Page 37 of Revenge Puck

Storm—from what I know of him—is a well-liked, charismatic, nice dude. Always the first guy with his hand in the air, first guy on the ice, eager to take his place as a starter.

He has sisters he talks about incessantly.

A dog named Stanley.

An apartment he rents from an asshole named Dave—one of our forwards—which he shares with several other rookies, and his room is full of books. I know this because the nerd tried recruiting me into starting a book club with him.

Fucking dipshit. As if I have the free time to be in his damn book club.

“Juliette!” Storm shouts from clear across the room, his enthusiasm all but rattling the chandeliers. “They have miniature crab cakes on the menu. Miniature!”

He is an overgrown child, who would probably make someone like Juliette a great boyfriend. That’s the thing about guys like him; they make you feel comfortable and included. He’s young and naïve and probably hasn’t been fucked over by anyone on the team yet.

Oh well.

Too fucking bad.

She giggles at him, shoulders shaking a bit at his enthusiasm. “Is he always like that?”

I shrug. “Pretty much.”

She smiles toward him again, then back at me. “It’s kind of refreshing.”

Refreshing.

I’m the opposite of that.

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “He’s good at being excited about everything.”

Juliette studies me. “You don’t sound impressed. Please don’t tell me you’re—dare I say—jealous of his enthusiasm?”

Jealous is a stretch.

I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times I wished I wasn’t so fucking serious all the time, and that I was the type of guy who could let his guard down. But that’s not me and probably never will be. Cheating girlfriends don’t help my case.

On cue, across the room, Storm whoops again, waving what I can only presume is a crab cake like he’s a caveman who just discovered fire.

“He’s harmless,” she says fondly, gazing at him again.

“Didn’t say he wasn’t.”

Garrett Storm is not my competition. In fact, the only thing I’m competing with here is the no fraternization policy she’s going to be required to sign, and possibly her own code of ethics.

“He’s sweet.”

Yeah, he is.If you’re a chick.“He and I are nothing alike.”

Juliette crosses her arms. “I noticed. He’s nice—and sometimes, nice is easy.”

“Is that what you’re looking for?” If it is, she should steer clear of me.

Across the ballroom, Storm calls her name again, waving her over with that bright, infectious grin.

She doesn’t move. “Not necessarily.”

“Juliette!” Storm buzzes like a goddamn mosquito, impossible to ignore with all the yammering.

I nod in his direction. “Well.”