Page 115 of Revenge Puck

Make her fall.

Get even.

This was about Declan—not her.

Was.

Past tense?

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

I bring my hand to her cheek, thumb brushing over her smooth skin. She reallyisgorgeous—and I’m probably going to miss her when the bomb detonates—long lashes fluttering when I lean forward to kiss her pretty, pouty lips.

She melts into my mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world—which is the other fucking problem.

She fits.

She fits against me on this bed. She fits under my arm. She fits into my life in a way that has become wildly inconvenient.

My parents and sister would fucking love her, which would be a first in the history of “Aaron brings a girl home.” They’ve never liked a single one of my girlfriends but, to be fair to my family, most of them were like Bailey.

Superficial and calculating.

I run the tip of my finger over Juliette’s delicate jawline. “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”

And I mean that.

Her eyes meet mine and for a solid three seconds she looks like she’s waiting for me to deliver a punchline like “just kidding.”

“Thanks?” she says cautiously.

Ihuffa quiet laugh.

I regard her then, taking in her fresh face. There are freckles across the bridge of her nose I hadn’t noticed the first few times we met. Light but long lashes. The cupid’s bow of her upper lip is perfectly shaped and suckable.

She’s petite and delicate.

Soft in ways that make you instinctively want to shield her from people likeme.

“You look nothing like your brother.”

Juliette snorts. “That’s because I’m not six-foot-three with an ego the size of an entire continent.” She pauses. “We don’t resemble each other much because we don’t have the same dad.”

“Oh.”Ahh.

“Same mom.” She shrugs her slender shoulders. “Different dad—his left when he was one, and then our mom met our dad and had me nine months later.”

“So, your dad raised Declan too?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.

“He’s the only dad Declan knows.”

“Huh.”

She props herself up on her elbow, watching me. “Why do you sound like you’re trying to connect dots?”

Probably because I’m trying to figure out how he’s turned into such a giant asshole.

“I’m not connecting dots.” I trace idle patterns along her bare shoulder. She’s wearing one of my tank tops and not much else. “I was wondering what your dynamic was.”