Page 42 of Trouble in Love
“Ask what?”
“If I’m poly. I can see the question glowing in your eyes.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. I’m hot. It’s hot, put two and two together and it’s hot as fuck. But I’m not sure if I’m poly, though. I’m definitely bi … and a slut for threesomes with two guys, girls, or theys, hence my popularity at the clubs. But relationships are a whole other kettle of fish. I really admire the poly-couples I’ve met. They have so much trust and love to give, while I just prefer to give fucks.” I almost choked on what little saliva was not pouring down my chin. “Happiness with one person seems impossible to me, let alone multiple.”
I thought of Clara and the pressure I felt to make even our fake relationship work. “I get that.”
“You do?”
“Sure. I don’t know how much you know about the NHL, but we players are notorious man-whores. It’s hard not to be. More often than not, you’re spending the majority of your time away from home with stinky, gap-toothed teammates, missing friends, and romantic interests. It can be really lonely. And pardon the pun, but puck bunnies and stick rabbits can fill that void nicely.”
Polly’s book slipped from her grasp. “What the hell are puck bunnies and stick rabbits?”
“Hockey super fans—well, more hockey player super fans, really. The bunnies are the girls, the rabbits the boys, and they spend their lives following teams around, frequenting their games, favorite nightclubs, and beds.”
“Ahhh. I see. And these vermin, do they frequent your bed?”
“For a little while, they did. It’s almost expected. A rite of passage, and undeniably hot, but for me, the fake smiles and random hookups got old pretty quick.”
Dark eyes with flecks of gold only visible in this light, narrowed as she studied my face. “Considering how we met, Ihave no idea why I believe you, Mr. D’Cruz, but I do. Maybe it’s those damn dimples.”
My winning crooked smile, the one that had cost dozens of sponsors millions of dollars to secure, was given to her for free. “They are pretty cute.” Our eyes locked in a heated gaze, one that intensified as Polly sidled up beside me, those lashes working overtime.
“From memory, you possessed another set of dimples that were pretty cute.” Eyeing me up and down, she wet her bottom lip, then pulled it between her teeth. It was a look of pure objectification, one instantly locked away for long lonely nights spent alone.
“Well, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Miss. Hart.”
“Well,I’mpretty sure you do.” Bending down to face level, she stabbed her long, lilac nail into my cheek and winked. “Now, did you come here to flirt with me, ask me pointless, sexy questions, spy on me for your friends, or buy some plonk?”
“Plonk?”
“You know. Alcohol. Booze. Grog. Uncork, guzzle guzzle.”
“Oh. Right. That one. But also the second one I think it was. The question one. It might be none of my business, but if you’re willing to share your story, I’m willing to listen.”
Polly
In my mind, I’d fallen, crashed face-first into the filthy concrete of the drive-thru, and was bleeding out before the hottest guy on the planet.
In reality, I was leaning against the cracked laminate counter Dad kept forgetting to upgrade, trying my hardest to show a smug nonchalance I didn’t feel. Luca wanted to hear my story. For a normal person wanting to get to know another normal person, nothing about that should be especially alarming. But I was not normal, and neither was he, which made it a big, huge, massive deal.
“Something Evie said has been stuck in my mind, and to get rid of it, I need to know …” His voice faded, and his eyes darted from mine to the wheels of the bike he’d dropped to his feet when I hinted at him to sit.
“You need to know what? If I’m truly that much of a slut?”
Anger crossed Luca’s face as his jaw did the ridiculously hot clenchy thing hot guys all seem to do. “No, Princess. No. I would never say or think that, and you shouldn’t either.”
“Ooh. Hit a sore point, did I, Cowboy?”
“No, no, you didn’t ….” His anger switched to cute confusion. “Why do you keep calling me cowboy? You know I’m from Brooklyn. I’ve never ridden a horse in my life.”
I shrugged, picked up the damp cloth sitting beside me, and began to wipe whatever I could find.
“I just find it particularly cute. Why do you keep calling me Princess?”
With a coy smile, those killer dimples appeared “Same reason, I guess.”
