Page 46 of Revenge Puck

I glance at the menu, then at her. “It’s your fault we’ve already had dessert.”

Her brows rise as she taps her chin. “Have we?”

I don’t dare respond to that.

She might be attempting to be coy and sexy, but we both know she’s full of shit. We both know bold and ballsy isn’t her style. Which is fine—I like the prissy, delicate side of her that she’s trying so hard to be.

Juliette props her chin on her hand and takes a sip of her ice water. “So, outside of intimidating women with your constant scowls, what does your life actually look like—when you’re not working?”

“My life is so thrilling,” I deadpan. “Protein shakes. Practice. Sleep. More practice. Repeat.”

“How riveting.”

“You asked.”

“True.” She pauses. “Who’s the person you trust the most?”

Not your brother, I want to say. Certainly not my ex-girlfriend.

“My sister.”

“Is she older or younger?”

“Younger by eighteen months. She’s the fucking best.”

Her eyes soften as she toys with her spoon. “You’re close with her?”

“The closest.”

“What’s her name?”

“Sutton.”

Juliette gives a satisfied nod. “I like that.”

“Which part?”

“That you didn’t say a teammate or some guy. You said your sister. It’s cute.”

I feel my mouth move into the shape of a smile. “You’recute.”

She stills for several seconds, heat coloring her cheeks. “Careful, that sounds dangerously close to flirting.”

Ihuffa quiet laugh. “Yeah, well, I haven’t done it in so long I might’ve forgotten how.”

Her brows lift. “That so?”

“Tragic, I know. Years of emotional repression and getting hit in the skull with a puck will do that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, on the off chance you say something sensitive, you’ve said it because of brain injuries.”

Juliette stirs her ice cream slowly, the spoon making lazy circles. The noise of the restaurant fades into something distant, like we’re sitting in our own pocket of space, growing more intimate every second we spend ensconced here.

I watch her for a second too long. “When things get hard for you, who doyoucall?”

Her expression shifts thoughtfully. “My best friend, Blaire—or my mom. Depends on the problem, or if Blaire is the problem. Ha ha. How long was your last relationship?” she asks quietly.

“Over a year.”