Page 12 of Revenge Puck

She moves ahead into her small foyer, nervous energy in every step. I can hear it in the way she exhales, see it in the way she fumbles with her keys before plopping them into a bowl on a small table.

“I don’t usually bring men h—” She turns to face me but cuts herself off, shaking her head with a laugh. “I’m not sure…”

I get it.

I don’t do this shit either—go home with strangers, sit on unfamiliar couches, pretending I’m a chill guy when I’m not. When I’m pissed and wound up this tight, I skate until my legs burn and there’s sweat dripping from every pore in my body.

My eyes scan her place, settling on the beige painted living room, the bookshelves lining the far wall. The plants. The big floor-to-ceiling windows.

I follow her to the couch because, the truth is, I want to forget that my teammate is fucking my girlfriend and that’s been the only thing occupying my thoughts. I want to forget the look on his face when our eyes met. I want to forget the look on hers. The betrayal. The way my life managed to implode in a single day.

I don’t want to think about any of it.

The woman offers me a drink, two wine glasses and a bottle in her hands as she curls up on the opposite side of the couch, one leg beneath her.

I decline. Don’t trust myself with alcohol tonight.

She gives a shy smile, pouring one for herself, hands trembling as she does.

Jumpy. Excited?

The air crackles.

What the fuck am I doing? This isn’t me. And judging by the terrified look on her face, this isn’t her, either.

I shift uncomfortably, feeling too big for this room. Knees knocking the coffee table as she takes a dainty sip from her glass, eyes on me over the rim of it, the dim lighting in the room casting a warm halo over her blonde hair.

She looks gentle. Sweet.

Angelic.

“You don’t have to stay,” she says quietly, offering me an out.

I force out a chuckle. “I know.”

But I don’t move.

In fact, I feel more intact on the couch than I had before, and the silence stretches, sounds from the apartment more pronounced. The hum of the heater kicking in. Pipes. Noises from the floor below.

The rasping of my own breathing.

“This is a bad idea,” I mutter, gaze skimming her body again, watching color brightening her clear, smooth skin.

“I know,” she whispers. “But…”

She hesitates.

My brows raise as I wait for her to finish her thought. “But?”

“You’re here now.”

I feel the scowl on my face as I rake a hand through my hair. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

Her mouth curves. “I’m not.”

I remind myself that she’s a stranger and we owe each other nothing. She hasn’t asked my name, nor I hers.

“You hungry?” she blurts out suddenly. “I’ve got popcorn. Or leftover pad thai?”