Page 4 of Of Pucking Course

And last night, when we were in bed together and he got angry when I couldn’t have an orgasm…

Just thinking about what he said to me…and what he did to me…makes my body go rigid.

Clarity hits me like a freight train.

Jake is a terrible person. He treats me like crap. He always has. And the only reason I put up with it is because I thought he was the best I could do. I thought that because he didn’t cheat on me or steal from me, like my exes, he was automatically a good guy. He was automatically marriage material.

He’s not. He’s a piece of garbage. And I don’t want to be with him anymore.

I gaze at him as the smile fades on his face. He starts to frown like he’s confused about why I’m so upset.

When I blink, tears tumble down my cheeks. Anger and sadness crash through me.

“We’re done, Jake,” I say.

“But, Dakota?—”

Before Jake can say anything more, my big brother Del steps up to him and plants his massive hand on the back of Jake’s neck, cutting him off.

“Let’s take a walk,” Del mutters as he drags Jake out of the restaurant.

Del turns to Sam, who steps out from behind him.

“Take care of my sister,” he says to Sam.

Sam nods once and moves to stand in front of me, blocking everyone else in the room from my view. It makes me feel shielded and protected in this moment when I’ve been humiliated.

He touches my arm. His blue-green eyes are soft and watchful as he gazes down at me.

“Let’s get out of here, okay?” he whispers.

His voice is an instant calm. I nod, and he takes me bythe hand and leads me out of the space. We walk down the hall, stopping at a random door.

Sam opens it and lets me walk in first. He closes the door behind us and flips on a light. We’re in a room surrounded by a million crates of liquor.

I go to wipe the tears from my face and feel frosting all over my cheeks. Oh right. I still have cake on my face.

“Here, let me,” Sam says in that same gentle voice.

The tension in my body starts to melt away. Sam is huge—about six-foot-three and over two hundred pounds of solid muscle—but he’s so gentle. So sweet.

He pulls a cloth napkin from his suit pocket. With his other hand, he gently holds my chin as he wipes my face.

“Do you always keep a fancy cloth napkin in your pocket?” I ask.

The corner of his mouth curves up. “Always. You never know when you might need to clean up a mess.”

His words trigger another wave of sadness.

“I really am a mess.” I sniffle.

Sam lowers his hands from my face. “You’re not a mess, Dakota.”

I let out a sad, pathetic laugh. I weakly gesture to myself. “I’m covered in snot and frosting. You can’t get much messier than that.”

He holds my gaze. “You could be caked in mud and you would still be the most beautiful woman in any room.”

My breath catches at what he just said.

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