Page 124 of Dirty Pucker

This fucking guy. The surprise in his tone is fucking insulting. Like he’s shocked that Ingrid could have a job like that. Of course she can. She’s amazing. She could have any job she wanted. But he’s too much of a dipshit to realize that.

She looks at him, her expression reading, “Is this guy for fucking real?”

“Yeah. It is pretty cool,” she says. “Well, it was nice running into you, but I’d better get back to my friends.”

She starts to walk off, but Kyle stops her. “Hey, wait a sec.”

Ingrid sighs like she’s annoyed, but she turns back around to him.

“You wanna maybe get a drink?” Kyle asks.

She laughs like she’s annoyed and surprised at the same time. “You’re kidding.”

He flashes a smug smile. “It would be cool to catch up.”

“I’m not interested.”

She tries to walk off again, but he catches her wrist. “Oh come on. Not even for old time’s sake?”

She glares at him. I zero in on his hand wrapped around her wrist.

This fucker.

She slides out of his hold. “Kyle, I’m not interested in doing anything with you ever again.”

He leans back, like he’s offended. A second later, he smirks at her.

“I see. You’re seeing someone.” He steps closer to her. “It’s okay. It’s only a drink. Your new guy doesn’t need to know about it. Or anything else that we might get up to.”

She glares at him.

Anger sparks inside of me like a bonfire. This piece of shit.

Ingrid made it clear she’s not interested in him anymore, but he’s pushing her, refusing to take “no” for an answer.

Fuck this asshole.

I round the corner of the bar and walk over to them. Ingrid’s glare disappears. She flashes a soft smile at me.

I stand next to her and look at Kyle.

He frowns at me, clearly confused about why I’m here. But then he blinks and recognition flashes in his eyes.

“Oh damn. Del Richards.”

“Yup.”

He looks at Ingrid’s jersey, then at me again, finally putting it together. He blinks and makes a flustered laughing sound.

He tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Sorry, I, uh…I didn’t know you two were, um…”

“Can you read?” I ask.

His brow furrows in confusion. “Uh, yeah.”

“What does her jersey say?”

His eyes go wide for a moment before he glances at her. When he looks back at me, his face is red, like he’s embarrassed. “Number sixty-six,” he mutters.

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