Page 19 of Married As Puck
She props her chin on her hand, studying me like I’m a puzzle she wants to solve. “So, what do you do here?”
“Where?” I raise a brow, unable to even believe I was holding a conversation with this woman.
“In your club. You know hockey stuff. Are you… one of the players?”
I stiffen, and it must show, because her smile tilts, sharp with curiosity.
“Ohhh,” she teases softly. “Secret confirmed.”
My throat works. “It’s not a secret and why exactly would you even think that I’m hiding anything?”
“Well for one, you look like I just caught you sneaking out past curfew?”
You’ve got to be kidding me!
She sighs when I stay silent, but it’s not annoyed—more like she’s amused by her own game. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out. You’ve got the build, the moodiness… definitely not a goalie. You look like you hate people too much to be one of those.”
Against my better judgment, the corner of my mouth twitches. Barely.
Her eyes catch it instantly, and she lights up like she just scored. “Was that… a smile? Did I just make the scary guy crack?”
I scowl to bury it, stepping back toward the door.
“You imagine things and I’m not going to stay here and listen to this.”
“Nope. Saw it. Witnessed it. I should get a medal.”
I pause with my hand on the doorframe. For one wild second, I want to say something to wipe that grin off her face. But words stick in my throat. It’s easier to retreat into silence.
“See you around, angry hockey guy,” she calls after me, sing-song, like she already knows she will.
I don’t answer. I just walk away, pulse hammering harder than it should, her voice trailing me down the hall.
So I turn on my heel and head for the stairs, her presence still clinging to me. Each step feels heavier than the last.
“Brie Sparks,” I mutter under my breath, the name dripping with disdain. It leaves a trace on my lips, lingering longer than it should, like the scent of her perfume in my lungs.
I slam the door shut behind me harder than necessary. My room is dark, the faint orange of the streetlight bleeding through the blinds, but I don’t bother switching on the lamp. My pulse is still high, my jaw tight. Brie freaking Sparks. I’ve known her for all of two days, and somehow she already manages to crawl under my skin like no one else. I cannot believe I actually stood there and had a conversation with her, granted she did most of the talking, but still… That’s a huge mess up from me and it kills me to know I entertained her.
I drag a hand down my face, muttering a curse, and flop onto the edge of the bed. My phone is still in my pocket. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull it out and hit Keith’s name. He picks up after a couple of rings.
“Yo,” he says, voice lazy, probably sprawled out somewhere with his feet kicked up, “home already?”
“I swear, Keith, if I stay here for those six days, I’ll lose my mind.”
There’s a pause, then a chuckle. “Wow. Straight into the dramatics. What happened now?”
“Brie happened,” I snap.
“Who’s Brie?”
“Are you freaking kidding me? Brie’s the girl in my house.”
“Oh, so she has a name now? How’d that happen?”
I roll my eyes. “Do you really want to know how that happened or do you want to know what she did to me?”
Another pause. Then he laughs—loud, unrestrained laughter that only fuels my irritation. “Oh God, what did she do now? Did she breathe too loud in your direction?”
