Page 10 of Suck My Puck

Her smile turns playful, almost like she’s enjoying this back-and-forth.

“Who are your pop music favorites?” she asks.

“Sabrina Carpenter. Olivia Rodrigo. Ariana Grande. BTS. Taylor Swift, of course.”

“That’s a pretty decent list,” she says.

“What do you listen to?” I ask.

“Right now, I’m revisiting my favorite playlist from college. It’s mostly the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and The Black Keys”

I grin. “Damn. You’re hardcore.”

She shrugs, and her smile turns teasing. “When I’m feeling hardcore, I listen to Tupac.”

“Same. I can’t get through a weightlifting session without playing ‘Hit ‘Em Up’ at least once.”

She lets another gorgeous grin break free. Getting her tosmile—seeing those dimples—feels like I’m winning a game I didn’t even know I was playing.

“Heavy metal’s my favorite though,” I say. “It’s the best way to amp me up before hockey practice.”

That amusement in her honey-gold eyes fades along with her smile. “Right.”

She drops a hand on her hip. “So, do you want to order a drink or what?”

I blink, thrown off by her sudden curtness. Damn. That playful back-and-forth didn’t last long.

I refocus. I got off track with all the music talk. I came here to say sorry. “Look, I just wanted to apologize for the other morning. I was in the wrong for leaving my music on too loud. And I was wrong to argue with you about it. I’m sorry.”

She blinks, and the hard look in her eyes fades. “Apology accepted.”

“So…we’re good?”

She swallows, and I can’t help but stare at her delicate, pretty throat. “Yeah, it’s all fine.”

“Blomdahl!” I spin around when I hear Ingrid hollering my name.

She, Maya, Sophie, and Del’s younger sister, Dakota, are all standing around at our table across the bar, smiling at me.

“Get us a round of tequila shots, will you?” Ingrid asks sweetly.

“And vodka!” Maya adds.

“And extra lime wedges!” Dakota says.

The guys all laugh as the ladies settle at our table.

When I spin back around, my neighbor is frowning at me. “Your name is Blomdahl?”

“Last name. My first name is Braden, but everyonecalls me Blomdahl. Old hockey habit. Half of us call each other by our last names.”

“Right. You’re a hockey player,” she says with a sharpness in her tone. “So a round of tequila shots and vodka shots and limes?”

I rub the back of my neck, feeling uneasy. “Uh, yeah. Please.”

She lays out two rows of empty shot glasses and starts pouring liquor into them. “Do you and your hockey teammates need another pitcher of beer too?”

Her voice has an edge when she says, “Hockey teammates.”

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