Page 82 of Revenge Puck

There’s a half-second where it feels likeoneof us might linger.

We don’t.

Not with Storm up our assholes.

He goes one way. Juliette another. I unlock my truck and climb in, shutting the door with more force than necessary.

Silence fills the cab.

I sit idly for exactly three seconds.

Then I pull my phone out of the console cupholder and hit her name.

It rings once.

Twice.

She answers on the third with a breathy sigh. “Hi.”

“He is so dumb,” I say. “Like, a total dipshit.”

Juliette laughs. “Let’s give him some credit—he definitely knew something was off. Which means, if he can sense it, other people will be able to sense it.”

I lean back against my seat, tapping my fingers on the armrest. “Does it bother you?”

“Maybe a little,” she says honestly. “Does it botheryou?”

Fuck no.

I glance out the window at nothing in particular: an SUV pulls past; a woman loads a stroller into a minivan. “It bothers me that it bothers you.”

Silence stretches. “Is that so?”

I shrug, though she can’t see me. “Possibly.”

“Hmm. Do you suppose Garrett was jealous?”

Yeah.

Dude was definitely jealous.

“I don’t think Storm has the emotional depth for jealousy,” I say dryly. “He likes stirring the pot.”

“He was trying so hard to flirt with me while you were with the kids,” she counters.

“Flirting is his whole personality.”

She laughs. “No, this was different.”

I drum my fingers lightly on the steering wheel. “You’re giving him way too much credit.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well…” she says slowly. “If he was jealous, that would imply that he’s…that he…”

She can’t say it, so I’ll say it for her: “That he’s attracted to you? He can take a number and get in line.”