Page 17 of Love, Pucks, and Other Stories

“They’ll get it.”

I jerked, nearly spilling my beer all over my lap as Joel sank down next to me onto the cot I was using as a chair. “What?” I asked dumbly.

“They’ll get it,” he said again, tipping his beer in the direction of the game. “They’re good, mostly healthy, and Bailey’s there—so they’re extra motivated.”

“Oh,” I whispered, picking at the edge of the label on my bottle. “It’d be good if they did. Otherwise, Bailey will always feel guilty.”

A shrug. “No reason to.”

I snorted, rolled my eyes. “Feelings don’t follow reason.”

He lifted his own beer up to his lips. “That’s true enough, harpy.”

And thus ended the most civil conversation I had ever had with Joel.

Back toharpy.

Luckily, I was armored up, and I’d braced from the moment I’d heard his voice. No flinching this time, especially not under the bright lights inside the gym.

“Still,” he said after a moment, and I glanced over at him again, saw his gaze was still glued to the game projected on the wall. “They’ll get it.”

Right.

I hoped so.

I really did.

But…feelings didn’t follow reason.

So, I deliberately ignored the line of his jaw—strong and sharp and covered with a beard that had raised gooseflesh on my skin as he’d kissed his way down my torso. I deliberately ignored the way my middle clenched with the memory of him, ignored my pussy getting wet, my fingers itching to stroke that hair-covered jaw.

I ignored all that and just watched the game, picking at the label on my beer until no adhesive remained on the brown glass.

“Gonna drink that?”

I blinked, realized the game had gone to commercial without really processing anything further except that it was still tied and likely heading into overtime.

“What?” I blurted.

“You gonna drink your beer?” Joel asked. “Or are you just going to pick at the label and let it go to waste?”

My nape prickled.

First of all, I hated beer.Stillhated it, even after all the beers I’d drank at Monroe’s and Haggarty’s, choking them down with my dad, my friends. But because of those public beers, everyone thought I liked it.

So, I often found one stuck in my hand.

My townspeople thinking they were taking care of me.

So, I drank the beer.

Because it came from love, and it was their way and—

“Never seen you this quiet before, harp.”

Slice.

“I drove eight hours today.” A shrug. “I’m tired.”

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