Page 42 of Puck Me Secretly

“Are you sleeping with Katrina?”

“Not yet.”

My eyes widened with shock and hurt. I stumbled back a few steps before turning to flee.

“Rory.” He grabbed my wrist and stood too close. He spoke in a low voice. “That was an asshole thing to say.”

I stared at the space over his shoulder. “The question was too personal.”

“I told you. I’m not doing distractions this year, but if I was…”

Our eyes met. His gaze was so infused with heat, it made me blush.

I dropped my eyes. “Are you ready for the media?”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I can handle a few reporters.”

“They want to get personal.”

He smiled. “So, let them.”

“Take this seriously.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re cute when you're worried?”

“Okay. That’s my cue to leave.”

I spun around and started towards the door. I could see him in the reflection of the wall-length mirror. He stood with his hands on his hips and his eyes watched my ass.

Exactly eight hours,I stood in my PJs in my bedroom in front of my television.

I was going tokillMax.

No. I would kill Katrina first and then I’d kill Max.

Max had shoved a reporter. Eight hours after our talk, MaxfreakingLogan lost his cool and shoved a reporter into a cameraman.

The bite was on every syndicated sports news channel.

It had made the top five worst plays of the day.

Anchors were talking about it.

People were doing memes about it.

A strangled noise ripped out of me as I yanked on the first thing I could find. Skinny jeans, a tank top, and a hoodie.

Max Logan was a dead man walking.

“Rory.” Dad roared from his bedroom.

I walked down the long hallway and composed myself before I tapped on the bedroom door.

My dad, clad in his housecoat, stood in front of his television. We made eye contact.

“You saw the news?”

“Yes.”

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