Page 8 of Puck Love

He raises his brows. “Not god, though you’re welcome to call me that during sex. ’Most everyonedoes.”

My mouth gapes open. “Who are you? And what the hell am I doinghere?”

“You tell me, Stella Hart. See, my brother, Emmett, and I”—he indicates to the man staring slack-jawed in the doorway who hasn’t moved since I came out wielding a razor—“were at a concert last night, and after sitting through one hell of a shitty support act, the main attraction canceled at the last minute. So, with disappointment in our hearts and greasy fast food in our bellies, we make the long hour-drive home through a snowstorm only to find you, drunk and disorderly, and crashed into mymountain.”

“Yourmountain?”

He makes a face, as if he’s conceding that fact. “Mysnowdrift.”

“I’mconfused.”

“I’m not surprised—you do have a pretty serious bump on your head. Not to mention the amount of alcohol you consumed. I’d think anyone would be a little fuzzy on the details after they drank half a bottle of whiskey. You shouldn’t drink and drive,Stella.”

“I wasn’t drunk; I had three sips. And you shouldn’t kidnap strange women and drag them back to your creepy-ass cabin in thewoods.”

“I carried you, I’m not a caveman, and you should be thanking me. Your car was still running. One wrong move and it could have brought the side of the mountain down on all of us. I saved yourlife.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” He makes no attempt to stand up yet, which is really weird considering he’s stretched out on the rustic wood floor, and I’m huddled against an arm chair wearing only a blanket and a sheet. “Feel free to start thanking me anytime.” His eyes roam over me, as if he were thinking of all the ways I might thank him with my body, and for a beat I have half a mind to do just that, but it seems like we forgot we had an audience because the man standing in the doorway—Emmett, I think—opens his mouth tospeak.

“You shouldn’t run out of concerts like that. W-we had tickets. Santa bought them for me. He paid good money for thosetickets.”

“I … I’m really sorry.” I pull the blanket tighter against me, and glance between the man still lying on the floor and Emmett. It’s clear he has a disability, and I feel terrible for ruining something he was so clearly looking forward to. “Are you … are you afan?”

“Yeah, your number one. But you shouldn’t run out onpeople.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to.” I frown. “I just … I couldn’tsing.”

“Whynot?”

I look at the stranger that I was straddling all of thirty seconds ago. His gaze says he knows too much. “I’m not sure. I just—I had to getaway.”

Emmett frowns. “But we came to seeyou.”

“Okay, Emmett, that’s enough. Let’s leave Stella to get dressed so she can be on herway.”

“Fine,” Emmett says, but his shoulders sag as he walks away. I stare at his brother on thefloor.

“You’re not going to leave,too?”

“Wasn’t planning onit.”

“Excuseme?”

“I’m kind of stuck. See, when you crash-tackled me to the ground, wielding a razor and screaming that I’ll never take you alive, you screwed my shoulder royally. I’ve just come from a grueling training and massage-therapy session. It hurts like abitch.”

“I …Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I guess I deserved it, after kidnapping you andall.”

“Oh my god.” I sit down heavily on the bed. “I’m really am sorry about yourshoulder.”

“Ah, what’s one more week of recovery in the beginning of theseason?”

“You’re a sportsstar?”

“Van Ross, center for theCrushers.”

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