Page 4 of Grumpy Puck

A flare of pain in my jaw makes me realize I’ve clenched my teeth too hard… again.I can’t help but glare at her.“Are you playing stupid now?”

Everyone knows I hate being called a bear.It’s something I’ve had to deal with since childhood, thanks to the deadbeat parents I’ve never met.Before abandoning me, they gave me two dubious gifts: the last name “Medvedev” and first name “Mikhail,” or “Misha” for short.Medvedev straight-up translates to “of bear” from Russian, and Misha is also associated with fucking bears—thanks to another fucking mascot, that of the Moscow Olympic Games.Oh, and when I moved to the US, things only got worse because Russians in general are associated with bears.Not to mention, I’m on this fucking team, which?—

“Did you just call me stupid?”The girl’s pretty green eyes narrow into tiny slits.

“I didn’t, but I could,” I tell her.“After all, it’s stupid to poke the bear.”

Fucking fuck.I just called myself a bear, didn’t I?

“Yeah, he hates it when anyone calls him a bear,” Jack explains warily, and the only reason I don’t knock him the fuck out is because I don’t want to scare the girl… any more than I already have, that is.

“I wouldn’t even mention bears in his proximity,” Jack continues.“We don’t even offer him beer, in case?—”

“Wait.”She blinks at each of us with long and distractingly feminine eyelashes.“Your team is called the FloridaBears.”

The only reason I don’t bare my teeth at her—or at anyone—is that doing so will only bring about further comparisons to fucking bears.“The team was called the Orlando Blooms when I got drafted.”And now I’m fucking stuck with them.

“Wow.That was a terrible name.”She examines the clown-bear head of the mascot that I hate so fucking much.“That at least explains why this one is called Mr.Bloom.”

“Anything is better than the current name,” I grit out.Even Mother Puckers would be an improvement.Or Ass Puckers.Or Bloomin’ Onions.

Everyone shakes their heads, seemingly even the rat.

“We’re not even in Orlando,” the mascot chick says.

“We could just be the Florida Blooms then,” I counter.

“There’s also that actor,” she says.

I clench and unclench my fists.“Fuck him.”

“I don’t think he’d want to fuck me,” she says wistfully.

The surge of jealousy streaking through my veins is as surprising as it is unwelcome.I have no idea what’s come over me.Side bar: the actor would have to be a eunuch to not want to fuck this girl.True, her body is hidden by the hideous suit, but she’s tall and has a strikingly pretty face.With her pink hair, rosy cheeks, and delicate neck, she reminds me of a flamingo.And flamingoes are one of the few things I like about this fucking state.Maybe the only things.

She’s so pretty, in fact, that I can almost forgive her for calling me a fucking Bearman.Especially since Ididpush her into the pool.

“You know what?”I say magnanimously.“We’re even now.”

“Just like that?”Jack stares at me like I’ve sprouted feathers.

“Excuse me.”The girl straightens her spine, which is when I realize just how tall she is—the top of her head is almost to my chin.“When I hurt your delicate feelings, I was actually getting into character, not taunting anyone.How does that compare with you pushing me into the poolon purpose?”

“Getting into character?”Jack and I ask in unison.

“Yeah.”She lifts the bear’s head in front of her and says in an exaggeratedly growly voice, “Bearman angry.Bearman has a female inside of him, instead of the other way around.”

My teeth clench involuntarily again.“Like I said, I didn’t pushyou.It was a misunderstanding.”I glare at Jack, who wisely steps outside my punching and kicking range.I turn my attention back to the girl.“You, on the other hand, just mocked me on purpose.Again.”

“No.Bearman is Mr.Bloom.”She waves the mascot head in front of me.“Mr.Bloom isn’t you… right?”

“Then call your invisible friend Mr.Bloom when you get into character,” I grit out.“Or better yet, don’t get into character when I’m within earshot.”

She bares her teeth—which doesn’t makeherlook the least bit bearlike.Probably because said teeth are small, white, and very pretty.“I have an even better idea,” she hisses.“How about we don’t speak to each other at all?Ever.”

I fight the urge to straight-up growl at her.“That’s fine by me.”I turn on my heel.“Let’s go, Jack.”

As Jack tags along, he looks reluctant—which nearly costs him some teeth.

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