Page 3 of Totally Pucked

There’s only one explanation for the way I am staring at Katie like I can’t look away.

Hayes is the devil. He is the motherfucking devil on my shoulder, whispering in my ear, “Has your best friend always been that sexy?”

But damn…

Katie’s smile, her pretty pink lips, her big brown eyes, her fair skin and rosy cheeks, that chestnut hair, all silky and long.

Yup. The devil is out tonight, and he is getting bigger and bigger.

There’s an angel on my other shoulder whispering, “She’s your friend. She’s your best friend. Friends don’t think about what friends look like naked.”

But that angel is shrinking down to a speck as Katie reaches me, then sweeps some hair from her cheeks before she looks up into the murky starless sky. “I was promised snow,” she says, then playfully stomps her foot. “I want sledding, and snow angels, and snowmen. Is that too much to ask?”

“I’ll see if I can order up some snow for you,” I say. Then, since I’m holding a gift bag in one hand, I wrap my free arm around her in a friendly bear hug like I’ve always done and…

That was a rookie mistake.

The devil climbed up my back, wrestled the angel to the ground, and took the fuck over. Because I catch the scent of her hair. She smells like jasmine and midnight. Has she always smelled that good?

My train has left Friendship Station and it’s picking up speed as it rattles into Dirty Depot.

I let go of her. Better not linger on how pretty her eyes are, or how lush her lips are.

Katie doesn’t seem bothered by the quick disengagement. Instead, she arches a brow and returns to my comment, asking, “But what if what I really want is spiked hot cocoa?”

Yes! I jump on her question like it’s a puck that just dropped, stat. “Then you are in luck. Let’s get some hot cocoa and whipped cream and marshmallows, all for a good cause,” I say, trying desperately to focus on innocent things, normal things, friendly things.

Like this tasting, where all the money goes to animal rescues, just like the lighting festival.

I open the door to The Spotted Zebra, holding it for her like a perfect gentleman. “After you,Giraffe,” I say, hoping the childhood nickname helps my cause.

“Thank you,Troublemaker,” she says, using mine. Well, I was a troublemaker. Apparently, I still am. At least my libido needs to be locked up with the key thrown away when it comes to my best friend.

We head into the familiar bar, saying hello to my cousin Carter, and his wife Rachel, who comes to this party every year.

Then grab our own table. Just like friends.

Right. Sure. Just like friends.

* * *

An hour later this spiked hot cocoa buzz that’s working through me is making it hard for the sweet side of my brain to get any playing time. The spicy side of my head can’t stop thinking about how sexy Katie looks in that red sweater.

That snug red sweater.

Why do fucking red sweaters even exist?

Focus, Fisher, focus.

“So, how’s everything going with the lab and the turtles and the ocean and all that good stuff?” I ask.

As she sets down her mug ofLick My Lips, she tells me about the work she’s doing on conservation, and how well it’s going, finishing with a rap on the table. “Knock on wood, but we’re making some tiny, but very real progress with our efforts.”

With a proud grin, I lift my mug of cinnamon hot chocolate spiked with tequila. “I’ll drink to you being an awesome marine biologist,” I say.

She clinks her ceramic mug against mine. “And to you beating the Sea Dogs last night. That was quite a goal.”

I preen. “Which one?”

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