Page 99 of Puck Prince

So I stand up and hold out my hand. She looks up at me with oceanic blue eyes—eyes I could drown in if I’m not careful. She hesitates.

“I don’t… I don’t really want to go back in there. My face is a mess, and I don’t feel like?—”

“We’re not going in there,” I say. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Really?” She blinks. “You don’t need to stick around?”

“Nah.” I wave my hand before holding it out again. “I came, I talked, I danced, I handed big checks to people. I’m ready to go. Are you?”

A thin, watery smile spreads across her face. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Alright then. Let’s get the fuck outta Dodge.”

She laughs and takes my hand. We walk to the door, and I peek into the hallway before we step out.

I throw out an arm to stop her before she follows me. “Not that way.”

“What? Is the coast not clear?”

“Half the team is standing just down the hall, including your uncle, so I am going to have to go with ‘no.’”

Callie turns around, scouring the room. “There. Another exit.”

“That’s my girl.” The words come out of my mouth before I can edit them.

Oh well.Que sera sera.

She bolts for the door. I’m right behind her, but she still tosses a look over her shoulder. “Come on, Sharpe. People are going to get the wrong idea if they know we’ve just been hanging out alone in here.”

“We’re supposed to be dating. That’s the right idea.”

“Not about that. I mean they’re gonna think that you’re slow as hell, getting outrun by a girl in a ballgown.”

I grin. “You got a head start!”

“You’re a professional athlete, and I’m wearing heels. How much advantage do you need?”

I swallow back what I really want to say, which is that I’m perfectly fine with second place if it means I get to look at Callie’s first-place ass in a tight, satin dress.

Instead, I grit my teeth and take off after her. She gets to the door first and shoves it open.

Turns out, it doesn’t lead outside. It leads straight back into the ballroom, which is even busier than the hallway.

“Oh, shit,” she lets out as I wrap my arms around her and tug her back in before anyone sees us.

I’m still holding her from behind as I look around for another exit.

Sidenote: her ass doesn’t just look good; it feels good, too.

Head in game, Sharpe.

“Over there.” I point. “An exit that actually says ‘Emergency.’ If that doesn’t lead outside, I’m calling the fire marshal and having this whole event shut down.”

We are much more careful this time. I crack the door open and there are people loitering in the distance, looking bored as they stare at their phones.

“Don’t be fooled,” I warn her. “Those are paparazzi. The moment they see us, they’ll spring into action.”

“So what should we do?” she asks anxiously, twisting the rings on her fingers. Her face has shades of that fear from before cropping back up, and all I want to do is make them go away.

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