Page 30 of Zero Pucks

“You remember that?” He leaned forward, tucking his curled fist under his chin, and Christ, he was cute. He didn’t seem a day over twenty-five with the round apples of his cheeks and his dimples. Even the scar didn’t take away from his youthful look.

“I’ve been having, ah, flashes? I guess. I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that blackout drunk before.”

“Glad I could pop your cherry, then,” he said and snagged his iced coffee, taking down half the cup while he grinned around the straw.

My cheeks flamed deeper red, and I was pretty sure I was the color of a tomato. I probably deserved the public humiliation though. I couldn’t quite remember how we got the night started, but I was almost a thousand percent sure it was my idea to get married.

“Um.”

“Untwist your panties. I’m joking. You don’t give off virgin vibes.”

I choked on my tongue, and he shoved his drink at me, nearly smacking me in the eye with his straw.

“Sorry, shit. My depth perception isn’t great.” He reached forward with a comfort level I was not expecting, touched my mouth with his fingers, then shoved the straw against it. “Drink this and don’t die.”

I obeyed him. Why the fuck was I obeying him! The coffee was too sweet and full of caramel, which I hated. “That’s disgusting.”

He burst into laughter. “It’ll put hair on your chest. Anyway, so. We got naked because I was hot, then you woke up and…panicked?”

“That about sums it up,” I told him.

“Because we were married.”

“Ah. Well…I didn’t quite figure that part out until I went downstairs and the front desk had our marriage documents and—um.”

He lifted his left brow at me.

“Your, um. Your legs?”

“Oh,shit. They had them?” He slapped the table, making me jump. It was instinctive, but when I did it, he looked immediately sorry and yanked his hand back. “I thought you ran off with them and then got a guilty conscience.”

I couldn’t help a small giggle. “Who would do that?”

“I don’t know! Who gets wasted, marries a stranger, then leaves them in a strange bed?” It should have sounded like an accusation, but it didn’t. “Do you know why we got married?”

“I have really, really foggy memories. We were talking in a bar.”

“Yeah,” Tucker said slowly. “I was sad. You were sad.”

“I was angry,” I corrected, but that felt like a lie. “And a little sad. My boyfriend is—was—a shithead that night.”

“Was a shithead or was your boyfriend?” Tucker asked. His tone was tense.

“Was my boyfriend. Still a shithead. I’m kind of hiding from him right now.” Why was I telling him that, oh fuck.Shut up, Amedeo. You do not need to be trauma dumping all over this man.

Tucker’s face fell. “Did I fuck up your relationship?”

“God no. No. Bryce and I were…” We weren’t over, and that night was definitely some form of cheating, but it was already so fucked to hell. “Things hadn’t been good for a while.” I swallowed heavily. “He’s not a very nice person.”

Tucker looked outraged. “Does he live nearby?”

“Um. No? I live in California.”

His face fell a little. “Oh. Oh my God, you’re so far away from home!”

I laughed a bit and rubbed the back of my neck. “Mm. But it’s fine. It was better that I put some distance between us. He’s currently holding my apartment hostage with the guy he’s been seeing behind my back for the last six months and probably doing gross things to all my stuff…and why am I telling you this. You don’t care.”

Tucker looked like he did care though. He reached across the table and yanked my hand into his, squeezing it. “Did you tell me all this shit at the bar?”

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