Page 66 of Thoroughly Pucked

“I don’t know about that.”

“Hey,” I say, then tuck a finger under her chin, making her meet my gaze. “You’re kind and funny, and you care about people. And you look out for your mom, and you’re a good friend, and your clients love you.”

“How do you know?” she counters with a sassy little smile.

That’s a very good question. But I man up and tell the damn truth. “I looked you up online,” I say. “When I saw you at Sticks and Stones late last year. I was curious about you. I’d just gotten divorced, and I’d known you so long but didn’t reallyknowyou. So, yeah, I looked you up. Your salon. You have great reviews. Everyone says you’re great at hair and a good listener.”

Maybe I had ulterior motives. Hell, of course I did. She was pretty and witty and warm. But she was seeing that other guy. And she’s my agent’s little sister, so I shut the search down pretty fast after that.

“That’s nice to hear. I try,” she says, then tilts her head and runs her hand across my knee in a tender touch. “When I had these dreams, I would try to do breathing exercises after. Or visualize something pleasant. Sometimes I would listen to music to groundmyself in reality rather than the unpleasant dystopian world I felt stuck in.”

She’s hitting close to home, and it’s stupid to keep playing the tough guy. Not after she’s opened up. I slump against the couch, drag my hands through my hair, then meet her gaze. “I sometimes dream I can’t run. I’ll be outside jogging, but my legs won’t move. They’re stuck on the sidewalk. And I can’t really control my body anymore. Can’t lift my legs or move my arms. And then I feel stuck, and I yell, and nothing happens. I can’t even make a sound,” I say, embarrassed that I’m a grown man with recurring nightmares. “That sounds fucking stupid as I say it.”

She rubs my knee some more. “It’s not stupid, Ledger. We’re just processing things all the time. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that’s what dreams are. We’re working through the day.” There’s a pause, then she adds, “Is your injury acting up?”

Was I that obvious? “Yeah,” I admit. I guess I don’t want to keep it to myself anymore. Or I don’t want to keep it from her. “But it’s just a twinge. No big deal.”

“Was it the hike?”

I shake my head adamantly. “No. Hell no. I can walk, run, skate. Work out.” I sigh. “It just hurts sometimes. That’s all. I can handle the pain.”

“Of course you can,” she says sympathetically. Then she runs her hand through my hair, her touch soothing. My heart rate calms some more. “It’s probably just because the season is starting soon.”

That has to be it. “Yeah, probably.”

“And if you ever want to get that free haircut and talk about it, you know where to find me,” she says.

After.

After this honeymoon is over.

It’s a nice offer.

But right now, Idowant to return to bed with her. I stand and hold out my hand for her. “Let’s go back to bed.”

She takes it, and we return to the bedroom. She gets in, sliding to the middle, next to Dev. He stirs, blinks his eyes open, then flashes her a dopey grin. “Hey,” he mumbles, then closes his eyes, slinging an arm around her when she settles back in.

She’s facing me and when he falls back into slumber a few seconds later, she glances down at his arm wrapped around her, then whispers to me, “He’s cuddly.”

Yeah, I know my buddy. And he really,reallylikes her.

I don’t say that. I just smile, feeling a little better than I did ten minutes ago.

30

WHY CAN’T I PUNCH GRAPES?

Aubrey

Things no one tells you—grapes are icy.

Also, there’s no real stomping involved. I’m in a short barrel on the wraparound porch of a picturesque white bungalow-style home that’s part of Valenti Winery, massaging the grapes with my toes, trying not to freeze my feet off.

It’s warmish outside. But inside this barrel? It’s chill-ay.

“I think my feet are going numb,” I whisper to the guys. Dev’s in a barrel next to me, treading on some grapes too. It’s a funny sight. This big, burly man in khaki shorts, squishing grapes with his bare feet.

“Woman, this is nothing,” he says.

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