Page 32 of Pucking the Grump

“Wow,” she murmurs once we’ve purchased a giant cup of quarters each. Her eyes widen as she scans the space. “They really do have everything. Where should we start?”

“Basketball first. Always good for a warm-up.” I take her hand, pulling her toward the collection of hoops at the back, while Barb gambols after us, already having a fabulous time. “First one to fifty points wins, and the loser buys lunch?”

She arches a brow, studying me with those sharp green eyes that see too much. “As long as you don’t have plans to let me win.”

I fake a wounded expression as we stop beside the basketball section. “Would I do that?”

“You absolutely would.” She steps closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that goes straight to my groin as she adds, “But here’s the thing, Stone…fake wins don’t turn me on.”

My mouth goes dry. “No?”

“No.” Her fingers trail down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I need real, healthy, intense competition. The kind that works up an appetite for...” Her tongue sweeps across her lips. “Pizza.”

The way she says ‘pizza’ makes it clear she’s not talking about food.

Not at all.

Just when I thought I couldn’t love her more…

“Well then,” I manage, my voice rougher than it was before. “I guess it’s game on, Bossy.”

The next half hour passes in a cacophony of trash talk, rattling nets, and enthusiastic cheerleading from Barb. Remy’s good—scary good—and watching her sink three-pointers with a look of fierce concentration on her pretty face does things to me.

Things that make it hard to focus on actually beating her fine ass…

Which really is looking extra fine in those skin-tight leggings she pulled from her back seat this morning.

“Eyes up here, Stone,” she taunts after making a particularly impressive shot. “Staring at my butt isn’t going to help you catch up before it’s too late.”

I grin as I grab the ball, dribbling it with precision. “You don’t know that. Maybe butt-gazing helps me focus. Maybe it’s my secret weapon.”

Her brows lift. “Really? Okay, I’ll try it while you shoot, then.” Her gaze drops to my butt and damn it, if it doesn’t make me thicker.

Just a look, that’s all it takes.

I know I’m beaten right then, at least five minutes before she sinks her final shot, hitting fifty points with a soft “yes!” of triumph. Her arms surge up into a V of victory as Barb dances around her feet in celebration.

“Not cool, Barb,” I say. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Nah, Barb’s a girl’s girl, especially when it comes to sports,” Remy says, her eyes bright with triumph as she scoops my puppy into her arms, accepting Barb’s enthusiastic face kisses. “I know, buddy. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without your help. You’re a great cheerleader.” To me, she adds, “Ready to get your ass kicked at Mario Kart, next?”

Too gone on this woman to care how often my ass is kicked, I nod. “Let’s do it.”

We work our way through the classics, having a blast. Barb trots along beside us, patient in the wake of sniffs from the other dogs and fawning from the players. Being the center of attention is nothing new to my girl. She’s accustomed to being the most adorable dog in any room, and handles herself with her usual grace.

Still, I’m careful to keep an eye on her. She’s a tiny thing, easily crushed beneath a boot or a large purse, and her safety is always top of mind.

When a little girl with blond pigtails makes a beeline for us, squealing in excitement just as Remy slips quarters into the Tetris machine, I’m ready, and smoothly insert myself between kid and pup.

“Hey there, you look like you love dogs,” I say, crouching down to the girl’s level. She can’t be more than four or five and is clearly a huge animal fan. She’s practically trembling with excitement, which has Barb looking skittish.

“Yes. Is that your puppy?” she says, still at a decibel way too loud for sensitive dog ears. “She’s so cute!”

“Yeah, that’s Barb,” I say, modeling a soft, soothing voice. “She likes making new friends, but she does get a little nervous around loud noise. Can you whisper while you pet her? I bet she’d like that.”

The girl nods solemnly, before adding in an exaggerated whisper, “Yes, I can.”

“Maddie!” A woman with slightly darker blond hair hurries over, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry. She just bolted. She loves chihuahuas. She must have seen your dog and?—”

---