Page 6 of Revenge Puck

We matched on a dating app, exchanged tons of texts, and managed to meet in person three times before tonight and, apparently, he’s going to quote Shakespeare because my name is Juliette.

As if I haven’t heard it quoted to me before, dozens of times…

I smile, sensing that this is going to be one of those nights. “You know that line isn’t about location, right? Wherefore art thou actually means ‘why.’ Not ‘where are you?’”

He gives me a blank stare.

I clear my throat as the server appears with two glasses, one with wine, one with bourbon, Preston having ordered for us while I was in the bathroom.

“So,” he says, raising his glass, taking a sip, then leaning back in his chair. “Tell me about this new gig.”

I brighten at the subject. “It’s with my brother’s hockey team, on the operations side. I’ll be helping with player coordination, community events, in-person appearances. Charities and?—‍”

He cuts me off with a soft chuckle. “Yeah, but like, what do youactuallydo?”

I blink at him, confused. “Thatiswhat I do.”

“No, I mean—” He gestures vaguely. “The players are the real stars of the show. And you’re not making real decisions, right? You have a boss who has a boss who has a boss.”

What is he doing right now?

I pluck at the napkin beneath my glass as Preston continues.

“Nepotism and all that, working for your brother.” Preston sighs. “My uncle is a VP at my firm, so I’m in no position to judge.”

“I do not work for my brother—and I got the job on my own.”

He winks. “Your last name is Kennedy, babe. They knew who you were.”

I set my barely touched glass down, pit forming in my stomach and growing roots.

“I’m sorry, are you insulting me on purpose? To make yourself a bigger person?” I ask, voice calm despite the coiling in my chest.

His eyes widen in shock. “What?No! I’m being honest.”

I cannot believe the nerve of this asshole!

I mean,yes, his texts may have given me some indication he was a bit of a douchebag, but he hasn’t outright said anything offensive to my face, up until now. Not to me, not to servers, not to bartenders.

But damn I am pissed.

“Honest about what?” I press. “That you don’t understand what I do for a living? Or that you think anyone who isn’t a pro athlete is basically useless?”

He lets out a little laugh, like I’m being dramatic. “Come on, babe. Don’t take it personally. I’m saying—you’re adjacent to greatness. That’s not nothing.”

Adjacent.

The word lands like a slap.

I sit back in my chair, studying him the way you study something mildly interesting but ultimately a let down—kind of like a limp dick or one that’s small and disappointing.

“You do realize a team can’t function without the people behind the scenes? Logistics, operations, scheduling, contracts, travel.”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “But you’re not calling the shots.”

Who cares? So what?!

“And neither are you, at your job,” I snap before I can stop myself. “This conversation is ruining my night.”