Page 71 of Revenge Puck

“Now that she knows the depth of your hatred, though, what Christian did to me when I got pregnant, Elle thinks you hate him more than you like her.”

“Oh shit.” I scrub my palm over my face, beginning to understand what she’s getting at.

“Exactly!” Maya says triumphantly. “Now, how are you going to prove to her that you actually care?”

“No idea.”

“Then you better come up with something fast before she hops on a plane out of here first thing in the morning.”

“That’s not going to happen. I have to find her. Tonight.”

“But how?”

“I guess I’ll have to call or visit every damn hotel in town.”

“I’ll help!” Maya offers.

“Thanks. And sorry for snapping at you, I’m just…”

“Yeah, I get it,” she replies with a sad smile. “What do you need me to do?”

“Could you find Elle’s salon on Insta and track down her friend Audrey something? She probably knows where Elle’s staying.”

“You got it,” she says, phone already in her hands.

“Let me know what she says. I’ll be checking with hotels until I hear from you.”

“She probably booked a hotel near the arena, right? Start there.”

“Yeah, okay. I will,” I agree.

Elle

Even though I’m still wide awake, the hard knock on my hotel door a little after two a.m. scares the crap out of me.

I wasn’t even going to see who it was through the peephole, until I hear his voice through it.

“Elle, I know this is your room.”

“How?” I say aloud before I realize he probably can’t hear me through the door.

I finally get out of bed to go unlock the door, but I leave the chain in place. It’ll be the line I need to keep the addictive hockey player on the other side, to not get any deeper into this mess I’m in.

And despite Preston’s “rule” about no sex before a game or during the season, there’s only one thing a man wants when he shows up begging to come in this late at night. I can’t count howmany times Christian showed up out of the blue, not caring if I had early appointments the next morning and woke me up.

Seeing Preston standing on the other side of door, even knowing he has ulterior motives, still gives me those nervous butterflies in my stomach. Again. I absolutely hate those fluttery bastards.

The big grumpy man looks good in his jeans and a black hoodie that’s pulled up over his head. He would be a scary sight to see on the street in the middle of the night, or knocking on my hotel room door, if I didn’t know him. Or at least I think I sort of know him.

“You sleep in my jersey?” is the first thing he says as his eyes lower to where the material ends just above my knee.

Shit. I should’ve changed before answering the door. Now he probably thinks I’m pathetic and pining for him.

Which is the truth, but I didn’t need to be so obvious about it.

“It’s nice and warm,” I lie. Quickly changing the subject, I ask, “How did you know which hotel, which room, I was staying in?”

Preston shrugs his wide shoulders. “I called and asked around.”

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