Page 16 of Pucking Unhinged
I could be amazing at a lot of things I don’t have any practice hours invested in. I know I could. I know I could drag breathless moans from her that only I’ll ever be allowed to hear.
The booth attendant stares, wide-eyed. “Winner. Pick whatever you want.” He’s looking over my shoulder, probably to see if Hayden is going to crash out over how easy this was for me.
I don’t even look at the flashing prizes. My eyes are only on my girl’s profile when I say, “Choose, dushen’ka.” My voice is low and rough, meant only for her.
She lifts her hand, pointing at the battered little bear. Not the shiny things everyone else would choose.
The attendant hesitates, as if he can’t believe that’s what she wants, but he glances up at me and I’m already glaring at him because he’s taking too long, so he quickly hands it over.
She takes it carefully, like it’s fragile, like it’s worth more than all the gaudy prizes dangling above. Then she rises up on her toes, close enough that her lips brush my cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers. I want to haul her against me, taste her thank you from her mouth, and show every bastard here that she’s mine.
Instead, I stand there pretending this is enough when it will never be.
Justin is still at the booth when we circle back, shoulders tight, jaw clenched. He’s been at it for a while, missing shot after shot, trying to win Reese the octopus she pointed out earlier. Her voice is soft, encouraging, but even from here I can hear the edge of embarrassment creeping in. The basket rattles again, another miss.
Winter leans close, her voice barely audible through the noise. “You could win it for her.”
I glance down at her. Of course she’d think of someone else’s feelings before her own. Of course she’d want to save Reese from standing here while her boyfriend fumbles. I bend my head until my mouth is near her ear, my words for her alone. “I love how kind you are, dushen’ka. But Ramsey has eyes everywhere, and I’m not in the mood to fight him to the death because I won his girl a stuffed octopus.” I want to tell her that I wouldn’t do thatanyway, she’s the only one that deserves this side of me, but I leave the blame on Ramsey.
She shakes her head, laughing quietly, and says, “Speak of the devil.”
My cousin Ramsey strides up, and the crowd seems to part for him. His eyes are locked on Justin like a predator sighting prey. I know that look he has right now. It’s the same way I look at Winter. It's possessive, warning, ready to destroy everyone in his path.
“How’s my north star?” Ramsey asks Reese smoothly, ignoring the rest of us. Justin visibly freezes as if he didn’t realize that Ramsey would be showing up tonight. Without asking or even acknowledging Justin, Ramsey takes the ball, sinks one basket. Then another. Then a third. Casually, he wraps an arm around Reese as she excitedly points out the prize she wants. He hands the bright purple octopus to Reese without looking at her boyfriend once. The message is clear. It’s Ramsey’s job to take care of Reese, and Justin’s existence is tolerated only by a thread.
I don’t waste time watching it play out. I’ve got no patience for Ramsey’s performance because I’ve got enough of my own shit going on right now. I curl my arm tight around Winter’s waist, pulling her flush against me.
I’m feeling fucking antsy, but having her against me helps.
She tilts her face up to me, her eyes soft just for me. “Ready to go?”
I study her, and for once I don’t bother hiding it. I’m tired and if I’m honest, I just want to be alone with her right now.
“You’re not sleeping again,” she says quietly, brushing her fingers along my cheek. “Even if you tell me you are, I know you’re not.”
The touch undoes me. I lean into it, heavy, as if her small hand is the only thing holding me upright. For a moment I think about what melting into her completely would feel like.
“We just got here,” I mutter. I mean, I’ll win her some more stuffed animals or buy her whatever junk food Callum hasn’t devoured.
Her smile is knowing, tender. “Then I’m tired.”
I huff out a laugh because she lies so sweetly for me, and she doesn’t even know how much I need it.
She threads her fingers through mine, squeezing tight as she pretends to use all of her bodyweight to pull me. I let her, walking slowly behind her. “Come on, we’ll go home. You can read to me.”
That promise, simple as it is, makes something in me loosen. She turns, calling back to the others, her voice carrying over the noise: “Don’t let Hayden fight anyone or Callum eat anymore sugar.”
The group erupts into laughter, used to our early exits, used to the way I always steal Winter away. They can joke all they want. I’ve got her hand in mine, her voice in my ear, and that’s all I need.
TRISTAN
Winter walks into the sitting room wearing one of my hockey sweatshirts.
It hits her mid-thigh. Bare legs except for the light pink, tall leg warmers she always wears around the house. That strip of skin between the hem and the socks is all I can focus on for a second. If the sweatshirt lifts even an inch, I’ll see the scar.
She doesn’t look at me right away. She walks straight to the bookshelf, fingers skimming the spines. Her hair is still in a braid, and she hasn’t washed off the minimal makeup she wears on nights out. She always looks quiet, soft, undone.
I watch her longer than I should. The way she tilts her head to read the titles. The way her fingers hesitate, then drift over a familiar spine before moving on. I know exactly what she's thinking when she lingers on the poetry section. Her brow furrows like she's trying to remember which one I read to her last time. She's always careful like that. I truly think she tries to match the book of the night to my mood, even if she never says it out loud.
