Page 5 of A Major Puck Up

I chuckle as I take another sip of my whiskey. The idiot dated Lake first and was stupid enough to cheat on her. So Lake hooked up with his dad to get even. And now she’s marrying him. It’s nothing short of savage. Ultimate revenge.

Me: Ready to get hitched?

Ford: Hell yeah.

Me: You’re so gone for her.

Ford: Have you seen my future wife? Of course I am.

I laugh, but the humor fades quickly, because there’s one thing that’s still keeping them from being 100 percent happy.

Me: Your daughter RSVP yet?

Ford: No. Daniel is still trying to talk to her. I asked her to meet us for dinner last night, but she didn’t show.

I wince. The only thing that made Ford hesitate before he finally took the leap with Lake was his daughter’s anger over the situation. Despite how perfect he thinks his daughter is, she’s acting like a spoiled brat. If Paul can get over his father marrying his ex, then why can’t Millie deal with it? Of course I’d never say that to my best friend. To him, Millie is perfect.

Me: She’ll come around.

Ford: Maybe. All right, my fiancée is calling out to me from the hot tub. This place is gorgeous. Can’t wait til you guys get here. Have a safe flight.

That damn pang I’ve been forced to ignore more and more hits me again as I place my phone down on the bar, face down. What I would do to find that person I’d want to rush to if she were calling my name.

“Another whiskey?” the bartender asks.

I glance down at my glass, surprised to see that it’s empty. Tapping it on the bar, I give him a nod. “Yes, thanks.”

I’m engulfed in an intoxicating fruity scent as someone sits beside me, and as I turn my head in her direction, a smile forms on my face unbidden.

The woman, though, keeps her attention on the bartender who has just slid my glass in my direction and looked up at her.

She gives him a soft smile. “Peach margarita, please.”

He mimics the expression, though his smile is a little more starry-eyed, like he may be as tongue-tied as I am over the gorgeous creature who’s just appeared.

It’s not just her long dark hair or the slinky black dress that barely covers her full tits. It’s not the cranberry stain on her lips or the alluring light-brown eyes with hints of gold speckled within them or even the damn beauty mark on her cheekbone. No, it’s the way her lips quirk, as if she knows she’s ensnared us both. The way she shifts on the barstool, moving her gorgeous ass in a way that leaves me instantly hard. This woman knows precisely what she’s doing. Seduction in a black dress, curves that are meant to suffocate every working brain cell.

She’s young. That’s obvious.

I’m just not sure how young. Legal, yes, but otherwise, I’m not sure I want to find out.

I’d rather not know if it’ll cause me to actually use my brain tonight. For the first time in at least a month, I’m met with a woman who has piqued my interest. Now let’s just see if she can keep it.

“Peach margarita? Bold for such a cold night,” I say, sipping my whiskey.

She peeks in my direction. Only one glittering eye is visible. The other remains hidden behind that curtain of dark hair. “I know what I like.”

Fuck, why is that hot?

Even when they’re my age, most people don’t really know what they like. Hell, I’m beginning to wonder if I even know what I like. I drink Hanson whiskey because my friends own it. I run the hockey team because I couldn’t play professionally and my father handed the reins over to me. I live in a huge penthouse with an incredible view of the Boston skyline because I was told it was the most expensive unit in the city. If it’s the most expensive, then it’s the best, right? And as a Langfield, I’m expected to own the best.

“Can you make me one of those too?” I ask the bartender as he pours my seatmate’s drink into a margarita glass.

Her lips quirk almost imperceptibly, and damn if the knowledge that I’m making her happy doesn’t have me growing harder.

That’s new.

Sinatra was onto something. It’s gotta be witchcraft.

---