Page 6 of The Pucker and the Princess
Jenkins
Something happen? You usually like to ride by yourself. You made that very clear last year when I suggested we carpool
Battery died. No one’s here to give me a jump
Jenkins
Oh, I see how it is. We’re not good enough for you the rest of the time, but now that you need something, you hit us up?
Can I get a ride with you or not?
He sends a gif of Heidi Klum doing her shockedWowface, and I growl. This isnotwhat I need right now.
Jenkins
Bouchard and I are en route. Sorry, man. Gonna have to Uber it
Fuck. I’ve wasted precious time going back and forth with my asshole teammate. I’m definitely gonna be late, which means my laces’ll be all cut up.
Coach gives us a time range to show up, but we all know we’re supposed to be there three hours ahead of time. I won’tofficiallybe late. But I’ll be late enough my teammates will punish me regardless. And even though Jenkins and Bouchard now know it’s because of car trouble, that won’t matter. Odds are, they’ll be the ones doing the cutting, laughing the whole time.
Fuck.
“Um, excuse me?” says a female voice behind me. Her accent reminds me of a guy I used to play with before I got traded to theEmeralds. He was from somewhere down south. Texas, I think. Her accent isn’t quite as thick as his, though. “Is everything okay? Do you need some?—”
She cuts off as I turn around, her face going from open and helpful to annoyed in the space of a heartbeat, though her eyes sparkle with something like humor. It’s my new neighbor who’s been running circles through my thoughts since she moved in weeks ago.
I raise my eyebrows. “You offering to help me?”
Pursing her lips, she looks me down and up, and I can’t help catching how her eyes seem to linger on my exposed forearms. I resist the urge to subtly flex. I’m not trying to impress this woman. I’m trying to keep my distance.
But if she can help …
I return her look, taking in her casual wear—jeans and a Brasher hoodie—and I can’t help smirking.
Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head and crosses her arms, the action nicely framing her sweatshirt-covered tits. “When I didn’t realize it wasyou, I was going to.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it, Princess. I wouldn’t want you to get your hands dirty on my account anyway.”
Her nostrils flare at the mocking nickname, and her eyes narrow when I say I don’t want her to get her hands dirty. “First, I was always taught to help people in need when I had the ability to do so.” She holds up one of those perfectly manicured hands, finger jabbing toward me. “And second, let me worry about how dirty my hands get, okay?”
I hold up my hands in a gesture of surrender. Even though getting an Uber would probably be safer for my sanity, I’d rather not be late to the game if I can help it. “I wouldn’t dream of worrying about your hands.” Now,fantasizingabout them might be a different story, but I’m sure as hell not saying that out loud. And especially not to her, of all people.
Rolling her eyes, she stalks away, leaving me standing with my mouth hanging open. She offers to help and then leaves without another word? Was I reallythatoffensive?
“Where are you going?” I demand, unable to help myself.
“To get my car,” she calls over her shoulder. “I assume you need a jump. Or is there something else wrong?” She pauses, half turning to look at me and wait for my response.
“Battery’s dead,” I tell her, and she nods like that was already obvious.
I fiddle with my phone for a minute while I wait for her to return, and she shows up a minute later driving a sleek black Lexus, parking it so it’s facing my truck. I guess if I’m going to need a jump, it’s fortunate I tend to back in when I park. Her car’s pretty, the same kind Jenny made me rent, and that commonality makes me snort, crossing my arms and sighing. This womanhasto be just like her. Though I guess the main difference is that Jenny wantedmeto provide the money and luxury car, whereas this woman already has them. How does she pay for them, though? Not that I care. I shouldn’t want to know anything about her at all. I’ve seen how she dresses. I know that she’s exactly the kind of woman I need to avoid at all costs.
And yet here I am, asking her for help.
“Fuck me sideways,” I mutter, shaking my head.
She appears in front of me and shoves jumper cables into my hands. Turning her back to me, she attaches the other end to her car in no time, staring at me expectantly.
