Page 203 of Revenge Puck

I give zero fucks when it comes to Juliette and her happiness.

Most of the kids are covering their eyes—kisses are so fucking gross when you’re six—but peeking through their fingers. I lower my mouth and brush it against Juliette’s soft, pouty lips.

I love her mouth.

I love her smile.

Her voice.

Her laugh.

Her cookies…

“I love you, Aaron.” Juliette rises on her toes and kisses me back, soft hand cupping my jaw as she gazes up at me through wide, blue eyes. “You are so sweet for doing this. My heart is so full.”

Her heart is so full.

I have easily gotten used to the way she spins words, basking in them when my moods are sour, usually after a loss.

“I love you so goddamn much,” I say again.

“I love you, too,” Juliette whispers.

“She said yes!” One of the girls screams, prompting another sign to shoot into the air.

SHE SAID YES!

My gaze shoots to Garrett Storm, now standing at the refreshment table, casually drinking from an apple juice box meant for the kids. He lifts it in a toast but the look I shoot him says,seriously,asshole?

“What?” He laughs. “I wanted to ramp up the drama.”

“We practiced cheering and jumping up and down before you got here!” one of the kids announces proudly.

I feel my eyes widen at my teammate. “Did you tell them I wasproposing?”

He sips through the straw, making slurping sounds before admitting, “I may have implied an emotionally charged conclusion to the story time, ergo, a proposal.”

“He brought glitter!” a girl with two red braids points her finger at Storm. “It’s a bigmessin the conference room.”

Another scrawny arm shoots into the air before he can defend himself.

“Yes?”

A gap-toothed cutie in a yellow dress asks, “Is she already your girlfriend?”

“I don’t know.” I glance down at Juliette, her cheeks are the prettiest shade of bright pink. “Should we ask her if she’s my girlfriend?”

The room erupts.

“Yes!” they shout.

A chorus of screaming, some children clapping, even more of them bouncing zealously on their bottoms, too excited to contain themselves. Juliette looks over at them, then back at me.

“You’re seriously going to make them do your dirty work?”

I shrug. “I need all the help I can get, this is a high-pressure situation.”

She giggles. “You’ve won the Stanley cup.”