Page 45 of Zero Pucks

Tilting my head down, I asked, “Do you want this?”

There was a long beat—hesitation enough that I started to worry, and then he nodded. “I really do. I’m just nervous.”

“Me too.”

He scoffed. “Right.”

“Trust me…I don’t do this a lot. But I like you. And it doesn’t have to be anything, you know. I get that you just got out of a relationship, and I’m not proposing marriage here. But we could do this, if you want. And more.”

“And more,” he echoed. It wasn’t a question.

I licked my lips, then lowered my head more. We were very nearly touching. All he’d have to do was lean forward. “For now, a kiss.”

“Okay,” he said, and then between two short breaths, the distance between us evaporated, and I had his mouth on mine once more.

CHAPTERTEN

AMEDEO

He was kissing me.And I was kissing him back.

His tongue was warm and soft and demanding in the way that it moved against my own, like he was trying to learn the touch map of my mouth. His fingers gripped me hard, digging into my waist before letting go to coast a soft graze up my ribs.

My whole body twitched, and I let out a half giggle, which was partly from being ticklish and partly because I was nervous as hell. I hadn’t expected this. I hadn’t expected him to want me back at all. I thought every kind thing he’d done and every invite he’d given me was out of pity.

I was pathetic, after all. I was self-aware enough to know and admit it.

Tucker pulled back, and his gaze searched my face. His eye—slightly foggy from the scarring—was laser focused. “Deo.”

God, I loved the way that sounded on his lips.

“Is this…I mean, should I stop, or?—”

“No,” I said, then panicked when he flinched back. I gripped him tighter, pulled him closer. “It’s fine. It’s good. This is good.”

He looked unsure, twisting his head around to look at the bathroom door. That was the moment I remembered we weren’t somewhere private. Whipping his head back toward me, he surged forward and gave me a hard, almost angry kiss. “Later,” he said against my mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

I had no idea what later was supposed to mean. Would this pick up later? Would we talk? Would he apologize and tell me this couldn’t happen the way I wanted?

I took a deep breath, and as it shuddered on the exhale, he twisted fingers into my hair and pulled me forward until my face was resting in the crook of his neck. He smelled so damn nice—fresh and clean and a little sweet. His arms were tight, his body a steady ballast, and my breathing quickly matched his own.

“We should get back before those assholes come looking for us. It’s bad enough that we got married in Vegas. They will never let me live it down if they catch us making out like a couple of teenagers in a bathroom stall.” For a moment, I thought he was ashamed. But then he trailed his fingers down my arm and linked them with mine. “Get me back to the table.”

I nodded, then hesitated. “I don’t remember if I ever asked you about your eyes.”

His shoulders sagged in the way that told me he was tired of answering that question. But he didn’t look upset. “In the accident, I lost this eye.” He pulled his glasses low on his nose and tapped his right one. I flinched, but it made a sort of clicking sound. “This one’s prosthetic.”

That made sense. It was a totally different color from the other.

“This one’s all scarred up. I can see out of it, but everything’s blurry as fuck even with my glasses, so when the room’s really dimly lit, like this restaurant, I tend to walk into tables.”

I frowned as he took my hand again and tugged me toward the door. “Why choose it?”

“Jonah did. He’s worse than me.” With that, he pulled us into the little corridor, and I took up the position walking ahead, getting us back to the table while being a little more careful than when we had walked away.

Ford and Jonah stopped talking abruptly as we approached. Jonah had his curled fists under his chin, a little smile on his face, and Ford was watching with raised eyebrows.

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