Page 66 of Revenge Puck

I hesitate half a second longer. Walk toward him instead.

“You’re so cute,” he says once I move past him, shutting the door behind me.

I glance around his entryway to avoid his intense gaze—and immediately regret it because the place is exactly what I imagined.

Historic. Dark. A massive piece of art stretching across the far wall. A console table with a single ceramic bowl placed on a stack of coffee table books. A gilded mirror above it.

No shoes kicked off by the door.

No pizza boxes.

It’s a penthouse more fit for an older couple who winter in Boca Raton and smells faintly like cedar; I imagine that somewhere there’s a candle burning that smells likeman.

Lordy. “My parents could live here.”

He chuckles. “It’s near the arena, that was one of the perks.”

Aaron leads me farther into his penthouse.

He gestures for me to follow, guiding me down a short hallway off the main living space. The lights are dimmer here; black-and-white photographs of old stadiums, architecture, and historic cityscapes hang on the walls along the way.

“Do you like history?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

He steps into a den that makes my breath hitch.

Floor-to-ceiling bookcases filling three walls, painted a rich, deep green and lined with hardcover books. Biographies. History texts. Fiction novels. A ladder on a brass rail that slides across the shelves that has me wanting to climb it and slide from one side of the room to the other…

A huge sofa anchors the room, dark and inviting and could swallow me whole, with cozy-looking blankets stacked at the end of it. On the opposite wall, a massive movie screen.

“You have a whole library,” I say, spinning unhurriedly, taking it all in.

“It’s my favorite room. I spend most of my free time in here.”

Why is this turning me on?

The dimple, the dark wood, the library.

His manners!

All of this.

“I like it quiet,” he says. “After games. After practices. After a long fuckin’ day.” He gestures toward the couch. “This room makes it easier to shut my brain off.”

I find this so attractive. I blush, turning away from him, eyes to the shelves so he doesn’t see how flustered he’s making me.

“Climb it,” he says quietly next to me.

My cheeks are aflame. Hot. “What?”

“The ladder,” he clarifies. “You’ve been staring at it since we walked in.”

I have. “I am not climbing your fancy library ladder.”

Aaron grins. “Why not?”

“Because if I f-fall and crack my skull open, I would never live down the humiliation.”