Page 58 of Dirty Pucker

Wow. This is awkward.

A moment later, Luc Jean’s assistant comes jogging down the hall to us.

“Mr. Crowley, Luc Jean is ready for you,” he says.

“I’ll be right there,” Owen says.

The assistant walks off, leaving the three of us standing there in silence. Del is unrelenting with his glare on Owen. Owen purses his lips, clearly annoyed.

When Owen looks at me, he flashes another smile. “I’d better get going.” He starts to walk off, but after a few steps, he spins around and starts walking backward while looking at me.

“You owe me a TikTok. Tomorrow, okay?” He winks at me before turning around.

“Yeah, maybe.” I chuckle.

When I look at Del, he’s still stone-faced.

“I’m guessing you two don’t like each other?” I ask.

“Not really,” he mutters.

I wait for him to say more, but he’s quiet.

A second later, he shakes his head. “Sorry. I guess that was kind of weird.”

My phone buzzes with a text from Alanna asking if I’m able to meet for an early lunch to go over some ideas for collaborations between me and the PR team. I text her sure and that I’m on my way to the restaurant she suggested.

“I have a meeting with Alanna.”

Del sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks again for helping me out today. And, um, for your…help during my photoshoot.”

His cheeks turn rosy. He clears his throat.

“It was nothing. I had fun.”

He looks like he’s about to say something more, but he pulls his lips into his mouth. “Have a good meeting with Alanna. I’ll see you tomorrow at the game.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

He walks off. I pull up the rideshare app on my phone and request a ride to the restaurant where Alanna is. During the ride there, I think about that awkward tension between Del and Owen.

Chapter 20

Del

Istretch out on the ice during warmups before the game against Las Vegas. Across the ice, I spot the Bandits players doing the same.

I zero in on Owen Crowley. When I think back to running into him yesterday, I grit my teeth. That fucker was flirting with Ingrid. He was so obvious about it.

I bite down harder, angry and jealous when I think about it.

I know I have zero right to feel this way. Ingrid’s not my girlfriend. But the thought of her getting together with that prick makes me want to punch a hole through the nearest wall.

It would be one thing if he were a decent guy. He’s not.

We faced off against each other countless times in college, and we played together in Nashville for a year until he got traded to Las Vegas. He’s always been a fucking slimeball.

He’s the kind of guy who has no problem cheating on the woman he’s with. I remember how he had a girlfriend when he played for Nashville, but every time we played an away game, he was always hooking up with other women. I remember how in the locker room he’d brag about how his girlfriend never found out.

---