Page 34 of The Puck Bunny

“Okay!” I shout back in a shaky voice, raising my gaze back up to his face.

And, dang it, he’s smiling, that one dimpled, eye-crinkling smile that makes him look boyish and sexy and dangerous and as trustworthy as Captain America all at the same time. The kind of look that makes you forget whatever else there is going on in the entire universe and focus on one thing: having his babies. Well, that and having multiple big Os while you’re trying.

“Billie Mae is a good friend,” he says, of all things, forcing me to melt further, but not in that hot sexy baby-making way.

No, this is where the danger of Quinn James comes in because he’s way more than a sexy hockey-playing hunk—which is devastating enough all on its own—but he’s… nice. The thoughtful, appreciative kind of guy who gets you. The swoony kind of man who does the right thing even when it means his balls are going to turn blue. I resist taking a peek at said balls, though it’s not easy.

I nod. “I think it’s time for me to go home. For us to go.”

“Let’s dress first,” he says, his dimple soft and understanding.

A crazy laugh bubbles up and I let it out as he follows me out of the bathroom. I collapse onto the bed in a fit of giggles, lost to the absurdity of the moment. The blanket slips away and I don’t even care because I’m practically in tears with my laughing fit.

He joins me on the bed, naked and gorgeous and totally comfortable as he grins down at me, roving his eyes over my body, and even though I know I should feel self-conscious, I can’t work up the anxiety because I think I’ve finally hit bottom, the lowest most embarrassing level of humiliation possible with nowhere else to go but up.

“We should get dressed,” he says, amused, but not kidding as he lowers his lids at half-mast, forcing me to suck in a breath at his meaning. “I’ll take you home.”

Is there invitation in that line?

Then I sit up like a shot. Oh crap.

Take me home? Oh, sure. That’ll go over great. Mom will see me coming home with a guy I work with—and give me hell for risking my job—and Quinn will learn I live with my parents. Yeah, that’s a winning situation.

Not.

“You can’t take me home.” I scramble off the bed and pick up my skirt and jersey. Eyeing the tights, I decide to forego them because they’re not worth the trouble.

“I don’t mind. No strings. I insist.”

“Oh no. It’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

I have to tell him I live at home. I am now lowering to the sub-basement level of humiliation.

“I… I… “

He slips on his boxers and pants in one smooth motion and comes to me.

I don’t back away in fear. Quite the opposite; I vibrate in anticipation of his touch, of him.

“Sara, there’s nothing you can say at this point that could possibly be more embarrassing—”

“I live at home. With my mom. And dad. And little brother.”

He stares at me for a beat as if he’s waiting for something more, and then he does that soft smile again and takes me into his arms for a hug and kisses the top of my head.

Meanwhile my body is all tuned up for his tongue on my pussy but a kiss to the top of the head? Now that’s humiliating. Or it should be, but he’s understanding and didn’t laugh at me.

Whatever I thought I wanted before tonight, is gone. What I really want is him. The real life genuine version of him who tells stories about his mischievous childhood and doesn’t laugh at misguided puck bunnies.

* * *

Luckily, the house is asleep when he pulls up to the curb. Back home in good old Revere where I’ll die—the neighborhood cat lady, still living in my parent’s house at a-hundred-and-one-lonely-years-old.

“I’ll be moving to Revere soon,” he says. “We’ll be neighbors.”

A laugh bubbles up, but I keep it under control.