Page 47 of Puck Love

Eli props his feet on the coffee table. “Oh, right, and have them drive their fucking snow plow up the mountain. Jesus, what drugs do they have you on, and can I havesome?”

“Please?” Van gently moves his head, shooting puppy-dog eyes at his best friend. “You wouldn’t leave your crippled teammate in pain and starving, would you? I need to consume twice as many calories as the regular person, youknow?”

“Yeah, I got that, being a pro-athlete myself and all. But your naughty nurse is here now, so maybe she can fix you something toeat?”

My eyes widen, because the only thing I’m capable of making is PB&J, and even then, it’s only because there’s no heating of any kindinvolved.

“No! I wasn’t kidding when I said she can’t cook forshit.”

“Hey, I’m standing right here, youknow?”

Eli lets out a resigned sigh. “Fine.”

Van smiles. “I love you,man.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna go get some takeout,” he says. “Do me a favor and don’t let him take any more pills while I’m gone, willyou?”

“I can go. Just tell mewhere?”

“No offence, but your disguise was kinda shitty, I could tell who you were the second I got close enough to see your face. So again, no. Youcan’t.”

“Plus, she’s a terribledriver.”

“Oh my god.” I throw my hands up. “You crash into a snow drift one time,people.”

“Anything you don’t eat?” Eli stands and stretches. His shirt rides up, and I catch a glimpse of a perfect six-pack before glancingaway.

“Hmm, let’s see: meat, carbs, dairy, wheat, pretty much anything that brings a person joy,” I say with ashrug.

“She eats all that at my place. That’s why she’s so happy here with me.” I glance at Van. The poor guy is off his rocker with these meds. I guess he’s not all that used to taking opiates, what with drug screening and all. “Now, play me a song,country.”

I chuckle. “Anypreferences?”

“Make it a slowone.”

A grin spreads across my face. “You gonna ask me to dance,cowboy?”

“I would, but I’m a little bitbroken.”

“Excuses,excuses.”

“And that’s my cue to get dinner.” Eli turns to me with a stern expression. “Try not to break him any more while I’mgone.”

I salute him, pick up the guitar, and begin the first few bars of my song “Anywhere But Here.” I don’t sing, though, and when Eli leaves, Van looks at me with puppy-dog eyes. I laugh and start humming a little. The pouting intensifies, and I finally give in and give the man what hewants.

“Yeah, they were right. You’re nothing without your auto-tune,” he says. I fumble over the strings and gape at him. “Relax. I’m kidding. You should see yourface.”

“You almost took another hit to the head,Van.”

“I think I’d like to see that—you on top, trying to beat me up. I’d take it willingly, youknow?”

My jaw drops open. “Oh my god, how high are you rightnow?”

“Come on. You haven’t thought about it in the last twoweeks?”

“I . . . I’m gonna sing now.” I pluck the strings, and attempt to get the ones inside my heart undercontrol.

He narrows his gaze on me, and there’s a god’s honest smirk on his beautiful face. “You have, haven’t you? What have you thoughtabout?”

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