Page 86 of Lucky Puck

She laughs. “I won’t hold that rude comment against you, but only because you’ve been through a rough night.” She gives me a look that somehow encompasses acknowledging the whole rollercoaster of events of the night, from the hat trick to winning to getting benched to dealing with Nora and the reporter and the crowd at The Hole in the Wall. My tension snaps as if she’s taken a bolt-cutter to the heavy chains of confusion, discontent, and guilt constraining me.

“Yeah.” I reach out and touch her, caressing her shoulder, feeling her soft warmth. “Guess we’ll need to find a new bar to hang out at. We’ve burned our bridges at The Hole in the Wall. We’ll never be left alone there again now that everyone in social media land will be onto it.”

“Right,” she says, breaking away from my hold to open the refrigerator. “That’s the toughest part of all. Where will you find a new bar to hang out?”

I smack her generous rear, liking the sound and the feel, and especially her squeak and giggle.

“I don’t know. I think the problem is right up there with someone leaving the cake out in the rain.”

She spins around. “Of McArthur Park fame?” I don’t miss the light in her eyes, her delight at my reference, and deep inside me there’s an answering zing of excitement that she got it.

A stupid, small connection out of nowhere, but piled onto the many small connections and moments, it feels weighty.

I feel foolish for thinking these thoughts. And the last thing I want to be when it comes to a woman is a fool.

“Let’s talk about our divorce.” My voice is too bright for the context, like divorce is a vacation to Tahiti.

She almost drops the dish as she’s taking it from the microwave, and I lunge to take it from her, saving our meal.

“What is this?”

“Beef stroganoff. Jett thinks we should wait until next season, but I told him he’s crazy.” She snorts, but she all but twitches with nerves.

“You’re right. That is crazy. We were only planning for a few weeks, right? Until the Cavallaro Motors ad campaign gets off the ground.”

She nods vigorously. “Absolutely.” She brushes past me with two steaming plates of a noodle dish with gravy and meat that smells intoxicating.

Naturally, I follow her, forgetting what I meant to talk about. Pavlov’s dogs have nothing on me.

We sit at the corner of the island where she places the dishes diagonally from each other, and I dig in like a starved man, regardless of the steam rising from the food.

“Watch out⁠—”

“That’s hot.” I smile at the alarm on her face. “Don’t worry about me, honey pants. I’m used to eating hot stuff.” And just like that, my lizard brain shifts from food to sex. You would think they just let me out of a zoo last week.

But when she laughs, the sound does something entirely different to me, and warm syrup comes to mind. I clear my throat.

“About the divorce…”

Her laugh stops so abruptly, my reflex is to apologize and say something funny, but to prove to myself I’m not a slave to my animal instincts, I stay on topic and forge on.

“It’s getting dicey with social media and the press continuing to pay too much attention to us. I’m starting to be more than annoyed by it.”

“I know. Last night didn’t help.”

I grunt and shovel more food into my mouth because the smell reminds me it’s delicious and incredibly satisfying. “This is good, Brooks.”

I give her a thumbs up with my non-fork hand.

Her smile beams like I told her she’s won the lottery for a billion dollars.

“I’m glad you like it.” She watches me eat, moving her food around her plate but not lifting it to her mouth.

“What’s the matter?” I put my fork down and really look at her. My chest squeezes because she’s so vulnerable and so fucking sexy at the same time. I shift closer and touch her face, caressing her cheek with the back of my hand. Her skin is so soft and warm and inviting. Shit. It seems all roads lead back to my lizard brain wanting sex with this woman.

I commit the cardinal sin and let the question about why that is pop into my head like a giant red flag.

“My brothers called,” she rushes her words in one breath like an auctioneer with a hot item. “They’re coming down for a visit on Saturday with my mom for the fashion show, and they want to have a talk with you.”