Page 3 of Puck'n Bully
I simply stare at him. He should be the one feeling unsafe with a man who’s twice his size with the ability to break bones.
“I’m Liam, by the way,” he says, giving me another smile that sends warmth shooting through me. “I’ll get you some dry clothes so that you can get out of those wet ones.”
With that, he turns around and disappears down another corridor.
I use the towel to rub my dark, wet locks. By the time, I’ve peeled off my wet shirt, Liam strides into the room with a stack of clothes.
His expression dims the moment his gaze lands on my naked torso. Walking closer to me, he stares at the bruises that mark my skin. Most of them are from the game I played this afternoon while the others are older, healed scars.
“Who did this to you?” he asks, his voice shaking with rage. His gaze is now firmly fixed on my cut lips, the freshest of my wounds.
He probably thinks I got beaten up by bullies.
Technically, I did but I also returned my own hits, injuring at least three players in the opposing team. Only my dad got to walk away without facing any retaliation.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say shortly, snatching the clothes from Liam’s arms. “Do you want to stay here and watch while I strip?”
“What?! Of course, not!” A faint blush spreads on his cheeks as he steps back. “Go ahead and change while I get you something hot to drink. And if you want to use the bathroom, it’s down that way.” He gestures toward the corridor he’d disappeared through earlier.
Without looking back, he heads that way.
Surrounded by wicker chairs, antique décor, and crocheted cushions, I feel like I’ve been transported to a world that’s far from the cold whisper of ice underneath my feet, the loud war cries of hockey fans, and the harsh glares of rink lights.
After the fight with Dad, I drove blindly until I found myself cruising along a beach in Long Island. I must’ve driven for at least an hour to be transported here from the university campus.
After shedding my damp clothes, I put on the stuff Liam gave me. Everything’s ridiculously tight on my broad, muscular six-foot by three-frame.
Shaking my head, I grab my clothes and head down the hallway to look for him. The sound of clinking metal leads me to the kitchen where Liam is stirring something on the stove.
“What are you doing?” I ask in a gruff voice.
Turning around, he greets me by lifting a spatula. “I wanted to make us some hot chocolate but I’ve run out, so I’m cooking some ramen noodles. It’ll warm us up and fill up our bellies better than cocoa.”
Crossing the kitchen, I stalk toward him.
My menacing demeanor doesn’t faze him. He grins at me, his gaze sliding over to the lump of wet clothes in my hand.
“Give them to me,” he says, grabbing the clothes from me. “I’ll put them in the dryer for you.”
He walks past me but I grab his arm before he can take another step.
Liam looks up at me questioningly.
Pulling him closer to me, I fix him with a glare. “Why are you doing this?”
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your own clothes?” he asks. “My stuff looks too small on you.”
Closing my eyes, I try to rein in my frustration.
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, clenching my jaw. “Why are you being nice to me? I’m a fucking stranger to you. Why bother bringing me into your house and feeding me?”
His casual demeanor slips away. “You can’t be alone tonight.”
“I could be a bad guy,” I say, tightening my grip on his arm. “How do you know you’re not helping someone evil?”
“Did you kill someone?” he asks in a calm tone.
“No.”
