Page 69 of Lucky Puck

“No worries, Kar,” Nora says. “We’re all friends. Old friends. How old were you when we met, Brody? Fifteen, was it? Maybe younger. But you were a stud even back then.” She lifts one brow with meaning.

“So that was you,” I say, everything becoming clear. Everyone looks at me, and I stare straight at Nora.

Then I wrench myself free from Brody, and bringing my hand up fast, I slap Nora across the face. Her head snaps around, and my hand stings like a bitch, but the look of astonishment on Brody’s face is so worth it.

“What the hell,” Nora says, and before she can slap me back—or worse, based on the murderous look in her eyes—Brody and Kara stop her and wrestle her to the door.

“Guess we’ll be going now, little brother,” Kara says with a tight voice. She glances over her shoulder at me with a speculative glance. She probably hates me for assaulting her friend and is wondering why the heck Brody married me.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Brody pulls me to him in a heartfelt hug, big and strong and tight, kissing my hair and rubbing my back.

“My god, Brooks. I can’t believe you slapped her.” His words confuse me because he’s murmuring them while he’s holding me like he appreciates me.

“I think I might have overreacted, but⁠—”

“No.” He pulls back enough to look into my eyes, and what I see in his causes my heart to swell and rise into my throat. He’s looking at me like I’m someone special. Could that be real or my imagination?

“You hit Nora—my teenage nemesis—in my defense, to right a wrong, to avenge a long-ago wound, but a deep one.” He sounds like he’s in disbelief, but he’s serious, and I’m flummoxed. He should be upset, or turned off at the very least, by my violent streak. Though I’ve never been violent before.

“I… couldn’t help myself, Brody. I’ve never struck another person in my entire life, I swear.”

He cups my chin with his hand and wisps his thumb across my lower lip, contemplating it and sending my nerve endings haywire.

“It’s okay, Brooks. More than okay.”

“You’re not upset?”

He chuckles. “Only with my sister and her terrible taste in friends.”

“Oh no. Your sister. She probably hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t. I’ll talk to her.”

“She’ll expect me to apologize to Nora, and I don’t know if I can do that, Brody.” Indignation flares up at the idea, and even though I no longer have any violent urges and I’m calm—which is the effect of being in his arms and troubling on a whole other level—I’m still not sorry.

“Don’t you dare apologize for coming to my defense. When you slapped her, it gave me more satisfaction than I could have guessed. I needed that justice, to see someone hold her accountable. And the thing is, Brooks, I never realized how much I needed it until now.”

He pulls me close again, kissing my face everywhere like he’s grateful, like a Roman Catholic kissing the papal ring with humble adulation. I soak it in, every last bit of the goodness and warmth, and when his mouth reaches mine, I meet him with equal adulation and more than a small amount of hot, sexy need.

Just when I’m wondering how much time he has before he needs to leave for the game, his phone rings.

“Shit.” He slips his phone from his pocket and checks it. “It’s Sabien; I have to take the call.” He caresses my face. “In fact, I’m glad he’s calling since I need a favor from him.”

“Whatever you say.” I step back, but he holds onto my hand when I would have retreated to the bedroom to put away my new clothes.

“Sabe, you’re just the guy I want to talk to. I need a favor. You know the luxury box your parents have? Do they have room for one more person?”

He explains the incident with Nora as a small scuffle and that it might be better if I don’t sit with Nora at the game. Underneath my mortification, I’m grateful for the seating change because I swear I was prepared to stay home and say I was sick rather than sit with that woman for the entire game.

Brody slides the phone back in his pocket and cups the back of my neck, pulling me in for a quick kiss.

“I have to go. Sabien is arranging for your seat. Go to the will call window, and someone will escort you to the box.”

I let out a big breath in relief. “That was so… nice and thoughtful, Brody. Thank you.”

“How grateful are you?” He purrs, stepping close again as he reaches a hand around to clasp my rear. “Will you let me give you an orgasm for each goal I score?”

“Let you—I?” I stumble on my words because my insides are a jungle of nervous butterflies and funny, but oh so pleasant fluttering.