Page 25 of Pucking Forbidden

"Fuck no."

"Too bad. I'm in an advice-giving mood."

"Since fucking when?" Logan eyes me like I’ve grown a second goddamn head. And shit, he isn’t wrong. I don’t give advice. I don’t get in anyone’s business. I mind mine and keep my opinions to myself.

I guess shit is changing.

"Since now." I stare at him for a moment, putting my thoughts in order. "Don't be another asshole in her life who lets her down because you're feeling sorry for yourself over whatever bullshit you're telling yourself over there,” I finally say. “You dragged herinto this. She's counting on you to lead her through it. Get your head out of your ass and lead."

I wish like hell someone had given me that advice before I fucked everything up. I can sit here and blame Jamison for the way my life turned out all I want, but at the end of the day…I made my own decisions. I attacked him. I didn’t tell Sutton the truth when it counted. I just…fucking rolled over and let the hits come, told myself it was the right thing to do.

But shit doesn’t look the same now. I guess time and distance do that. It changes our perspectives. Allows us to see what we miss while in the thick of it.

I can spend a lifetime hating him. It won’t change the fact that I made my own choices. He’s a fucking asshole for what he did. But…so am I. Because I gave up. I walked away. I let him win.

I can’t undo that now. All I can do is better. And maybe I can keep this big idiot from making the same damn mistakes with his girl. It’s not his fault she’s all over the news right now, not matter how much he tries to tell himself it is.

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," Logan growls.

"Really? Because that puck went right between your legs. Literally right between them." I demonstrate with a whistle. "And you were off in another world, thinking deep thoughts about the goddamn lights."

"I was thinking about you, actually, you prick. You know how much I love that pretty face of yours."

"Take my advice or leave it," I say, flipping him off. "Doesn't matter to me either way. You'll be the one who regrets it if you leave it, though."

Logan stares at me for a long minute, shaking his head. "I liked you better when you sat over there and didn't say anything."

I smirk at him, amused. "Maybe I'm a changing man."

"Yeah, that's bullshit. You've been in a pissy mood all night, and that's saying something because you're always a crankymotherfucker. What the fuck is going on with you? Since you're all up in my goddamn business, I'm stepping into yours."

"Nothing."

"Right. You're just extra fucking cranky and weird for no reason. That makes total sense."

"The past is a bitch," I finally mutter, my voice soft.

"Oh. Oh, shit." His eyes widen. "We're playing the Bucks."

I jerk my chin in a nod.

"I'm an asshole."

"You expecting me to disagree or something?"

"Fuck." He scrubs a hand down his face. "I'm sorry, man. You good?"

"I'm fine," I growl, arching a brow at him. "Why does everyone always ask me that shit?" It’s not like I’m going to snap and hospitalize the prick again. I mean…I probably won’t do that again.

"Uh…you mean aside from the obvious?"

This time, I scowl at him.

"Mostly because people actually give a shit," he says quietly. "Peters is a dick, but we like you. We ask because we're ten toes down, standing behind you. If you decide you need to hit the prick again, we'll throw elbows and cause a scene. They can't boot us all."

"He's right," Archer says, picking his way across to us.

We both look at him.

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