skillet. When I was a teenager, Aunt Zoe insisted I know how to prepare at least three meals. According to her, the knowledge would come in handy when I went to college, where I’d no longer have access to a whole host of staff like I was used to.

What I discovered when she taught me those three basic meals was that I really enjoyed cooking. In college, I cooked for the team once a week. It was a bonding activity.

Though I have no interest in having my teammates over while I hang with Sara tonight, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to start up weekly dinners with the Bolts. I considered it years ago, but Coach talked me out of it. Convinced me to use that time to focus on the game.

At this point, I could give two shits about his opinion. And since I found out about Seb and Sara, things with the guys have felt a little off. This might be the perfect way to make sure we stay in sync as a team, and it wouldn’t require including Coach in the activity. Not to mention cooking has always been soothing for me. Maybe it will help me get focused again.

I hate that my anger at Seb is affecting other parts of my life. I’m grumpy—which is so my oldest brother’s MO, not mine—and I’m snapping far too much. Even War looked surprised at my outburst in the laundry room.

Or maybe he was reacting to the way I was staring at my best friend’s lipslike they were my salvation. God, I was practically panting for a taste.

We need rules. A set of parameters to remind me that what we’re doing is for show. That my feelings for Sara have to remain on lockdown. I can’t forget that the way she was looking at me down there—all heart eyes and soft smiles—wasn’t real.

“What are you making?”

Her voice startles me, and the chicken slips from the tongs with a splat. The hot oil pops and hisses, singeing my skin.

“Fuck.” I jump back and shake out my hand.

“Jeez, you know how much those hands are worth?” Sara yells, eating up the space between us. In a heartbeat, she’s standing in front of me and tugging on my burned hand so she can inspect it. While she examines my almost microscopic injuries, I study her. Her vibrant blue eyes, her tiny nose, the wisps of blond hair that have escaped her messy updo.

When she brings my hand up and presses a kiss to my wrist, I suddenly understand why little boys always ask pretty girls to kiss it better. That simple gesture instantly takes away the sting. Probably because I can focus on nothing but the sensation of her soft lips on my skin and the electricity that arcs through me at the contact.

“I’m going to get the Neosporin. Step back from the stove. You’re too important to the team to risk those hands on me.”

As she walks away, her burnt-orange sweater falling off her shoulder and her perfect ass on display in a pair of black tights, I can’t help but imagine my hands on every inch of her.

War: What the hell is going on with you and Sara?

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