Page 80 of Three Pucking Words
“Are they here yet?” Gemma asks for the third time, getting on her tiptoes to peak out the window.
Just like the last four times she asked, I say, “No, Cookie Monster. Not yet. Soon.”
The house smells like cinnamon from the amount of baking I’ve done, and the table is covered with old newspapers to protect it from the pumpkin guts that’s about to blanket it. I woke up feeling way more excited to carve pumpkins than I have been any other year. Usually, it’s a mundane task that I end up finishing when Gemma gets bored and goes off to do something else in the middle of it.
But this year, we have Honor.
And Puck.
Let’s be real. Puck will be the main reason Gemma’s attention is pulled away from the pumpkin she’s talked about nonstop ever since picking it out of the field.
When a car pulls up out front, I half expect to see Sylvia in the driver’s seat. Not a young brunette. I also don’t anticipate her getting out and following Honor up to where I’m standing in front of the door.
The girls are whispering back and forth, and Honor shoots her a look of warning as they stop a few feet away.
“Hi,” I greet, looking at Honor, then her friend. I stick my hand out to her. “I’m Bodhi.”
Her friend beams, quickly taking my hand between hers and shaking it. “Oh, I know. You’re on my hall pass list.”
That isn’t the first time I’ve heard that statement, oddly enough.
“But,” the woman adds, still not introducing herself, “my best friend has dibs on you, so I’ll scratch your name off in solidarity.”
Honor groans as she palms her face. “Mila!”
The girl, Mila, grins at her. “What? I’m being a good friend by sacrificing one of my top passes for you. You should be thankful.”
Honor doesn’t say anything.
“I’m Mila, by the way,” she tells me, dropping our hands. “I’m bisexual, but I’d like to think it’s an eighty-twenty split with women favoring my taste.”
That’s probably more information than I needed to know, but I return it without thinking twice. “It’s nice to meet you, Mila. I’m heterosexual. My particular taste in women has narrowed in on one person in particular, but since she’s currently as red as a tomato, I won’t name names.”
Mila’s grin turns mischievous. “I like you.” She turns to me. “I like him. More heterosexual men should come out as straightto people in their first introductions. It’s veryLove, Simonof him.”
Her name finally registers with me. “Your parents own Mila’s Bistro in Brooklyn, right?” I ask, regaining her attention.
Approval flashes across her face. “Right. Have you been? My father is a big fan of your team, so I’d be shocked if you were there and he didn’t know. He would have either passed out or fangirled. There’s no in between.”
Honor finally joins the conversation. “Your mom wouldn’t have let him do either,” she says, getting a thoughtful nod from Mila.
“You’re right,” Mila relents. “She would have hit him upside the head with her oven mitt if she saw him ogling a famous customer.”
I’ll have to make a point to go there again and say hi now that I know he’s a fan. “Maybe Honor and I can go together one of these days. It’s been a while since I’ve had their food. It’ll give me an excuse to take her out.”
If it’s possible, Honor turns redder.
“I approve,” Mila tells me. “Well, I’m just dropping her off. I’ll get out of your hair. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. That should leave your options wide open. Wear protection, eat your vegetables, and all that good stuff.”
All I can do is stare in amusement as Mila walks back to her car with a wave of her hand.
“Your friend is…”
“Embarrassing,” Honor finishes for me, glaring at the brunette pulling away.
I chuckle. “I was going to say eccentric.”
Honor sighs. “Yeah, she’s that too. Sorry about…her. She insisted on meeting you. The first time I told her about you, she—” She stops herself, wincing.
