Page 43 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

I follow his gaze, which drifted to his right, and find Marshall talking to a blonde who seems to be speaking of business rather than pleasure.

“Yes,” I reply with urgency. “Now you have to go.”

“I didn’t sleep with anyone,” Wells proclaims, and, again, not the time. “I’d never do that to you. I meant what I said. I want this.”

I inhale a deep breath to calm my voice and my nerves. “Look, we’ll talk about this later—”

“When?” Wells presses with pinned brows. “Because you blocked me, and you’re doing a pretty good job making sure we never talk again.”

Now, he’s reading the room.

“Wells—” He erases more space between us, and I freeze.

I can’t think right when he’s this close. I can’t remind myself of the headlines that went on for three days straight.

I will not go back to thoughts of how he may have acted on that video behind closed doors.

“Snowflake, I need you to believe me. Everything I said was true. Everything.”

“Okay,” I quip with a noncommittal shrug. “If you say so. But this, right here, can’t happen. I’m working.”

His face skews as if he’s reading my mind. “You don’t believe me.”

He’s right, I don’t.

I don’t have the headspace for this surprise attack or how he picked the worst time to do it. I have to talk to people and not act like a blubbering idiot.

“I don’t have time to listen to you,” I argue placidly. “I’m working. You don’t see me going out on the ice and stopping you from playing your game.”

“Fuck, I wish you would.” Wells allows his eyes to drop down the length of me. My short cocktail dress shows off most of my thighs and the curves at my waist. It feels like I’m engulfed by flames at his look. I’m consumed and utterly tied to this man who won’t just let me go and accept that this isn’t going to work.

“Wells, I’m busy.”

“I heard you,” he says, then flicks an irritated glance at me. “And if he touches you again, you’ll be out a boss.”

I hit him with an unimpressed brow. “That’s not cute, Wells. You’re talking about my livelihood and my job.”

“And I’m talking about another man touching you,” he retorts sourly. “It won’t happen again. You’ve got my attention, Snowflake—”

“I didn’t ask for your attention. Hence why I blocked you. I don’t want your attention. I don’t want to talk to you. You shouldn’t know I’m here, but I bet your friends helped you with that, didn’t they?”

“Of course they did,” he confirms, and I want to throat-punch him right now. “How else was I supposed to get a hold of you.”

This is pathetic.

Every nerve in my body screams that I need to shuttle Wells out of here before Marshall spots us, and I'm forced to answer questions I can't even ask myself. I’ve been evading and dodging them for days now. I’ve been working my butt off to keep from having a silent moment to myself.

“We’ll talk later,” I motion to the door to get him out of here. “I promise. Meet me in the lobby in an hour. I’ll be there.”

“You promise you’re not going to sneak out the back?” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Because I’m all about the chase. It won’t be anything new.”

“I’m not a hockey puck, Killer. I’m a woman that you fucking used.”

“I didn’t use you,” he retorts with narrowed eyes. “I would never fuck you over like that.”

“The headlines show different. The video made it look like you were having an amazing time.”

“I was just drinking and dancing, baby. I didn’t ask for them to come over—”

---