Page 4 of Puck Prince

But after the pep talk I gave myself and Delilah earlier, it feels like a betrayal of womankind to revert to being a damsel-in-distress so soon. “I…”

He does the eyebrow-shrug thing again. “Suit yourself.”

He turns to leave?—

“Wait!”

He pauses and looks over his shoulder at me. “Yeah?”

“Can I at least grab those sweatpants first?”

He chuckles. “Usually, I help women undress, not the other way around. But for you, I’ll make an exception. Come on in and make yourself comfortable.”

2

OWEN

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she spits at me. “Not a chance.”

The girl who remains nameless is glaring at me. It’s a cute contrast because, on one hand, the girl’s got fire coming from her eyes. And on the other, she’s shivering from lack of clothing. I almost feel bad—but only almost. No complaints on what the chill is doing with those nipples right now.

“You sure?” My lips tick in the hint of a smile that I know well enough to keep hidden. I wouldn’t put it past this chick to clock me right now. “Wooden Adirondacks are great for a slouchy beer on a Sunday afternoon, but I’m betting they make shitty beds.”

Her eyes dart down to the patio furniture and then slice back up to me. “I’ll be fine.”

“Listen, babe—” I start.

“Don’t call me ‘babe.’”

“Okay, sweetheart, it’s not like I’m trying to get you to?—”

“And definitely don’t call me ‘sweetheart.’”

“Alright, woman! Jesus. You’re stuck. I have a door. Fucking use it or freeze to death. Better?”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, now, you’re just being a dick. One—” She takes a saucy step closer to me, and I gotta be honest, I don’t hate the vanishing proximity gap. She smells like red wine and pheromones. “—we are in Texas. We aren’t going to freeze to death. And two—” She takes another step closer but this time, jabbing a pointing finger in my face.

I grab her hand before she can tell me what her second point is.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I know. I told you. It was the bitch of a witch’s cat over there.” She tries to pull her hand back, but I hold it firmly in mine.

She did show me her hand earlier, but I was a bit too distracted by everything else she had going on to look at her palm.

“Well, now, you have to come inside. You’re injured.”

The girl yanks her hand out of mine. “It’s a scratch. I’m fine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Are you always this forward?”

“Since the day I was born.”

“And does it work for you?”

I think about that for a moment before looking back at her, grin firmly in place. “Pretty much always.”

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