Page 31 of Puck & Make Up

“So why the grumpy face?” I ask.

She pulls two beers from her fridge and plunks them onto the table. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.” She tosses her hands up. “And I think that Roger’s serious! He wouldn’t even let me walk into the back office.Andhe handed me mylast check.”

Damn. Her uncle’s playing hard ball.

Though, I have no doubt he’ll break soon enough.

Dessie’s too good at managing the bar, loves it too much for him to keep her out of it permanently.

In the meantime, it’s about implementing my superpowers. “I take it that sitting around and thinking about what you want with your future didn’t go well?”

The look she shoots me should eviscerate me.

I just smile and tap her nose. “Fucking adorable.” Then freeze when her expression grows sad. “What is it, sugar lips?”

She sighs, cuts her gaze to the side. “If I pretend not to know will you leave me alone?”

But before I can answer that, she does.

“No,” she mutters, “of course you won’t.” A grimace. “Because you’ve decided that I’m your project.”

No, I’ve decided she’smine.

Not a project. Not a friend. Not a woman I care about.

M.I.N.E.Mine.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

I grin, draw her in for a hug, and fuck if I don’t fall even deeper for her when she doesn’t pull away, when she just melts against my chest, lets me hold her, and sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Not working at Monroe’s?”

She stiffens and glares up at me.

“Too soon?” I tease, testing the waters and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Definitely,” she grumbles. “But also”—a sigh—“you’re not wrong. It’s not—” A shake of her head. “I like helping my uncle and I love most everyone in town. River’s Bend is a special place. I just…”

“Want something more.”

Her eyes flick to mine and there’s a familiar feeling in them, one that calls to my soul. “Yes.”

“I dreamed of making it to the NHL—and I did make it, for a few games, anyway. But…not how I thought it would be, and it didn’t feel like I’d hoped and…fuck, just thinking about what I was going to do when my contract was up in a couple of years…”

“What?”

“It gave me hives and yet this new contract feels…” She settles her hand on my chest, just over my heart, and it allows the words to slide from my tongue. “Like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Fox,” she murmurs.

“I know what I’m doing with the Rush, but the game in the NHL is faster, smarter, and…”

“You’re not sure you’ll be able to hang?”

I want to lie, but how the hell can I expect her to confide in me if I don’t do the same?

“Yeah,” I say. “Exactly that.”

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