Page 213 of Pucking Sweet

I can see him roll his eyes at me behind his shades. “We’re gonna be polite to her family.”

I nod. “And what are wenotgonna do?”

He sighs. “We’re not gonna punch the groom in the face.”

“And?” I press.

Now he’s scowling. “We’re not gonna fuck like rabbits in the church.”

“Very good,” I say, squeezing his shoulder.

There’s a small line at the check-in desk, so we drop our bags down and wait.

“Did you tell her we’re here?” he asks, eyes on his phone.

“I told her the moment we arrived,” I assure him.

As an added little “fuck you” from Poppy’s mom, she booked us in a separate room. Apparently, Poppy spent thirty minutes arguing with the hotel staff until she got us moved into adjoining rooms. Lukas pulls up the reservation on his phone.

Laughter has me glancing over my shoulder. A troop of about ten white men in a rainbow of matching pastel golf shirts and khaki shorts comes strolling in through the large glass doors. Jesus, they look like carbon copies of each other. Two of the men look a little older, graying at the temples. But most are young, ranging in age from sixteen to mid-thirties.

I know the guy in the middle in the mint green golf tee. I recognize his face. It’s the groom. He notices me and Lukas, and, for a brief moment, his carefree smile falls. He quickly replaces it with something that looks more eager, like a dog with a bone.

Lord, here we go.

I tap Lukas in the chest.

“Gentlemen,” Anderson calls out, holding his arms out as he walks up.

Lukas turns, his expression going stony. We already thought this guy was a douche based on his social media profile. We hate him for what he did to Poppy. But he’s somehow so much worse in person. He oozes wealth and sophistication, but the stronger scent wafting off him is bullshit. Yeah, he’s about to come over here and shovel it on thick.

“Rule two,” I mutter at Lukas.

No punching the groom in the face.

“You’re the hockey guys, right?” Anderson holds out a hand.

Lukas reaches for him first. “Yeah, and you’re Andy, right? Lukas Novikov.”

“It’s Anderson,” he replies. “But you knew that,” he adds with a smirk.

“Hey, I’m Colton Morrow,” I say, offeringmy hand.

Anderson shakes it. “And you two are Poppy’s friends…or is it coworkers? We’re all a little confused about that.”

“Sure,” Lukas replies.

“We’re friends, and we’re coworkers,” I add.

And, you know, soul mates…if you believe in that sort of thing.

We’re finally out to everyone on the team. That’s what happens when you can’t keep your hands off each other, and you just keep getting caught. Lukas and I were messing around in the storage closet the other day, when Jake and Sanny came busting in, looking to do the same thing. They dared to get offended, and said it was their storage closet. We stood there like a bunch of assholes playing rock, paper, scissors to decide who stayed and who left.

“That Poppy, I tell ya,” Anderson says. “She’s a little spitfire, isn’t she?” Why is he still holding my hand? “When will one of you step up, and lock that girl down, put a ring on her finger?”

“Poppy’s perfectly content as she is,” I reply.

Seriously, he’s still shaking my fucking hand.

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