Page 140 of Revenge Puck

I glance through the peephole.

And stop breathing.

It’s Aaron, standing in front of my door wearing a black quarter zip and jeans, hair slicked back. Fresh from a shower in the locker room. He has one hand in his pocket and the other braced against my doorjamb.

Damn, he’s sexy…

“It’s Aaron,” I mouth to Blaire, who’s now perched on the edge of the couch, clutching a throw pillow.

“Of course it’s Aaron!” she whisper-hisses. “What do we do? Should I hide?”

I shoot her a look. “Why would you hide?”

“In case, you know—he wants to have sex?”

“He is not here to have sex with me!” I hiss some more.

“Want to make a bet?”

Oh my god, she can be so obnoxious sometimes.

I take one steadying breath, smooth down the front of my jersey again—why am I nervous? I’ve already slept with this man—and open the door.

Aaron’s eyes lift to mine.

He smiles. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I say all breathy…

Behind me, Blaire makes a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously like a suppressed laugh.

Suddenly, I want to choke her.

He studies me for half a second, then glances down at the number on my jersey again. “You wore that on purpose.”

“It’s laundry day.” I laugh.

“Sure it is.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then another as I stand in the doorway, not letting him in.

He clears his throat. “Should I come back later? I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

Oh my god.“You’re not! Come in, I’m so sorry.” I pull the door open and step aside. “Blaire is here, she was?—”

“Leaving!” Blaire announces. “Blaire was leaving.”

But then, since they’ve never met face to face, my best friend unfolds herself and walks toward Aaron with her hand extended. “Hi, we haven’t met. I’m the bestie.”

Aaron looks mildly amused as he takes her hand. His grip is firm but polite. “Aaron.”

“Oh, we know,” Blaire says sweetly. “We’ve been discussing you extensively.”

Why is she like this?!

“Blaire,” I warn.