Page 10 of Revenge Puck

And I know this because three months ago, before I got my job offer with the Ice Wolves, I’d been at the children’s hospital—back when I worked for a nonprofit—delivering paperwork for a donation event. I remember making a quick stop at the nurses’ station to chat. Looked into one of the rooms…

…And saw Aaron Bishop kneeling beside a hospital bed.

Jacket draped over a chair. Massive frame folded down to the level of a little boy with a shaved head and a superhero blanket pulled up to his chin.

His hair was longer back then. He looked approachable. Happy. Less likely to bodycheck someone into oblivion. Now? He looks like he could break a man’s spineandfix a leaky sink without breaking a sweat.

He’d been speaking softly.Smiling.Holding the kid’s hand like they were fast friends.

No PR team.

No photographer.

I’d frozen, staring in on that private moment, unexpected feelings blooming in my chest.

Now, he’s walking beside me in the dark, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense as if the weight of the world is resting on them.

I’m acutely aware of how close he is when he pulls the door open to a place called Benjamin Frog’s. I slip through around him, my arm brushing against his shirt, sending a shiver down my spine.

Be still, my heart…

Once seated at the bar, he doesn’t touch the menu.

“Whatever local pale you have, I’ll take that,” he tells the bartender, who has a handlebar mustache and a twinkle in his eye. “You?”

“White wine, please.” I doubt I’ll drink a single sip, but I need something to do with my hands. “Whatever you recommend.”

Silence stretches as we wait and the bar hums around us, the trendy, upscale place I had no idea existed. I take a sip of the wine when it’s set in front of me. It tastes crisp and expensive and is entirely wasted on me.

I can barely concentrate on anything but his nearness; his knee touching mine when he shifts on the barstool. His forearms. The cuts and scrapes on his skin.

Covertly, I drink all of him in, not wanting to be obvious.

If you ever get the chance to sleep with Aaron Bishop, take it…Blaire’s words echo in my brain, followed by more vibrations from my phone buried in my purse.Why can’t I be more like her and be a more confident flirt?

“You don’t look like you need a drink,” I say finally. “You look like you could use a snuggle.”

He lets out a laugh, caught off guard. “A snuggle? Those are the vibes I give off?”

Yes. A great big mountain of a man who could use a hug. Or, you know…other stuff.

It’s that other stuff I’m afraid to offer, even knowing this is my one chance. Knowing I’m going to answer to Blaire for it once I finally get around to calling her back.

I am not a taker.

I am a giver, nurturer, bleeding heart do-gooder.

Ugh!

I do not proposition men.

“I mean, you look a man who appreciates a good hug.”Jesus, Juliette, please stop talking. You’re making it worse.

“I do, huh?” Aaron Bishop has barely touched his drink, hands wrapped around the glass. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

Sweet?

I am not sweet.