Page 21 of Forbidden Puck
Terror washed over me as I had a flashback to the two of us together. I cringed as the memories played out: how stupidly giggly I was with him, how I couldn't keep my hands (or feet!) off of him, how I nearly jumped in his lap to watch that ridiculous honey badger video with him …
And,ugh,how I camesoclose tokissing him.
I smacked my forehead, and a loudclapechoed off Lance's empty bedroom walls.
Did I seriously almost have a drunken moment with Lance's teammate? How embarrassing. He must think I'm a complete nut. Or wasted slut or something.
Yes, I absolutely wanted to flirt with Radar during my stay in Boston—butonlyif Lance was present to get pissed off by it.
Last night? I was way, way out of line. I wondered if Radar would tell Lance about how I acted? I hoped not.
There was a knock at the door.
“Ella?” It was Lance's voice. “You awake in there? I hear you moving around.”
“I'm awake.”
“C'mon then, get up. I ordered breakfast and we've got a long day ahead of us.”
Mm. Right. Shopping for Lance.
“I'll be out in a minute.”
After I dressed, I headed to the kitchen. What I saw made me gasp with delight.
If Lance wanted to make things up to me, ordering in some of my favorite breakfast foodstuffs was averygood way to start. On the center-island sat a fruit and cheese dish, waffles, bagels with cream-cheese and lox, scrambled eggs, hot coffee and more.
Lance stood by his peace offering awkwardly, one hand on the center-island, the other hand nervously scratching the back of his head.
“Aw, Lance!” I said, leaping into my brother with a flying hug.
“Alright, alright,” he mumbled. He hugged me back with a limp arm. “Don't freak out over it. I just want you to be well-fed and thinking clearly while we're out on our shopping spree.”
I piled food onto my plate. “I've always been curious: do youpurposelysay the wrong thing, or are you just helpless?”
“Whatever. Listen, the point is, maybe you were right. Maybe I should've told you that I wanted you to decorate in the first place.”
“Not maybe—you definitely should have.”
“Okay. You're right. So, yeah, I'm sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” I nodded triumphantly and took a bite of my bagel and lox. “Mm. That's good.”
“So you won't mind helping me pick things out for the condo?”
“Are you kidding? Ilovedecorating, Lance.”
“Even though our place is empty?”
“For an interior decorator, an empty space is like a blank canvas to paint on. What's your budget?”
“Budget? Really?” He laughed the question off as if it was totally absurd. “Youknowhow much I make, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “It's a standard question I ask every single client. I'm not asking how much money you make, I'm asking how much you're willing to spend. Besides, I dunno, maybe you're responsible with your money?”
“Hell naw,” he said with arrogance.
I sighed. “Okay, the budget is unlimited. Is there a specific aesthetic you're hoping to achieve?”
