Page 73 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

Clearing my throat, I swing my legs over Vin to crawl to his other side.

“Sit with me, Mr. Big Strong Alpha?” I tease.

Trick rolls his eyes and slides into the booth.

Vin, though, has no intention of letting me get away with the maneuver. He grabs hold of my waist while I scootch past him and twists me so I’m sitting sideways in his lap.

“Better,” he says.

I open my mouth to object, but Trick swallows my objection with a heated kiss. His mouth falls on mine, and phantom hands graze along my body in the sense memory of how he kissed me on the couch while we watched the movie.

When he leans back in his place, he has this lazy, contented smile on his face. I am absolutely certain he’s thinking the same.

“I’m not sitting on your lap this entire meal,” I say low to Vin.

“Sure you are.”

“How are we supposed to eat?”

“I’ll feed you.”

“You will not!”

“Watch me.”

My fist bounces off his firm chest. “Penalty, holding.”

“That’s football. I’m a hockey player,” Vin says.

I grind my ass in his lap and whisper in his ear.

“Do you want to be teased all night, Vin? Because I can make this very uncomfortable.”

“Nothing you do to me here will remotely compare to last night. I will survive.”

Squeal and struggle as I might, it still takes Vin’s acquiescence to get to my intended destination. I flop onto the pleather seat and pout with my arms crossed.

Trick slides in close and Vin rotates me so my bent knees drape over his lap. Mason moves in closer and slips my heels off my feet. He rests them in his lap and rubs circles into my calves and ankles.

Trick traps my waist with one arm and holds a menu open for all of us with the other.

And so what if this feels good? Of course it feels good. Three of the hottest guys in the state are overtly fawning over me.

“Page,” Mason demands.

“I’m still looking at the appetizers,” Trick replies.

“There aren’t that many, old man. We need to get you glasses.”

“I already wear contacts, the lighting in here is shit, and you need to learn some patience, little league.”

“We can have separate menus,” I note.

“A team learns to work together,” Trick replies.

Vin nuzzles my neck while the alphas argue lightly over choices. When they ask me to break the tie, I refuse to do so and tell them they need to work it out themselves. I’ll eat whatever.

While they’re arguing, Vin extracts his phone from an inside jacket pocket and holds it up. He angles it to capture our foursome, then does a close-up with the two of us.

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