Page 13 of Pucking Sweet

It’s oddly comforting to know some people really do never change.

5

My phone buzzes on the kitchen island and I know it’s Novy texting me to hurry up. I’m running so late. My mom called for her Sunday chat as I was hauling in groceries, and I couldn’t get her off the phone for almost an hour. Now I’m still wet from my shower, T-shirt tucked into the top of my shorts, letting my body air dry as I hunt around this tiny apartment for my wallet.

“Aha.” I find it sitting beside the bowl of seashells on my coffee table, along with my lip balm. I slip both in my pocket and glance around.

Unlike most of the guys, I’m still living in the team’s temporary housing. This apartment is just an efficiency unit—two small bedrooms, a laundry stack in the kitchen, a little balcony barely large enough for three people to stand on. But hey, I’ve lived in much worse dives over the years.

With all my family drama, I barely made it to town in time for the start of training camp. Most of my stuff is still in suitcases in the bedroom. I’m lucky I even found a clean T-shirt to wear tonight.

But I can’t think about that now. I pass through the kitchen. Grabbing my buzzing phone, I answer the call as I slip on my slides. “Nov, what?”

Loud bar sounds echo around him. “Where are you? We said seven.”

“Yeah, and it’s only just now seven,” I say, juggling the phone to my ear as I snag my keys.

“Well, we’re all here waiting—”

“Jeez, I’m on the way. I’m in the car.”

“No, you’re not, asshole.”

I pause. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Because I synced our contacts with the Find My Phone app.”

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Why did you…you know what? Fine. Forget it. I haven’t left the house yet. But I’ve got my keys in hand, and I’m leaving right now. Just order me a beer, and I’ll be there in like ten minutes.”

“Well, what kind of beer do you want? They have like thirty on tap.”

I drop the phone to the counter, switching it to speaker so I can shrug into my T-shirt. “Nov, we’ve only been friends for, like, ten fucking years. You know what I like.”

“A double IPA, right? Something pale and extra hoppy? Hey, they have Space Dust—”

“Sounds good. Hanging up now.” I tap the red circle before he can respond.

Double-checking my pockets, I step out onto the fourth-floor apartment landing. I lock the door and spin around, headed for the stairs, but I don’t take two steps before I nearly topple into someone.

There’s a sharp squeal as a pair of small hands grab my forearms. “Ahh, Colton.”

I latch onto Poppy St. James, keeping her from falling over. “Shit, sorry.”

“Heavens, honey, you scared me,” she says with a laugh, dropping her sporty headphones down around her neck. She takes a step back, neck craning as she smiles up at me. I’m six-foot-three and she’s barely five feet tall. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

I let myself look at her. She’s usually wearing those sexy business outfits. Everything is always covered, always professional. Now she’s standing in nothing but a pair of blue runner’s micro shorts and a hot pink sports bra. I can seeeverycurve of her fit body. Her chest and arms are slicked with sweat, her tanned skin is flushed, blood pumping. Her pretty blue eyes are bright with exercise. She searches my face, still smiling.

Shit, she asked me a question.

“I…out,” I manage to say. “Dinner.”

“Fun,” she chimes. “You meeting some of the guys?”

I’m distracted by the little rivulet of sweat that is inching down her collarbone, threatening to disappear between her breasts.

Speak words, Cole.

“Yeah.”

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