Page 37 of The Stud

It probably destroys all the oxygen an innocent person – such as myself – needs to think like a rational human being.

The shit’s most likely called Prey or something equally idiotic, but telling.

I bet a bit of fresh air and an ice-cold brewskie will clear the sense right up.

Maybe I’ll stop and get a German brand to drink while searching for jobs in that country.

Snowman hurriedly reaches for my elbow in an attempt to stop me, “Arden-”

“Hoss,” leaves me on a reclaiming snatch of my arm. “And this is why I don’t date hockey players.” His mouth twitches, clearly ready to make another plea, prompting me to announce, “I got what I came for, Snowman.” Retreating to my shoes and clutch continues. “Time to let the bunnies do the same, aye?”

His shoulders instantly slump downward alongside another pleading gesture. “But-”

“See you on Monday.”

There’s a third and a fourth and even fifth effort executed to keep me in the room, yet they all fail.

Just like his initial pursuitshould have.

Chapter 6

Tanner

Becks:Didn’t make the cut.

Becks:No one wants me.

Becks:STILL.

“Froskkkkyyyyy,” calls out the woman that Iwishdidn’t want me.

Becks:Gonna go get fucked up.

“Ohhhhh, Froskkkkyyyy,” she summons from the direction I’m headed.

Becks:You in?

“Frosky!”

This time there’s no hesitation to look up and bite, “Yes, Audrey?”

She slows her stroll significantly down as if hoping it’ll capture and keep my attention.

It doesn’t.

My stare falls back to my phone where I begin typing only to have her hand wind around the screen to prevent me from continuing.

The instant our eyes are locked once more she inquires, “How did you know it was me?”

Putting aside the fact Arden wouldneverwillingly wear a skirt – let alone a mini skirt – or heels – damn sure not ones that lace up her calves – her hair isdown, her makeup is unmistakable, and her ear lacks a certain accessory I was too drunk the first time to recall missing.

Rather than say a word of that, I simply slide my phone into my gray sweats pocket and smugly state, “Mistaking you for your sister is the type of shit I’m only going to do once.” Her unhappy pout encourages me to bitterly grin. “Now, what is it you want?”

She trails the index finger of her free hand down my white t-shirt covered chest. “You mean besides you?”

“Yes.”

“Your vote.”

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