Page 37 of Of Pucking Course

“Not much. Just a couple shots. And I had a huge meal earlier to soak it all up.”

“You should stay and keep celebrating with your teammates,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m taking you home.”

I start to tell him that I’m fine to take a rideshare home right as Del comes back over to our table.

“Please tell me you’re done playing this game,” Del says.

“Your sister’s leaving, so I think we can all still play, right?” Xander says.

“Yeah, you all keep going,” I say.

“Do you still want to do lunch with us tomorrow, or should we reschedule when you’re feeling better?” Sophie asks me.

“We can do it another time, no problem,” Bella says.

“No, I’m still on for lunch. Promise,” I say.

Sam stands up with me. “Dakota and I are leaving. She’s not feeling well,” he says to Del.

My brother’s brows knit in concern. “Too much tequila?”

“I think so.”

I brace myself for the lecture he’s given me a million times about pacing myself, but he just nods. He walks over and hugs me goodnight, then pats Sam on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” Sam says. He smiles down at me. “Ready?”

I nod. With his hand on the small of my back, he leads me out of the bar and through the door.

When we step outside, I turn to him.

“You really don’t have to drive me home, Sam,” I say. “I can get a rideshare.”

He tilts his head at me. His eyes are warm and focused as he looks at me. “There’s no way I’m letting you get a ride home with a stranger this late at night, Dakota. I’m driving you.”

My chest tingles at the firmness in Sam’s voice. Normally, I don’t like being told what to do. Whenever my mom and brother boss me around, I hate it.

But when Sam tells me what to do, it’s a different story.

There’s a firmness in his tone and a watchfulness in his gaze. I like it. I like seeing this sweet and gentle guy act protective over me.

I bite my lip as I gaze up at him. “Okay. Take me home.”

Chapter 12

Dakota

Sam pulls into the drive-thru of my favorite late-night takeout place.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“You need food in your stomach after all that tequila you downed.” He rolls down his window and orders two fish tacos, two shrimp tacos, two carnitas tacos, and a horchata. My favorite.

He pulls up to the window to pay. When I try to hand him my credit card, he gently pushes my hand away.

“Nope.”

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