Page 27 of The Rebound Plan

“I like them better than cars.” Shannon wiggles her fingers at the shallot Emery holds out. “I like sponsorship deals, too, by the way.”

“Have you seen Russ’s ads for BioPunk?” Emery asks.

I groan. “Don’t.”

“Of course I have,” Shannon says. “Max is with them, too.”

And his commercials are better. He’s more of a natural in front of the camera. I’m stiff and awkward, an oversized bear of a man—which has gone over better than expected back home in Scotland, where everyone on TikTok is taking the piss.

Good for BioPunk. Maybe even good for my name recognition outside of ice rinks.

Not good for my chances on getting another big sponsorship, probably, but that’s fine. I only need the one. The BioPunk contract was a solid chunk of my down payment on this place.

Emery sets a red pepper in front of Shannon next. “And have you seen the TikToks?”

Shannon pauses, glancing sideways at me. “No.”

“I need to get one of thoseno phones allowedsigns for this kitchen,” I say.

Emery winks. “I’ll show you the best ones later. I have them saved in a collection.”

“You’re a brat,” I growl at her.

“Am I a brat you want to make a gin and tonic for?” She bats her eyes innocently.

“Oooh, a G&T,” Shannon sighs.

Damn it. “Yeah,” I grind. “I’ll make you drinks.”

“You do that and I’ll set the table outside.” Emery grabs the cutlery first, as I fill two glasses with ice. By the time she returns for the plates, I shove a cocktail at her, too.

She grabs it with her free hand and winks at me again. “Good boy.”

Shannon’s eyebrows pop up for a split second, as Emery somehow juggles all of that outside, but she doesn’t miss a beat chopping peppers.

I clear my throat. “She didn’t mean it like that.”

Shannon looks up in surprise, her eyes flaring. “Like what?”

Shit. “Nothing.”

I slide her drink onto the island next to where she’s chopping and busy my hands with making my own drink. That doesn’t stop me from noticing the smile that plays at the corners of her mouth.

“Okay,” she says.

“That’s not my— She’s not—” I protest. But the explanation dies on my tongue. Because this weekend she is.

The smile grows. “I said okay. But if you keep protesting, I’ll be forced to draw the conclusion that you are, in fact, a good boy.”

I groan. “Really not.”

“I don’t know,” Shannon muses innocently. She scrapes the perfectly diced pepper into a small bowl next to the bowl of minced shallot, then wipes her hands and takes a sip of her drink before ticking points off on her fingers. “You’re a consummate host. You’re the first person anyone on the team calls when they need a strong pair of arms. You make a mean gin and tonic.” She pauses to lift her glass in a toast to me, which only makes all of this worse. “You’ve clearly caught yourself a good one with Emery, who probably has very high standards.”

“The highest,” I say dryly.

“And then there’s the fact that you’re blushing right now.” Shannon’s eyes are dancing, which is definitely more the cause of any manly flush I might be experiencing than teasing words from a girl who is like a sister to me. But I can’t tell her that. She leans in and lowers her voice in a way that feels dangerous to my self-control. “It’s okay, Russell. It can be our secret that you’re a very good boy indeed.”

Fuck.

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