Page 39 of Forbidden Puck
Somberly, I stared out my window, mesmerized by the hectic blur of busy traffic; long trails of red and green and yellow.
Did Ilieto him?
Did I lie to myself?
I clenched my fists so tightly my nails began to cut into my palms.
I thought of Ryan's date for the night. Kara. I wondered what she was like. Probably like all the other puck bunnies I'd met over the years—girls that were obsessed with Lance and his buddies. Loud, gaudy, and with a penchant for putting all her assets on display. Credit where it's due, those girls knew precisely how to ensnare a jock's attention: leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, because they never had much of one to begin with.
“What're you thinking about?” Ryan suddenly asked.
His voice snapped me from my trance. I turned to see him, smiling at me, a small and curious smile on his lips.
“Oh … lots of things,” I said. “You caught me day-dreaming.”
His grin grew, and so did his desire to know more. “Well, what about?”
I couldn't hold his gaze, and I dropped mine to the floor of the cab. “Oh, fine. I was just wondering what this girl you're meeting up with looks like.”
“You wanna see? I'll show ya. Honesty policy and all, right?” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. The screen lit the back-seat of the cab, and he showed me a picture of the girl that matched my mental image of her exactly: blonde, face heavily painted, too thin. Her orange skin tone told you she enjoyed baking herself on tanning beds. You could call herattractive,because she knew how to package herself and attract attention,but you wouldn't call her pretty.
Or maybe I'm just being a catty bitch …
He swiped to show me the next picture. Kara had pulled down her jeans, exposing her silly pink panties with a bow.
“Wow,” I laughed, a jealous lump lodging itself in my throat. “Straight to the point, isn't she!”
“Right?” Ryan chuckled. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket.
The grin he wore—I'd seen it before, with other guys from my past, when I ended up in a situation where I was 'the cool chick' in a group of guys. Grow up with a popular hockey star for a brother, always surrounded by sweaty, trash-talking boys, and you too might easily end up as 'one of the guys.'
To Radar, the novelty of having afemale friendthat he could share anything with was just,so badass, man.Evencoolerthat I was a girl who lived by an honesty policy that meant everything had to be laid bare.
The cab pulled over to the curb and slowed to a stop. The club's signage was lit in smoky red letters,Regret.
Ryan paid the cabbie and hopped out. He gave me his hand to help me out of the car.
Welp, let's see what this place is like …
***
I joined the end of the line to get into the club. I was digging through my clutch, in search of my ID, when Ryan stopped me.
“No need,” he said simply. He whisked us to the front of the line. The doorman saw Ryan, let the two of us in immediately, and welcomedMr. Ryderback.
The crowded club was dimly lit and loud, thumping beats blasted from the speaker system. Ryan took my hand so we wouldn't get separated and led me through a mass of dancing people. The body heat was thick and sweltering, but we emerged on the other side at the bar and were able to breathe again. A bartender spotted Ryan and rushed over to take our order. He made our drinks in a hurry, and when Ryan tried to pay, the bartender reassured him that his money was no good here. Ryan stuffed the cash in the tip jar instead.
Ryan passed me my drink. The dance music was so loud, it forced two people together to be heard.
“Here,” he said, leaning in so close he nearly nuzzled me. Like prickly barbs, his whiskers scraped against my skin and sent a shiver down my spine.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Hoppin', right?”
I steadied myself on his arm and stood on my tip-toes, reaching for his ear. This close to him, the scent of his cologne filled my senses again.
“Sure is,” I yelled, “and I can see you're no stranger around these parts, either.”
“Yeah,” he answered.
