Page 64 of Double Puck

I lean against the glass and look out over the edge, tiptoeing the shallow end still. “I—sure I have. Casual dinners with men count, right? After-party drinks at my mother's galas.”

“No. That doesn't count.” Beck moves closer, his bare chest sliding across my arm. “Not just dinners with men. I'm talking about a real goddamn first date. One that starts messy, ends messy, but somewhere in between feels like the best day of your life.”

My throat dries. "Well, then… no. I guess I haven't."

He groans into the morning air, standing beside me in the pool. "Well, fuck. This is worse than I thought."

He stares at me like I just told him I've never seen the ocean.

"Darcy. You didn't know how to swim until twenty minutes ago. You've probably never eaten a street taco. And now you're telling me you've never had a real first date?" He presses a wet hand to his chest. "What did they do to you in high society world?"

"They gave me a world-class education and impeccable table manners."

"Yeah, and zero life skills." He shakes his head, jaw set with ridiculous determination. "Alright. That's it. I'm giving you the best damn first date that's ever existed. Consider it community service."

"That's absolutely not happening," I reply flatly.

“Trust me, Madden. You need one. Stat.” He straightens, glancing toward the sky. “Good thing I’ve got it covered. I'll take you this weekend. After the game on Saturday.”

“You’re scheduling me romantically now?”

“Yup. Welcome to emergency romance, Darce.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “That's a lot of confidence for a man wearing rubber ducks on his ass.”

Beck's mouth drops open. “Oh, you're gonna regret that.”

Before I can escape, his hands catch my waist and he lifts me effortlessly, spinning me through the warm water until I squeal and grab his shoulders.

God help me.

Because if this is emergency romance, I am in serious trouble.

The water explodes around me as Beck spins, and I'm laughing.

Actually laughing.

Beck floats closer, his hair, already wet, clings to his forehead, somehow managing to look both messy and devastatingly perfect.

I can feel my cheeks heat at the sight of this sexy man, but I commit. My fingers break the surface as I scoop up a splash so big it’s basically a tidal wave.

The water slams into his face, and for one perfect moment, I feel victorious.

This is it. My win.

Then Beck drags a hand down his face like a human windshield wiper, flicking water away from his eyes. He throws in that stupid hair flip like he's starring in Baywatch, before he swims closer with the predatory grace of a shark.

"You know," he says, inching closer through the water as I try to retreat. "You really shouldn’t start a water fight when you can’t swim."

I tread water, gritting my teeth. "Oh really?"

He launches himself at me, and my body collides with his chest, slick and warm and impossibly solid.

The laugh dies in my throat. Everything dies in my throat.

Because Beck Morrison is holding me against his bare chest, and his blue eyes are locked on mine, and the water laps gently between us like the whole world just decided to hold its breath.

His arms tighten around me, keeping me afloat without effort, and I realize I've stopped kicking entirely.