Page 98 of Pucking Sweet

“I was thinking I’ll dust off some Boyz II Men, maybe some Backstreet Boys.”

I spin around, my eyes narrowed at him. I see the joke dancing in his pretty caramel eyes. “How did you know?”

“What, that the Backstreet Boys is one of your favorite bands?” He takes a sip of his beer. “Word to the wise, Popsicle. If you don’t want people to know things about you, don’t post them to social media. As my PR director, I assumed you were aware—”

“I haven’t posted a picture of me at a Backstreet Boys concert thismillennium, you creep! What, did you stalk my old Facebook photos?”

“The internet is forever, Pops—”

“Don’tcall me ‘Popsicle.’ And don’t youdareruin Backstreet Boys for me. I mean it, Lukas.”

Chuckling, he winks and saunters away. Arrogant ass. I turn back toward the band, taking another sip of my mojito. Up on the stage, our captain’s wife, Shelby, is singing “That Don’t Impress Me Much” by Shania Twain. No one is a bigger hype man than Josh. He stands there clapping and singing along, throwing out the occasional wolf whistle.

They’re so stinkin’ cute together. And they have the cutest mess of adorable, sporty kids. Honestly, they’re a PR dream. He even teaches Sunday school. I snap a few pictures with Josh foregrounded, Shelby glowing under the purple lights of the stage. I won’t post these to the team socials, I’ll just send them to her as a little keepsake. Everyone deserves to have evidence of being treasured.

“Hey.” Colton steps in behind me, his hand on my hip. I’m wearing a little floral print, off-the-shoulder peasant top that doesn’t quite skim the top of my jeans. His fingers find that barest strip of exposed skin, brushing over it quick like a kiss. But, oh god, I feel it like a brand.

“Hey.”

“What was that about?”

“What was what?”

“Novikov. Was he bothering you?”

I roll my eyes. “He’s always bothering me.”

Colton turns to go after him, and I fist his shirt. “No—hey, what are you doing?”

“I told him to stay the fuck away from you,” he growls.

“You did what?” My frustration rises as I let go of his shirt. “Colton, we work together. I’m going to see and talk to Lukas. Regularly. But I’m a big girl, and I can handle my own business. I don’t need you being a jerk to him for no reason—”

“You think I have no reason to be a jerk?”

“No, you don’t.”

He crosses his arms.

“Lukas was there for me as a friend. I asked for everything that happened that night. I was sad about Anderson, and my family, and all of it. I didn’t want to be alone. He was there, and that’s it. Okay?”

He shakes his head, his gaze still on wherever Lukas is in the crowd. Then he’s leaning down, his dark eyes locked on me. “I toldyou to come tomeif you needed to be kissed. I told you on the plane, days before DC—”

“Well, I wasn’t going to just waltz up to you and say ‘Hey, remember that open invitation to kiss me senseless? Well, my ex-fiancé is marrying my little sister, so I’d like to cash that in now.’”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s embarrassing. And pathetic and sad. Three words I’d rather not associate with myself when it comes to you.”

His eyes narrow. “So, the sex with Novy was pathetic and sad?”

“No, it was—” I groan, fisting my mojito. “Youtold me you didn’t want to know any of this.”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind.”

I shake my head. “Colton,no. I am not going to hurt you just because you’re already feeling hurt. Believe it or not, he was good to me. It happened. That doesn’t mean it will ever happen again.”

“It better not,” he growls.

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