Page 181 of Revenge Puck

My chest aches.

Blaire looks at me. “That doesn’t look like a man who’s smug about getting caught.”

No.

It doesn’t.

“Well.” I exhale shakily. “Thank God I didn’t march into HR this afternoon.”

Blaire blinks. “You were going to?”

“I considered it.” I press my palm to my forehead. “I was this close to humiliating myself by reporting the relationship. Can you imagine? ‘Hi, yes, I’d like to file paperwork because I slept with a hockey player who may or may not be revenge pucking me.’”

My friend’s eyes get wide. “That is an iconic phrase.”

I have the decency to blush. “Thanks.”

“Also, not true. No one was revenge pucking you, although, to be fair, it was high time you got thoroughly pucked.”

I sigh, a tear sliding down my cheek.

“Babe,” Blaire says softly. “What do you want to do?”

My shoulders move up and down. “I don’t know.”

I don’t know what I want.

Yesterday, I wanted it all—everything he was willing to give.

Now?

I don’t know if he’s worth the tears.

Or my anger.

I don’t know if I want to take his calls, or respond to his texts, or ever see his face again.

Blaire studies me carefully. “Okay. Strip it down. Forget Declan. Forget the policy. Forget the locker-room drama. If this was the two of you with no audience, what would you do?”

I stare at my phone.

“I’d make him tell me the truth,” I whisper.

“Allof it?” Blaire touches the tips of her fingers to mine on the surface of the table. “Jules?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you love him?”

“I don’t…” I start, pausing when she arches a brow. “I care about him.”

“That was not the question.” She laughs. “Are you saying that because you think I cannot handle you falling in love this soon? Or that I’d judge you?”

“No. You would never.”

Even though you refuse to admit you’re in love with my brother—that’s a different conversation for a different time.

“Damn straight I wouldn’t.” She wiggles her fingers over mine.