Page 75 of He Has Pluck

The surprise in his eyes quickly changes to guilt. It’s a look I can decipher in him with ease.

“You got the ring from that diamond company that wants to do the commercial, didn’t you?” I push back from him, feeling disturbed though I have no idea why. Something is off. That’s all I know.

“No, I didn’t.” He breathes a deep sigh of relief, pulling me back into his arms. “It’s the ring your dad gave your mom. She wanted me to have it for you.” He stares, waiting for a response, but I’m stunned into silence.

The place is filling up around us, but people give us space. Most of them are regulars, and they respect our privacy. They’re also used to our excessive PDAs by now.

“My mom’s ring?” It’s not sinking in.

He nods. “She said it would be like you having a piece of your dad. She’d always wanted you to have it, and this was the perfect occasion. I had it repaired and polished—but if you don’t want it, I can buy—”

“No! It’s perfect. The ring my dad gave my mom, and now you’re giving it to me—”

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I don’t believe in family jinxes.”

I laugh and kiss him and then hug him fiercely because it’s all sinking in now. He’s mine, and he wants me forever, and all the logistics in the world don’t matter anymore. Neither does his age or mine. Not even the ghost of skepticism from my past can penetrate the bubble of my utter happiness and optimism.

“I’m so in love with you,” I say into his ear.

He whispers into mine, “I’m the luckiest man in the world right now, Ice Chip.”

I pull back from him to see his one-dimpled grin and give him a frozen glare.

“And there she is. I knew you still had it in you.” He nibbles on my earlobe and whispers, “Don’t ever change, Juliette. I love you exactly the way you are, ice and fire and whatever else you can throw at me.”

All the ice in me melts. For now.

# The End #

Sneak Peek from the Next Boston Brawlers Romance:

An Excerpt:

Sara

“She’s just a puck bunny. Who cares?” someone says, I’m not sure which guy, but he’s clearly an asshole. His words burn into my soul, offending me and my margarita-riddled sensibilities.

I jump up from my seat because someone has to stand up for the girl.

“I care,” I say, My voice is loud and every player at the table to my right turns to me. My eyes slide to Quinn’s, but I dart them away and stare directly at the offending asshole. “Aren’t puck bunnies people too, with hearts and souls and feelings? Who do you think you are to say that? You shouldn’t be mean to people, any people, just because you can get away with it. You just shouldn’t.”

I stop talking and our corner of the bar goes quiet.

The guys from the team table stare at me, seemingly too stunned to speak. All the puck bunnies at the table on my left stare at me.

And the beat of silence turns into two as I turn into a ball of seething embarrassment, the inferno heating my cheeks, no doubt to a bright red, as I try to shrink back. This is why I’m better off as a wallflower. I scramble out of my seat, slipping away from the two groups of stunned people with all kinds of judgment in their expressions.

My eyes automatically go to Quin, because they always do, and I find him staring back at me.

Duh. I’ve just made an outrageous spectacle of myself butting into a private matter so loudly and passionately that I feel dizzy. That’s the last time I drink tequila.

My heart thunders in my chest as I meet his gaze.

It takes another beat to register the expression on his face. He’s not scowling, he’s not shocked. No, he looks… pleased. Then he breaks the pause of shocked silence.

“She has a point.” His voice is loud and clear and he aims that famous one-dimpled smile at me. I stumble. Then he winks and I stop breathing.

The clamor of voices starts up again and he gets swallowed up by conversation, his attention ripped away from me as suddenly as it came.