Page 29 of Not the Puck Bunny

I found an empty bench and sat, careful to avoid the pile of seagull droppings that decorated one side. My hands in my lap, I closed my eyes, breathed inthe fresh sea air and attempted to breathe out my anger.

Manifestpeace, I told myself.Don't let her undermine you.

I should be used to her shit by now, shouldn't I? I'd had a lifetime of her making not-so-subtle hints about everything she didn't like about me. Every disappointment and disapproval. Every toe I dared to put out of line.

Shouldn't I have thick skin by now? Why was this getting to me the way it was?

I buried my face in my hands and struggled to regain my composure. I knew the answer.

It started with Xander leaving, and extended to the first interaction with Cam. The way he looked at me like he wanted to eat me up, at the same time as he wanted to spit me out. He hated what he thought I was, even while the attraction sparked between us.

My insecurity made me wonder if it wasn't puck bunnies he didn't fuck, it was women like me. Women with curves. He wasn't the first man to think the way my mother did. He wouldn't be the last, either.

I wanted to tell myself he didn't. I saw the way he looked at me. The way his rare smiles weredirected at me. The way he'd teased, laughedwithme at my awkwardness when I talked about his stick.

I didn't think for a minute he bought it when I claimed I wasn't checking out his ass. I was absolutely checking out his ass. How could I not? It was so perfect and round in his hockey shorts. Even better in his jeans.

How many times did I have to remind myself we couldn't be more than colleagues? Nothing more than friends. Ishouldn'thave been checking him out.

I spent years struggling to maintain professional relationships with the people around me. Even when they treated me like I was only there because of who my father was. Some of them didn't like that about me, and some saw it as a foot in the door if they had a relationship with me.

Only people like Rafe saw me for who I was. Smart, competent and professional.

Maybe my mother was right and I should step away from the team, before I screwed everything up.

On the other hand, I could prove everyone wrong instead. I lowered my hands from my face and curled them into determined fists.

Yes, that was exactly what I'd do. I'd prove to everyone I had what it took to be the best damn team owner the Sea Dragons ever had.

Chapter Twelve

Cam

I couldn't stop thinkingabout Andi Welling. Everything I did these days, she was in the back of my mind. Or the front.

Now I was starting to see her everywhere I went. I blinked and looked again.

It took a moment to realize the adorable redhead on the bench was actually her.

The breeze blew her hair back off her face. Her blue eyes faced the ocean, glazed like she saw nothing.

In the late fall sunlight, the freckles on her skin stood out more than usual. Today's sweater was forest green, worn over black trousers and black ballet flats.

All of that I noticed immediately, butwhat made me stop and stare was the expression on her face. I'd seen her nervous, annoyed and amused, but never apprehensive. She looked as though someone stripped off a couple of layers of her confidence and left her sitting alone on a bench by the beach.

“Hey.” I sat down beside her, giving her a few inches of space if she didn't want company. I winced, realizing I sat in seagull droppings, but didn't move to stand again.

She glanced over at me as if she wasn't surprised to see me. “Hey. Are you stalking me?”

“No. I like to come down here and clear my head. But if I was going to stalk anyone, it would be a cute redhead.”

She tilted her head at me, her expression one of cautious curiosity. “Is that your type?”

Was it? If you'd asked me a few weeks ago, I would have said I didn't have a type. I took each day and each person as they came. Since I met her, I kept picturing her hair fanned out on my pillow, blue eyes intent on me.

It might be the craziest thing in the world and it might be wrong, but Andi Welling was my type.

“It might be,” I said. “What about you? Do you have a type? Let me guess. Wears an Armani suit and holidays in Bermuda every year.”

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