Page 37 of Love on Ice

Harper furiously starts typing into her phone. “No,” she screams.

“What?”

“I’m a puma.”

This is ridiculous. “A puma?”

“Yes, a woman under forty who likes younger men,” Harper reads out to me.

“Pumas are probably the sexiest of all big cats so I can see that,” I tease.

“You have a ranking of sexiest big cats?” she questions me.

“Um, don’t you.” I laugh. Her eyes narrow on me, realizing I’m messing with her. “Do you generally date younger men? I mean, we’re not dating, just fucking, so does that come under the puma umbrella or is that a kink?”

“I haven’t dated anyone younger than me. Typically, I go for older men as I thought they were more established and mature.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

Harper gasps. “Not well. Oh my god. You are my gateway to younger men?”

“I’m not a drug, Harper. Even though I can be very addicting,” I say, giving her a wink.

“You think that’s where I’ve been going wrong?”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with the age of the men, probably the types of men. What is your type? I mean, I won’t accept anything less than six foot four, two hundred and twenty pounds, French-Canadian hockey player, with a big dick, tattoos, and muscles.”

“You are the complete opposite of my type.” She smirks. “I’ve been falling for Upper West Side trust fund guys, Wall Street dudes, or some wannabe struggling creative person, insert actor, musician, or artist in there.”

“You’ve never dated an athlete?”

She shakes her head. “I saw all my friends in college date athletes, and it always ended in heartbreak. Pretty much no different to what’s been happening to me now.Wow.I’m having an epiphany.”

“Yeah, and what is it?” I ask, curious.

“That I’m going to be alone forever,” she answers dramatically.

“No, you’re not. You just have shitty taste in men. How about this, next time you want to date someone, let me check him out, and I’ll be able to tell you if he’s an asshole or not,” I tell her.

“Good idea. You speak male. I bet you can see through the guy’s bullshit instantly.”

I nod. “And when I decide to date again, I’ll bring her around and you can help me decide if she's a gold digger or not.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She grins.

“Can we go and grab some dinner now? I’m starved,” I ask.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

“You’re awake.Good. I’m so excited,” she says, bouncing up and down beside the bed. “Get up, pee, grab a granola bar, and get back into bed,” she demands.

I scrub the sleep from my eyes. “What’s going on? Why are you so peppy this early in the morning?”

“It’s late, for once you slept in.”

“That was because of you.”

She waves her hand dismissing my words. “If you don’t do as I ask, you’re not going to get your treat.”

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