Page 52 of Puck Love

“He is notsmitten.”

His deep chuckle resonates through the quiet night around us. “Oh, Stella, you don’t know the half of it.” I frown. “He likes you, a lot if he’s let you stay in the same house as Emmett, but I think he’sterrified.”

“Of me? That’s ridiculous.” I shake my head adamantly. “Besides, Van doesn’t know the first thing aboutme.”

“Oui, Stella douce, devous.”

“You know I don’t speak French,right?”

Eli grins. “You sound like him, and it seems to me like he knows you pretty well. Why else did you beat a hastyretreat?”

“Maybe I just like running,” Isnap.

“And maybe you’re just scared shitless because Van is everything you want, and nothing you’re accustomedto.”

“Goodnight, Eli,” I say impatiently, and head for thedoor.

“Night, Stella. I’ll swing by in a few days and see how he’s doing.” Eli moves toward the stairs, but turns before he can descend. “Don’t worry; I’ll call first. Make sure I’m not interruptinganything.”

I roll my eyes and pushinside.

Van is still on the couch. Ignoring him, I move straight to the fire, warming my freezing body as my teeth chatter. After several long minutes of silence as I defrost, I turn and face him. Chinese containers litter thetable.

“Are you done?” Iask.

“With the food, or pissing youoff?”

“Both?”

“Probably not with the pissing off.” He shoots me an unapologetic look. “I’ll try, but I can’t promiseanything.”

“I think . . .” I sigh, unable to believe I’m about to admit this. “I think maybe you wereright.”

He sits up a little straighter. “I’m sorry,what?”

“There’s no need to be an ass aboutit.”

“I am an ass,Stella.”

“What if I’m tired of being a virginal role model? What if I’m sick of the whole ‘good girl’image?”

“Then I’d be happy to take care of that foryou.”

I shake my head. “You’re injured. I don’t see you taking care of anything in the immediatefuture.”

“Maybe not tonight, but I won’t be injuredforever.”

“I think I’m going to clean up and then go to bed.” I grab the empty takeout containers from the table and place them in the discarded paperbag.

“You wantcompany?”

“No!” I exhale noisily. “No, Van. I don’t wantcompany.”

“That’s too bad. I could have used my cuddle bunnytonight.”

I glare at him. “Cuddlebunny?”

He grins. “What, you prefer puckbunny?”

“You should stop talking before I give you another concussion.” I set the trash back on the coffee table and decide he can clean it up for himself, then I take the stairs two at a time before I agree to being Van’sanything.

Cuddle bunny. Thatasshat.

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