Page 84 of Justice for Puck Bunnies

We don’t have time for a sex marathon, no matter how much the three of us seem to want it.

“We have to stop,” I force out.

Mason groans behind me. “I’m starting to think you do this on purpose.”

“I didn’t come in here to tease us all.”

“Why did you come in?” Trick asks.

“We haven’t practiced in a while and the fundraiser’s this afternoon.”

“Practice.”

He visibly straightens at that. At Trick’s nod, Mason stands and lifts me up with him.

The three of us stand awkwardly in the gym. My hair’s a mess and I reek of their sweat, but I kind of like it.

“We don’t need to practice,” is all Trick can say. He glares at the floor and I can feel Mason’s eyes on my back.

“Right. Sorry.” I say the word, but it comes out clipped. “I’m going to go.”

“Wait, Izzy—” is all Mason gets out before the door closes behind me.

* * *

Trick

Across the room, Izzy laughs at some joke Vin told. She flips her hair and leans into his body. He’s got her gripped tightly at his side, and she molds herself against him with a bent knee.

Mason’s standing beside them and engaging with them both in easy conversation.

The matte black slacks and cream blouse I left in her closet weeks ago fit her perfectly. She hasn’t said a word about how I figured out her sizes or why I put them in there, but she also hasn’t lit them on fire.

Yet.

It just seemed empty in there. She arrived with so little, and I wanted her to feel equipped if we came to an event like this one.

The woman on my beta’s arm has never worn what I bought her—until today.

This fundraiser is one of the many events held by the Cannons Central Charity Foundation. The foundation brings a few of us in to sell our time and attention for a multitude of worthy causes.

Between the spring gala, the golf tournament, and other auctioned tickets like Cook with a Cannon, we donate tens of millions of dollars to a variety of causes. Tickets to this particular event were $5,000 apiece and benefit a cancer research institute.

Earlier, patients from the children’s cancer ward received skating lessons from the team. They mingle with the players and our families. It was adorable watching these little kids skim along the ice with smiles on their faces. Best day of their lives and the only reason I volunteer for these events.

And, of course, it helped when Brad fell on his face the first time he stepped on the ice. Seems someone put clear tape on his blades.

I’d be annoyed at Vin, but this is a closed event and it was fucking hilarious.

Most of the people who can afford tickets to these come to every event. It’s a room full of expensive people in expensive clothes wanting a brush with what they view as greatness.

As long as the checks clear, I don’t particularly care. I can make small talk and take pictures as much as the foundation needs me to.

I’ve admittedly been doing a shit job of it today, stewing over here in the corner.

Izzy’s eyes catch on mine watching the three of them. The smile fades, but Vin nuzzles her neck and she affixes it once more.

Clearing my throat, I sip my whiskey and scan the room. I should find my agent and talk with the sponsors he has in mind for next year. Most of my deals are multiyear contracts, but being part of a pack opens different doors for us all.

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