Page 7 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

“Shall I order for you?”

His mumbled reply sounds suspiciously like, “Go for it.” So I do exactly that when the server comes over.

Thankfully, he perks up a little once there’s a mug of coffee in front of him.

“What time did you get in?”

“That’s a strong assumption to make that I haven’t come straight from a club,” he mutters.

“And to think, everyone assumes you’re a statistics nerd,” I tease.

The glare he shoots me would make most people cower, but I know my little brother better than anyone, and while he might try to appear scary, deep down, he’s nothing but a fluffy teddy bear.

“And for your information, I did go home last night. Just not to Ashley’s,” he says, mentioning his old school friend he was meant to be crashing with.

“Oh? Did my little brother get lucky last night?”

Heat surges to his cheeks, and it’s only then that I notice the bright red hickey on his neck.

“Oh my god, you met a vampire.”

A smirk kicks up one side of his mouth. “He was certainly good at sucking.”

My chin drops. “You did not just say that.”

“I absolutely did. I’m not lying, either.”

“Surprised you remember,” I mutter, taking a sip of my coffee.

“That’s how good it was. Not even copious amounts of alcohol could make me forget.”

“Well then. Does he have any friends?”

“No idea. It’s not like I’m gonna see him again.”

“You didn’t get his number?” I balk. Surely, anyone who was that good deserves a spot in Garrett’s contacts. You know, in case of emergency when he’s in town.

“Why? I’m going to be back in Boston in a few days,” he reasons.

“But you’re coming back for the holidays, right? You could have called him up for a repeat.”

“I guess,” he mutters. “So, how was your night?” he asks, trying to divert the conversation.

“Wild. I ordered a burger and fries, managed to drag my ass to the shower, and then swiftly passed out.”

He chuckles. “Wow, calm down, sis. Next, you’ll be telling me you even managed to take your makeup off and put your retinol on.”

I gasp. “I do not need to use retinol yet.”

He quirks a brow. “You’re almost thirty.”

“No, I’m only just twenty-eight,” I argue.

“Sounds pretty damn close to thirty to me.”

“Shut up,” I sulk.

“And you do realize that I helped pack up your bathroom yesterday. I saw your retinol, hyaluronic acid, and facial SPF.”