Page 3 of Silver Fox Puck

The way he looks at me, like I’m not the one calling the shots?

That… could be a problem.

A slow warmth spreads in my stomach before I even realize what’s happening.

I know this feeling.

The tightening. The tension. The pull.

It’s the moment right before a mistake starts to feel like fate.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

My drink sits untouched.

My body locks up.

The noise around me blurs to static.

And now I’m locked on him.

Completely.

I couldn’t look away if I tried.

And that’s exactly the problem.

Because he’s not just different from the men in this bar—

He’s different from the kind I ever let slip into my orbit, even temporarily.

No performance. No game.

No chase.

And somehow, I’m already hooked.

I don’t usually go for older men.

Not that I have a rule about it—it’s just never happened.

The men I usually flirt with?

Cocky. Eager. Predictable.

They make it simple.

But this man? Nothing about him is predictable.

He doesn’t rush.

He chooses.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

The flex of his fingers around the glass.

The subtle tick of his jaw.

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