Page 12 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

“I’m sorry. I got lost in my head. What?”

He smirks, and dark hair falls from behind his ear into his face. “I asked if you wanted to sit with me. Is your mind so twisted it’s easy to lose your way?”

“A lot of empty space up here.”

“Boxes with cobwebs making it hard to navigate?”

“You too, eh?”

“All the time. I know I shouldn’t ask again, it was impulsive the first time, but do you want to have dinner with me?”

This is going better than I thought it would.

The plates are easy enough to move, especially since I’m mostly done.

Dane sets another plate—this one with a pressed sandwich and a salad—in front of my new dinner companion.

“You both good?” he asks and examines us carefully.

“All good, D,” I reply.

Vin adds his own nod, and the bartender returns to wiping dust off of bottles.

“How was practice?” I ask. I keep the tone light, but I’m sure they’ve been catching whatever shit Brad is flinging when I ignore his messages.

“Good. Making progress. Preseason is mostly about learning to move as a team. New people, old people, rusty skills.”

“How much flak are you getting from Brad?”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. We can handle his big feelings. That’s what the pads are for.”

I chuckle. “He does like to tantrum, doesn’t he?”

“He’s very experienced at it.”

“Well, I’m sorry all the same.”

“Don’t mention it.”

He tilts his head to smile at me, and I tuck the errant lock of hair behind his ear before I can think better of it.

Our eyes meet, and I can see it as if we’re joined that he’s thinking about the kiss.

Moments pass while we relive the twenty seconds that changed everything.

I hadn’t realized it had until now.

Because I want to kiss him again so very much.

I can’t. Shouldn’t. Brad won’t like it.

My brain whirls while I do the mental calculations to see if Vin would be enough for the Admin.

But of course he won’t. He’s a beta. Even the star goalie of the hockey league isn’t enough if he isn’t an alpha.

The thought stutters my trilling heart rate. I break the eye contact and return to picking at the fries.

“Where’d you just go?” he asks.

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