Page 77 of Revenge Puck

He keeps his forehead pressed to mine, eyes closed, chest heaving. His hands don’t move right away. But then, Aaron pulls me closer, arms wrapping around me as his breathing begins to even out.

“That wasn’t…” He clears his throat. “Supposed to be like that.”

I don’t know what that means. “Supposed to be like what?”

His head shakes. “Nothing.”

FOURTEEN

AARON

I should not be thinking about the way Juliette’s tits looked while she was bouncing on top of me while I’m reading a copy ofCricket Newton’s Misfit Adventureto a group of kindergarteners, but here we are.

This is less than ideal.

Folded onto a teeny, tiny chair, I’m completely surrounded by cherubic expressions and big, curious doe eyes. Ponytails and juice-stained faces, all of them waiting for me to begin the story.

Fuck.

I glance over my shoulder and spot Juliette by the circulation counter, leaning and grinning at something an older woman is saying, a romance novel clutched in her hands that she probably plans on checking out.

Jeans. Sensible flats. Ice Wolves sweatshirt with a prim collar peeking out the crewneck.

Her hair is pulled into two buns at the top of her head—space buns, I heard her tell the librarian—and small pearl earrings are nestled in her lobes.

Now if only I could stop imagining her naked…

“You’re big,” one of the kids tells me.

“Why is your nose crooked?” another asks.

“It looksbroken,” the little girl next to him announces.

“Itwasbroken,” I correct her. “Three times.”

They gasp.

“Three times?” a boy echoes, eyes wide. “Did you get in a fight?”

“I play hockey,” I inform them proudly. “Occupational hazard.”

“What’s occupational?” the little girl asks, scratching her nose then sticking her finger in it.

I shift on the microscopic chair, and it creaks in protest, the thin aluminum legs in danger of giving out under my weight. My knees are practically in my armpits.

The kids don’t seem to give a shit, continuing to interrupt the story. They’re more interested in me than Cricket Newton.

“What happened to your ears?” someone asks in a tiny voice from the back row, and my eyes find the petite blonde with pigtails.

Involuntarily, I reach up to touch my left ear. I had no idea there was anything wrong with them. “Probably got whacked in the head with a stick too many times.”

More gasps.

Do they know nothing about hockey?

Where did Juliette find these kids?

None of them are fans of mine. None of them have a clue who I am!