Page 25 of Revenge Puck

I glance back at him. “You can go.”

For a second, I think he might actually lunge at me, but let’s not forget, I am the victim here. He fucked me over, not the other way around.

“This isn’t over,” he says.

I chuckle at him. “Whatever you say, boss.”

His nostrils flare before he turns and walks back toward his locker, leaving me to finish dressing.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I head for the exit. Halfway down the hall, my phone buzzes.

Sutton.

My younger sister’s name lights up the screen, and the tension in my shoulders relaxes.

“Yeah?”

“You’re always so grouchy,” she tells me by way of greeting. “Why do you sound so angry all the time?”

“I don’t sound angry all the time, and I’m not grouchy,” I lie, pushing through the exit doors that lead to the parking lot, cold air blasting through the heat under my skin. “It was a long practice.”

“Isn’t it always?” She laughs.

I grunt.

There’s a pause. Then softer, “Have you seen Bailey lately?”

Oh, I’ve seen Bailey alright, bouncing up and down on my teammate’s cock.

I stalk toward my truck. “No.”

Another pause. “Are you still dating her?”

“Negative, ghost rider.”

Sutton hums. “Hmm. Dare I ask why?”

“Double negative.”

More humming as she thinks of something witty to say that might break the tension and change my mood. “Well. The good news is, I never liked her. She was not my vibe.”

Not my vibe.

I crack a smile at that. “Good to know.”

“I’m serious, Aaron. She was wayyy too full of herself. Not that you’re not full of yourself. But like—I didn’t trust her,” she confesses. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be rude.”

“No offense taken.” I open the door to my truck, toss my duffle into the passenger side, and climb in, resting my forehead briefly against the steering wheel. Wait for my phone to connect to the vehicle before continuing the conversation. “She is, in fact, rude. And you’re annoyingly observant for someone who can’t parallel park.”

“Blah, blah, blah.”

I smile despite myself, but it’s brief.

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that only exists between two people born eighteen months apart, who’ve shared a bathroom their entire lives, childhood bunk beds, and a car.

I can hear Sutton thinking. “You don’t sound okay, Aaron. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I fib, starting my truck.