Page 6 of Puck Me, Valentine
Any other day, I’d find this amusing. The university’s tradition of early Valentine’s Day cards delivery is usually charming in a chaotic way.
But today I can barely summon a smile.
Any encounter with Devlin Bower messes with my head.
And if I start thinking about him more than usual, it starts to tear me apart—this confusion of attraction and resentment, this inability to understand why someone who clearly dislikes me takes up so much space in my thoughts.
I notice it’s starting to rain as I reach my building.
My room is on the first floor, just off the main hallway, and through my window I watch water begin to stream across the pavement. The sky has gone dark, heavy with the promise of a storm.
I’m considering making tea when someone starts pounding on my door.
Not knocking. Pounding.
My heart jumps into my throat as I pull the door open.
Devlin Bower stands on my threshold, soaked to the skin, his black hair plastered to his face, his eyes blazing with fury.
Lightning flashes behind him, illuminating his face in stark white relief.
“I have to say,” he growls, “your joke was a success. I’m even somewhat impressed.”
I stare at him, my brain completely offline. “What?”
“What’s up,sweetie?” His voice drips with venom. “You’re not usually so talkative.”
Sweetie?
“I’m sorry… what are you talking about? Did something happen?”
The smile that splits my face is automatic, defensive, the one I use when I’m nervous or scared or completely out of my depth. I can’t help it.
Devlin’s expression darkens.
He steps forward, and I step back reflexively. Then he’s inside my room, the door swinging shut behind him, water dripping onto my floor as he advances on me.
“You think saying ‘sorry’ and giving me those puppy dog eyes will fix this? Like I’ll just walk away and forget it happened?” His voice is low, dangerous. “I’m not that pathetic.”
“Sorry—” I start, then grimace. “I just want to understand what the hell… err, what exactly are you talking about?”
Devlin slowly raises his hand to brush the wet hair from his face, and that’s when I see it—crumpled in his fist is a large piece of red paper.
Exactly like the ones that Cupid freshman was handing out earlier.
“What’s that?” The words tumble out.
Devlin’s face darkens even further.
He takes another step toward me, and suddenly my back hits my closet door with a hollow thud.
“That’s exactly what it is, yes.” He’s so close now I can feel the heat radiating off his body despite his wet clothes. “It arrived as intended, just as you wanted. And it was appreciated by the entire hockey team.”
My heart is hammering. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
His jaw clenches, muscles jumping beneath his skin.
He exhales sharply as I reach out and pull the Valentine’s Day card from his grip, my fingers brushing his.
