Page 112 of Lucky Mother Pucker

I glare at this guy, who’s been staring at Lucy’s boobs for the last minute—ever since I walked into this bar and spotted her, then slowly made my way over through the densely packed crowd.

What the hell is he even dressed as? A lumberjack?

He turns slightly, and I see the roll of Brawny paper towels tucked under his arm. Oh. Whatever.

I don’t care what this guy is dressed as. All I know is that he’s not going home with Lucy.

“Leo, what are you doing here?” Lucy asks.

There’s a cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she stares up at me. I try to keep my gaze above her neck, but it’s a fucking task. Because her body looks goddamn incredible in her Halloween costume.

That tight little top that shows off her stomach, those tiny little shorts that give away just how plump her ass is, how long her legs are…

Okay, maybe I’m a hypocrite for despising this guy for staring at her body, since I’m doing that right now too.

But the difference is I know Lucy. She likes the way I look at her.

This guy? I can tell she’s not into him.

When I walked up to her, it was right when he asked her to go home with him. I saw the way she hesitated. I saw the way her smile turned tight. I saw the way she backed up a step to distance herself from him. She’s not interested in him, and she’s trying to let him down easy.

But she won’t have to. I’m gonna get rid of him.

I turn to the guy and glare at him. “She’s coming home with me.”

I know I don’t look as intimidating as I normally would if I pulled that death glare—not when I’m dressed in a green and blue Luigi onesie.

But judging by the way his brow lifts when he focuses on my expression, he seems to get the message just fine. Back the fuck off.

He holds up a hand. “Sorry, dude. Didn’t realize she was spoken for.”

“She’s not,” I say in a hard voice. I hate that I can’t walk into this bar, slide my arm around her waist, and pull her against me. I hate that I can’t kiss her in front of all these people.

Because she’s just a friend. And no matter how much I want her to be something else—something more— we can’t. It could make things weird between us and ruin our friendship.

As much as I want her to be more than a friend, I’m more scared of losing her completely.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Lucy says, crossing her arms over her chest. I can’t ignore the sting of her words, even though she’s right. Even though I know it’s what’s best for us.

The guy’s confused gaze bounces between the two of us.

I step so I’m closer to Lucy. I’m not touching her, but I’m close enough to her that no guy is going to attempt to chat her up when I’m standing next to her, acting like her bodyguard.

“Thanks for the drinks, James. I think I’m going to hang out with my friend, Leo, now though,” she says. Her mouth curves up in an apologetic smile.

The guy nods once and tries to smile, despite the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. “Have a good night, Lucy.”

He walks off, and she turns to me.

She tilts her head at me. The look in her eyes is hazy, like she’s tipsy.

“That was kind of rude of you to interrupt my conversation with that guy.” She shuffles her feet and wobbles a little.

I reach out, steadying her with my hand on her hip. She might be a little drunker than I thought.

A protective feeling courses through me. I feel even better about getting that guy to go away. The thought of him trying to leave with her while she’s intoxicated makes my stomach churn.

“You didn’t want to go home with him, Lucy. I could tell by the look on your face. You were trying to let him down easy.”