Page 15 of Puck Prince

EIGHT WEEKS LATER

“So apparently,Smashis not a normal dating app.” Kennedy heaves an armful of groceries up onto the counter.

“Of course not. It’s calledSmash.” I set a bottle of wine and my purse down. Tonight, we are having an actual girls night. No men, no dating apps (once I get her off the subject), no stress.

“It’s a hook-up site! Which, I don’t necessarily hate. Not always. But I like to believe—” She opens one of the bottles of wine. Meanwhile, I unload the ingredients for homemade alfredo. Wouldn’t be a girl’s night without carbs and cheese. “—that someday, I will meet a nice man. A good man. A man who does more on the weekends than watch hockey and won’t be offended if not all my underwear are crotchless.”

“That’s a high bar, Ken.”

She tosses the cork at me in response.

As much as I don’t want to be thinking about men, especially hockey-playing men, I haven’t forgotten about the stranger next door despite my best efforts. It may have been two months agothat I was here in Houston for an interview, but if he remembers the night like I remember it… well, I’d hate to run into him and his wife and child coming back from the farmer’s market, let’s say that.

Now that I’ve got the job as PT for the Houston Scythes, I have no intention of staying with Kennedy longer than I have to. Once I get settled in at work, I’ll find myself a place and won’t have to worry about running into you-know-who next door.

I don’t love that I got the job through my uncle, who just so happens to be the head coach of the Scythes. But I also don’t hate the pay raise. We’ll call it a wash, all-in-all.

Regardless, I’m taking the job and I’m keeping it. Keeping my head down, too, while I’m at it.

I’m going to dodge accusations of nepotism and cheating scandals like the plague.

The last thing I need is to make another mistake that gets people talking.

I’m sick of being the freakshow attraction.

“Alright, well, needless to say, I am done with apps. For real done.” Kennedy hands me a glass of wine. “And you can hold me to that.”

I raise my glass to cheers her. “You sure?”

“Absofuckinglutely.”

“If you say so. To new jobs and no men?”

“New jobs and no men.” She clinks her glass to mine, and we laugh before starting in on dinner.

“So how are things going at the radio station?” I ask as I chew around a bite of alfredo. The sauce is perfect. The Two-Buck Chuck is perfect. Everything is perfect.

“Pretty good. The morning show slot really is the best. The best part is this segment we do calledGhostedwhere we hunt down people who did a no-call no-show on first or second dates and figure out why. It’s hilarious and awkward and I love it.”

“You know, for being such a love expert, you really have the worst luck in the dating world.”

Kennedy nearly drops her fork as she shoots me a glare. “Bitch.”

I laugh. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just, there’s irony in it, that’s all.”

“It’s bullshit, that’s what it is. I’m like a professional matchmaker who can’t find her Romeo.”

“Romeo is overrated anyways.” I shrug.

“Right? I’d love a Tybalt.”

I reach for my glass of water. My wine is mostly untouched. “The villain?”

“Fuck yeah! Morally gray and orally great. That’s the mantra. What’s the matter with your wine?”

“Nothing. I just probably shouldn’t be getting shit-faced the night before I start a new job.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugs.

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