Page 73 of My Pucked Up Enemy

Because she’s not just smart and fiery and impossible to read. She’s this, too. And damn it, I want to know every version of her.

After the last note fades, no one says a word. The fire hisses, and I swear even the wind goes quiet.

And I’m gone. Wrecked.

I want to tell her.

But I don’t.

Because if I say what I’m thinking right now… how I dream about her voice, how I crave her mouth, how I’d trade every save I’ve ever made just to watch her play one more song, especially naked....

And I can’t blow this.

Even though I’m already halfway there.

By the time everyone’s standing and saying goodnight, she’s packing up her guitar and tucking papers under her arm.

I linger, pretending I’m checking my phone.

“You need a hand with all that?” I ask.

She glances over, hesitates, then nods once. “Sure.”

We walk in silence to the lodge, the firelight fading behind us. She unlocks the door to her room, steps inside, and sets her guitar gently on the bed. I follow, carefully trying not to breathe too loudly.

She turns and our eyes lock.

No words.

I step closer. Her lips part just slightly. Her breath catches.

She says, “Alex, we shouldn’t…”

I cut her off with a kiss.

It’s not hard or rough. Not yet. Just firm. Certain.

Her hands are still holding papers, but they flutter to the floor as she leans into me, mouth opening just enough to make me forget every rule I ever cared about.

She breaks it first. “The walls are thin.”

I kiss her again. “Then let’s walk.”

Five minutes later, we’re under the stars. Gravel crunches beneath our boots as we follow the narrow wooded trail looping behind the resort. It’s quiet, except for distant voices and the occasional whip of wind through trees.

She’s hugging her sweater tight. I reach out without thinking and take her hand.

She lets me because it's dark and no one is around.

We walk like that for a minute, then another.

“I grew up in Traverse City,” I say. “Spent summers barefoot. Winters in skates. My brother was a better skater, until he quit. Said the pressure wasn’t worth it.”

She listens, thumb brushing my knuckle.

“You?” I ask.

She exhales. “Upstate New York. I was the quiet one until I learned how to break tension in a room with a one-liner. That evolved into psychology.”

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