Page 91 of Puck Prince

“You ain’t wrong, man. If I’m a better man than I used to be, this one here is to blame.” Miles clutches her hand and turns to me, expression even. “This is Alisha.”

“I just see to it that you don’t buy your suits at a place that refers to itself as a ‘warehouse,’ that’s all.” She lets out a phony laugh.

Miles laughs.

Owen laughs.

Fine…

I laugh, too.

“Oh my God, they actually have Dom Perignon!” Alisha gushes a moment later.

She’s already tugging Miles towards the bar. “I guess that’s my cue.”

“You kids have fun,” Owen says.

“I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” As he passes us, Miles’s eyes rake across me.

It’s enough to make me feel sick. Enough to bring back memories of the incident at the away game.

“Well, shall we?” Owen asks.

It takes me a moment to look at him. When I do, he is holding a hand out, his eyes intent and locked on mine.

“Shall we what?”

“Dance. Obviously.”

His lips curl in the corners, and I take his hand, forgetting all about Miles Solomon.

For now.

28

CALLIE

We embrace like we’ve done this a million times before, instead of only once. Though the one time was a real banger. I have the bun in the oven to prove it.

As the music rises, we sway, Owen’s hands strong on my hips. “Having a good time?”

“To my surprise, yes,” I admit. “I was worried it would be chaotic or feel like work, but it’s been really nice.”

“Well, I’m glad. I like that you can have a good time without alcohol. I feel like all anyone ever does in the sports industry is drink. It gets a little old.”

What he doesn’t know is I’d kill for a cranberry vodka right now.

But there are a lot of things he doesn’t know.

“Are you having fun?” I ask in return.

“I don’t know if ‘fun’is the right word. I can think of a million other places I’d rather go on a Friday night. None of them include pulling out the starchiest thing in my closet andpeacocking around a venue sipping onDom Perignon,” he says, mimicking Alisha’s voice on the last part.

I giggle. “Are you not a fan of Miles’ fiancée?”

Owen sucks his teeth, deciding how to answer that. “It’s not that I don’t like her. It just feels… off to me. Like, here’s this guy who I have always known to be kind of wild and free-spirited and all of a sudden he’s ready to trade in his skates for a microphone and some hair gel, all the while putting a rock on his recent girlfriend’s finger? I don’t know. It just feels?—”

“Staged.”

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