Page 74 of Pucking Sweet

“Is this your new office?” he says, glancing around at the cleaning supplies and the mop bucket. “Nice. Definitely an improvement. I can see they’re really paying you the big bucks—ow!” He rubs his bicep as I shake out my fist. “What was that for?”

“Youknowwhat that was for,” I hiss. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

“I think this is gonna leave a bruise.”

“Oh yeah? Well, consider us even.”

His expression flickers with alarm. “Wait, I bruised you? Where?”

“Are you freaking kidding me? You took aliteralbite out of my shoulder, Lukas.”

His gaze heats, and I know he’s picturing it. “Oh, yeah…that.”

“Yes,that. And I bruise like a peach. I couldn’t run in my sports bra for days because you could see the marks from all your fake freaking teeth!”

His expression flashes with hot indignation. “Hey, not all my teeth are fake—”

“I am not trapped in this smelly mop closet with you to discuss which of your teeth are fake!”

He crosses his arms, those tatted biceps bulging. “Then why are we in here, Poppy?”

“Because you just—”

“And you’re not trapped.”

I blink up at him. “What?”

“This door doesn’t even lock,” he says, reaching over and jiggling the handle. “You could leave at any time. So, not trapped.”

“I’m emotionally trapped! Lukas, you can’t approach me at work about personal matters.”

“I thought that was your literal job,” he challenges, and gosh darn it, I know he’s right. I’m being completely irrational right now, but he’s standing in front of me looking so good and smelling like he did that night…

“You’re the one who told me to have all my sexual partners sign contracts,” he goes on.

“I did. But—”

“Every partner, you said. A legal condom, you said.”

I sigh. “I did.”

His expression flashes with triumph. “Well, you’re my sexual partner now, so I’m really gonna need you to sign that contract.”

“Was.”

“What?”

“Iwasyour sexual partner,” I correct. “Past tense. It happened once.”

“Pretty sure you came like five times, but who’s counting?”

“I’m counting it asonce. One sad, desperate mistake, never to be repeated,” I add, echoing his words from our infamous morning after.

He glares at me, and I glare right back. He really wants to push me on this now? Between my grueling work schedule, my exhausting family, and the emotional whiplash of Anderson reentering my life, I’m at my wits-freaking-end. “Fine,” I say, pulling out my phone.

He leans away, eyes wide. “Wait, what are you doing?”

I open his email and tap on the contract file. “I’m signing this contract.”

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