Page 62 of The Pucking Arrangement

I jerk back, pulse pounding, chest tight.

Ris tugs my hand, oblivious to the inferno simmering between us. “What does this say?”

I exhale sharply, forcing my focus back.

But I feel Erin beside me. Still close. Still scorching, coursing through my blood.

I lean down to read the plaque with Ris, but out of the corner of my eye, I catch Erin’s reflection in the glass.

Her gaze flicks between the statue and me.

And then—so quick I almost miss it—she bites her lip.

A slow, deep ache rolls through my center.

Ris tugs at Erin’s hand, shaking her from her daze. “Look, the statue is so serious. Just like Papa.”

Erin’s laugh comes out a little too breathy. “Yes, exactly like Papa. Always scowling.”

But when her eyes meet mine, they aren’t teasing. They’re fire and ruin. A storm that’s already hit shore.

And that’s when I know.

She thinks she’s still waiting for me to break.

She doesn’t realize I already have.

Chapter13

The Morning After Greek Warriors

Erin

I’ve been awake for hours now, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers to questions I have no business asking.

Like how Dmitri’s breath felt against my neck in that museum gallery.

Or what would have happened if Ris hadn’t interrupted.

God, what was I thinking?

I wasn’t. That’s the problem. One look at him in that dim light, all barely leashed control and raw hunger, and my brain just…short-circuited.

“Is that something you’d like to verify?”

The memory of his voice—rough, teasing, dangerous—sends another wave of heat spiraling through me. I press my thighs together, but it does nothing to quell the ache that’s been haunting me for days.

The house is silent. That perfect, pre-dawn stillness that offers a fragile illusion of safety. A few stolen hours before I have to see him. Before I have to pretend yesterday didn’t happen.

I should start my day. Work on my YouTube videos. Do literally anything except lie here, breathless, remembering the way he stepped closer, his heat obliterating the space between us. How he looked at me, like he was about to devour me whole.

But the second I think about picking up my laptop, I remember his hands. The way his fingers flexed when I teased him about the statue. The slow, controlled way he exhaled, like he was reining in something dangerous.

“Is this how you see me? Naked?”

Stop it. I press my face into the pillow.Just stop.

The gym. That’s what I need. A hard, punishing workout to burn off this restless energy. To stop my traitorous mind from spinning, from replaying the way his accent thickened when he caught me staring. The way his entire body went taut when I compared Attalus to hockey players. The flash of pure, unchecked hunger in his eyes before Ris called for him.

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