Page 48 of A Major Puck Up

Gavin scowls, but the expression melts almost immediately, then he’s crouching and holding out a fist to the little boy. “Bump it.”

The kid immediately releases Beckett and pounds his knuckles against Gavin’s.

The bright smile on Gavin’s face and the look of adoration on the little boy’s makes my heart melt.

“Mr. Langfield,” my father says.

Beckett laughs. “Yeah, no one calls you that.”

“’Scuse me?” Gavin croaks from his spot beside the kid.

“You’s Uncle Gav. Not Mr. Langfield. Sometimes Mommy calls Bossman that, and then he turns red. I think he’s allergic to it.”

Beckett presses a fist to his mouth and coughs.

I have to press my lips together to hold back a laugh. Obviously, the kid has overheard his parents’ sexy talk.

Gavin’s grin is so wide it’s hard to look at. “I’m going to take this guy to play with the other kids.”

“Don’t you want that drink?” Ford asks.

“I can bring him one, Daddy,” I offer. “What would you like, Mr. Langfield?”

My father points at me, wearing a faux stern expression. “Don’t you get smart over there.”

I shrug. “Who, me? Never.”

Gavin’s cheeks have gone pink when he stammers, “A—a water is fine.”

“You sure? I make a great peach margarita. I could whip one up for you.”

Gavin’s eyes bulge, and he just about swallows his tongue. “Water’s good. I’ll uh—I’ll just be over there.” Almost woodenly, he turns and heads straight for Beckett’s wife and other kids.

My father drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Let’s put this food down, and then we can make a batch. I haven’t had a peach margarita in years. Sounds good.”

Biting back a smile, I sneak a peek at Gavin, who is now on the grass, wrestling with the little boy. The joy radiating from him only magnifies when a smaller girl wanders close and squeezes his face between her palms. It’s so strange to see him in this environment. To picture him as a family man.

But god is it good to see him.

I look back at my father. “Yeah, peach margaritas are my favorite.”

SEVENTEEN

GAVIN

With Millie here, I do the only thing I can. I drink. Copious amounts of liquor. And I avoid her. Avoid looking at her, avoid talking to her, and definitely avoid thinking about how good she looks.

Okay, the last one is a complete lie.

I do a really good job of avoiding her. I can’t go near her, not with the way my emotions are bubbling up to the surface. Like they’re written all over my face. Like “I fucked your daughter and I plan to do it again,” has been tattooed on my forehead.

Because yeah. Now that Millie is here, my thoughts and feelings are out of control. Despite the rules I’ve created for myself, the hold I have on my willpower is slipping.

But I can try. I can sit back and watch her play beer pong with Daniel and the other guys on my team. Guys who make me millions. Guys I cheer for, guys I bet on, and guys I genuinely like.

Today, though, I hate every last one of them. Even Brooks. When he’s paired up with Millie for a round of beer pong, I hate him with a passion.

I would actually consider murdering my own brother if he laid a hand on her.

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