Page 56 of Puck Happens

Perfect ass with a giant bruise.

Get a grip!

“This is a bit much, isn’t it?” she asked, as I pulled the five pad shirt with adjustable chest straps over her head and then turned her around to make sure the fit was right.

“You’re copping a feel.”

“Babe, I’m not.” I was shifting the pad on her shoulders, so she was balanced and even. Then I secured the Velcro straps. “If I was copping a feel, I’d do this.”

Making sure I didn’t get the sore side, I gave her perfect little legging-clad butt cheek a squeeze, eliciting a fake sounding squeal on her part.

Another thing you shouldn’t be doing.

“That’s copping a feel,” I said, and quickly removed my hand.

It was meant to be a joke, not an aggressive move. The way she swatted back at my hand told me she took it good-naturedly.

“You’re such a guy,” she accused me.

“Guilty. How does that feel?”

She wiggled her shoulders. “Fine, I guess.”

I stepped back and took a look at her.

“Well?” She put a hand on her hip like an old-school pin up girl.

“You’re smoking hot, babe.” She’d be smoking hot in a garbage bag.

“I feel like a Pillsbury Dough Girl.” She thumped the chest pad in the shirt. “Am I done?” she asked. “Or do you have any more armor in there?”

“You’re done,” I said, and pulled the straps so she could get herself out of the gear.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and while Liv was pulling off her helmet and the pads, I read a text from my sister.

Wendy: Hey, dearest brother. Fall festival next weekend. I can count on you behind the bar. Right?

Dillon: No

Wendy: But I signed you up to be in the dunk tank.

Dillon: Not funny

Wendy: For you, probably not. For me? Hilarious. It’s for a good cause. The local arena needs a new Zamboni.

Dillon: Low blow, Wendy. Low blow.

No chance I was working the bar at the Fall Festival, and now I would be buying the arena a new Zamboni. I can’t believe Hank never said anything when I’d been there.

But she gave me an awesome idea, a solution to this problem Liv and I found ourselves in.

Dillon: Thanks for the reminder.

I put my phone back in my pocket and watched Liv pull her shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing her taut abs. Her creamy skin. I caught a glimpse of a little birth mark near her ribs and the urge to investigate made me take a step back.

“You got any plans next weekend?” I asked, gathering up the garbage from the gifts.

“Studying tape,” she said. “Why?”

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