Page 42 of Revenge Puck

Audrey gasps and dramatically clutches her chest. “That’s blasphemy in these parts!”

“I want the Bobcats to win the championships; I just wish they could do it without that gorgeous bastard helping them.”

Preston

When I sent a time and place for dinner reservations to Elle, she agreed, but her responses to my messages since have been short, to the point.

She’s still upset with me.

Hopefully, I can make up for being a dick during dinner.

I’m standing on the sidewalk outside the Italian joint Vivace, that had great reviews online, when I see Elle walking toward me from the direction of her salon. Her hair is different fromall the other times I’ve seen her. Guess that’s one of the perks of being a hair stylist. Tonight, her blond locks are sleeked back into a low bun-thing at the nape of her neck. I think I like the hairstyles when there’s unobstructed access to her neck the best.

After I allow my gaze to lower to the snug black dress showing off her ample cleavage and every single curve, I have to quickly try to recall our team’s shots on goal stats and percentages from the past few games to prevent a noticeable bulge in the front of my pants.

“Hey,” Elle says softly with her approach, eyeing my dark suit. “I thought this was the type of place that I needed to dress up for.”

“You’ve never been here before?” I ask in surprise.

“Nope. Some of us don’t make big bucks playing professional hockey,” she replies with a small smile.

I’m just glad she’s never been here with Riley. If I had to bet, their dates were probably not usually done in public.

Gritting my teeth together to ignore that thought, I grasp her bare upper arms to lean in and give her a brief kiss on her lips. When I pull back, I hold her gaze and tell her, “You look gorgeous, Elle. Thank you for agreeing to come tonight.”

She quickly glances away toward the windows of the restaurant, to the people seated inside. “Just don’t expect me to go Dutch. I have rent due next month.”

“Absolutely not,” I assure her with a grin. It doesn’t escape my notice that she completely ignores my compliment. “Do you live close to the salon?”

She nods her head. “Yes, I have an apartment just four blocks away.”

“That must be nice.”

“What about you? Do you live near the arena in D.C.?”

“Ah, not really. I wanted a house outside the busy city. The traffic sucks, though, so maybe I should’ve found somethingcloser to the arena within walking distance. Doesn’t matter now, though, since I may be moving to another city before next season.”

Elle frowns. “You’re that certain the Warhawks won’t renew your contract with them?”

“I wish I could stay on, but the odds aren’t great if they haven’t put it in writing by now. I thought making the championships would be enough to earn a renewal, but I guess not. At least I lasted longer with them than I did in Wisconsin.”

“How long did you play for Wisconsin?”

“Only two years of the five in my contract before they traded me.”

“I’m sorry. That must be awful, not knowing when you might have to up and move.”

“You have no idea,” I mutter, dreading that conversation so damn much I’ve been ignoring Maya’s phone calls for the past two days. I did cave and text back short and sweet responses to her as required, knowing I would want the same if she were away. When I get back home, it’ll be time to face the music, and she’s going to be fucking distraught.

My go-to when I’m dealing with bad news is to stress eat the shit out of comfort food. It’s usually greasy shit, like entire pizzas, bowls of pasta, and pans of garlic bread. I try not to think about the reasons why I crave that kind of shit from my childhood.

“Ready to go in and eat?” I ask Elle as my stomach growls.

“Sure. This doesn’t look like the type of place where we’ll have to worry about a lot of phone cameras taking photos.”

I’m not so sure about that, but I don’t comment as I reach for the door and pull it open for Elle.

Rather than step inside, she asks, “Why did you post that video?”

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