Page 71 of Puck You Very Much

Lucy’s apartment was exactly as he had imagined.

Her bookshelves were a mismatched array of wood finishes. The couch was red and worn with a ton of colorful, mismatched pillows. Her coffee table was made of Pepsi crates bound together with a wooden board across the top.

“If only our sponsor Coca-Cola could see this,” he said reproachfully.

Lucy laughed. “The crates were the right height! And in my defense, I had the table before I joined the Hawks.”

“Ah, yes,” he said slowly, looking around and smiling. “You’re a rebellious hippie at heart, aren’t you? Not a woman who likes to wear pantsuits?”

"To be honest, everything you see here is due to lack of time,” she said, scratching her head. “Most of the furniture is from my college days. Back then, I didn’t have the money to buy new, and now… I don’t have the time. Ironic, isn’t it?” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “A lot of people say I work too much, but I love my job. It can’t be that bad, can it?”

No. It couldn’t. Dax understood exactly what she meant.

“You have time now,” he murmured, taking off his coat and moving toward her.

She smiled. “Yes, but right now I’m not thinking about my furniture.”

“Ah, what are you thinking about?” he asked, his voice rough at the edges. He calmly pushed her jacket off her shoulders. “Your shopping list?”

“Indeed,” she whispered, leaning her head gently into his touch as his fingers danced lightly over her cheek. “I’m trying to remember if I bought condoms.”

He laughed hoarsely. “And? Did you?”

She nodded. “I may have had a feeling something like this might happen,” she whispered. Her eyes met his and he saw a flash of heat, heat that he had been missing for the past few days.

“Even though you were ignoring me?” he asked, running a hand through her hair.

“That’s exactly why I ignored you, Dax,” she whispered. “Because I knew this would happen again if I didn’t.”

“And what’s changed now?”

“It’s like you said: We fought. We lost. I don’t fight unwinnable wars.”

He smiled and gently pulled out the hairband that held Lucy’s hair in a slicked-back ponytail as always. “But I bet you win most of them.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Which is why this is special.”

“Oh, you have to watch what you say,” he whispered, dropping the hairband on the floor and watching Lucy’s pretty red hair fall to her shoulders. “If you call me special, it might go to my head.”

“I think that’s already happened,” she said, amused, and tried to tuck her hair behind her ears, but he stopped her.

“No. You should wear it down. Always.”

“But it’s in the way.”

“No. It’s beautiful,” he said, combing his fingers through it, lifting her chin, and kissing her—softly…urgently, simply because he couldn’t stop himself. He ran his hands down her curves, unzipping her skirt…and Lucy pulled away from him.

“No.” She shook her head, stepped back, and folded her arms in front of her body. “Not just yet. First, take off your clothes.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What?”

“Last time you were almost completely dressed, and I didn’t like that. So take off your clothes!”

He grinned. “Rather bossy.”

“That’s my best quality.”

No. Her best quality was her generosity. Her strength. Her loyalty and her desire to do the right thing.

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