Page 17 of Dirty Puck

But watching Toledo put his hands on her? I wanted to rip his damn head off... then sew it back on just so I could tear it off again.

She must’ve felt my stare, because she turned from the group and her eyes locked on mine. For a heartbeat, her lip trembled, and I swore I saw a flicker of sadness flash across her face. But then she shut it down, fast. That softness vanished, replaced by a tight-lipped glare before she looked away.

And that was the last attention she paid me.

After a few hours of celebrating with beers and dancing, she hugged Toledo and said her goodbyes to the other men. I followed her out of the bar.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I barked at her back and she stopped abruptly, spinning around to face me.

“Home. What’s it to you?”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I’m not drunk. Just go.”

“Not going. Not letting you drive home when you’ve been drinking.”

“I had a couple of beers over several hours. You’ve been sipping water all night?”

“No.”

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

“One less than you.”

Bree flipped her hand in the air, dismissive as hell, then turned to head back to her car—and I saw red.

She didn’t get to brush me off like that. Not when she’d already stopped paying attention to her surroundings. That was another conversation we needed to have.

Any guy could’ve walked up on her. And then what?

I stepped in, snatched the keys from her hand, and held them above my head, just out of reach.

“Reece, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Making sure you get home.”

“Give me my keys.”

“Nah, baby. Get in the car.”

“I’m not getting in the car.”

“Get in the fucking car, Bree. I’ll drive you home.”

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Reece, I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I want to go home and go to bed.”

“Yeah. Thenfuckingget in the car andI’ll driveyour ass home.”

With an exaggerated sigh, she stomped around to the passenger side, climbed in, and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame. I shook my head, snorting as I tried to wedge myself into the driver’s seat. Not happening.

She leaned over, yanked a lever, and shoved the seat all the way back but it wasn’t enough.

How the hell did any man fit in this tin can? I fucking hated compact cars.

“Get out,” I ordered.

“Are you serious? You can’t kick me out of my own damn car.”

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