Page 29 of Dirty Puck

Finally, her moan turned to a whimper and I ripped my mouth away, breathing hard and my heart pounding like a jackhammer. I thought she’d slap me or demand answers—Lord knew I deserved it—but instead, she lifted up on her tiptoes to hug me, pressing a kiss to my cheek, then she took my hand and started walking in the direction of Miss Claudia and Benny.

Humiliation slammed into me. What the fuck had I just done? As we walked, she casually turned her head up to look at me, no judgement or derision on her beautiful face. Not one bit. Instead, she said, “How about BBQ ribs, corn on the cob, a vinegar slaw and my cheesy, jalapeño cornbread instead?”

The woman had no idea what caused my reaction, yet she knew exactly what to say, to do.

“That—” I cleared my throat. “That’d be great.”

It took me a beat to shake off my brain fog, but once I did, I slipped back into grocery-store autopilot. Bree started loading the cart with egg noodles, peas, carrots, tuna—nothing unexpected. Then she paused in front of the baking aisle, her hand hovering over a box of breadcrumbs, and that’s when my Spidey senses tingled.

“What’re you making?” I asked.

“Tuna noodle casserole.”

“You eat that shit?”

“It’s one of Benny’s favorites and it’snotshit.”

“Swear to God, woman, if you touch a can of creamed soup, I’ll spank your ass and make you beg for more.”

Her cheeks pinked. God, I couldn’t wait to get her naked tonight. “I don’t use canned soup, though to condemn creamed soup is both ableist and wealth-ist.”

“Wealth-ist isn’t a word.”

“It is now. Shakespeare coined something like nine thousand new words. If he can, then so can I.”

“Fair enough. Why is it ableist?”

“Because not everybody can use a whisk to make a cream sauce. For some people, opening a can is as much as they can handle.”

“Shit—I never thought about that.”

“You want a little perspective in your life, come down to Benny’s school with me one time.”

“I’ve got to go, anyway.”

She wrinkled her brows. “Why do youhaveto go?”

“Don’t they need a copy of my license and shit?”

“Why would they need your license?”

“To pick him up.”

Sighing a fucking cute, indulgent sigh, she placed her hand on my arm. “Reece, there’s no reason for you to pick him up.”

“Are you my girlfriend?”

She lowered her voice, leaning toward me. “Fakegirlfriend.”

“Are you my girlfriend?” I pushed because fake or not, what people saw was me taking care of the woman and her boy.

“Fine, yes… I’m your girlfriend,” she relented.

“Then the school needs to know me.”

And that was the end of our privacy. It started with the man wearing a Copperheads jersey peeking around the corner. When I spied him, he pulled back, but then worked up the balls to approach.

“Baker Reece?” he said. “What’re you doing in Aldi?”

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