Page 58 of Revenge Puck

I imagine she’s in her bitty cubicle, fiddling with her phone instead of doing whatever they do in the player engagementoffice. Meanwhile, I’m surrounded by dipshits who’ve lost half their teeth and have gashes in their skulls and concussions to match.

The contrast isn’t lost on me.

Aaron: No game tonight. But I will be at the arena, just getting changed. Then I have to look at a game tape.

Juliette: OMG that’s right. I keep forgetting what day it is—this was the longest day ever, sorry.

Aaron: You’re one day early. Game is tomorrow.

Juliette: This makes me sound terrible at my job. I’m rolling my own eyes so hard I spaced on the game schedule when I work in the building? Someone take away my promotion. Eek!

Eek?

She is so fucking cute.

Adorable in a way that makes me feel like a goddamn ogre as I sit here glowering on a bench in the locker room, waiting to go into the team room to watch the film.

I roll my shoulders, the ever-present ache settling deep in the joints. Sweat cools on my skin, turning sticky and unpleasant beneath my pads. Glancing down at my hands, I squeeze my knuckles to inspect where they’re split. They’re raw, tape peeling at the edges.

I palm my phone, staring at the screen.

Aaron: You’re not terrible at your job. I never know what day it is. Easy mistake ha ha.

Juliette: You’re saying that to be nice.

Aaron: ME?? NICE? Stop, you’re saying that to be nice ;)

Juliette: Somehow I doubt you’re feeling all mushy right now.

Aaron: Wow. The disrespect.

Juliette: I grew up down the hallway from a professional athlete. I’m a very good judge of character.

Little does she know how far off the mark she is on that.

Aaron: And here you are texting me.

Juliette: I’m trying to get through the hard candy coating to your ooey gooey middle…

Little chance of that happening.

Aaron: My ooey gooey middle? LOL

I type while standing now, peeling my practice jersey up and over my head, sweat-damp fabric sticking for a second before coming free. I catch Declan’s eyes flicking to my hands and raise my brows at him.

“Boo.”

His presence is like a fart—rank, annoying, and persistent.

I go back to ignoring him. Set my phone on the bench so I can bend forward to untie my skate, pads half off. I tug and tug until they fall to the floor, then pick my cell up and type out a reply.

Aaron: Hate to disappoint you, but I’m literally nothing but hard candy shell.

Juliette: Blah. That’s what all the secretly soft people say. But I’m hopeful you’re not secretly a wolf in disguise.

Little optimist.

How naïve she is—and how close to the truth.