Pucked Page 33

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to have a drink with me?”

“Because I like you. Because you’re fun. Because I want to get to know you better. Because I want you to see for yourself I’m not the kind of guy you think I am.”

Her silence lasts a long time. “One drink.”


She nods.

“Are you free this afternoon?” I don’t want to give her a chance to change her mind.

“I should be done at five today.”

“I could take you for dinner—”

“No meals. Only one drink.” Her grip on my shirt loosens, and her fingers slide down my arms. “There’s a coffee shop across the street. I’ll meet you there.”

Dean knocks again. I unlock the door, open it two inches, and hold up a finger while giving him my fuck-off-or-I’ll-beat-you-with-my-hockey-stick look. Then I close it again and turn to Violet.

“You’re not going to ditch me, are you?”

“I don’t see the point. You’ll probably break into my house and I’ll find you hiding in my closet or under my bed if I do,” she says dryly, eyebrow raised as if challenging me to disagree.

“I don’t think I’d go that far.” Even I have my boundaries in this stalking business.

“You’ve locked me in a conference room with you. Who knows your limits?”

Before Dean has a coronary, I flip the lock and open the door again. He glances between me and Violet.

“Alex Waters?”

“I’m sorry if I’ve delayed your meeting.”

“Can I get you, anything? Coffee? Water? Fresh-squeezed orange juice.”

I swear I hear a hand job come from behind me. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me.

“I’m good. I already got what I came for.” I turn to Violet, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Even her ears are pretty. “I’ll see you at five.”

“Okay.” She blushes and touches her hair, her smile suddenly shy.

Score one for Waters.


Dean gawks as Alex walks down the hall. “That was Alex Waters.”


Alex’s hands are shoved in his pockets and his head is bowed. His shoulders are so broad he nearly takes up the entire hallway. He’s a hard man to say no to. Coffee in a public venue seems safe.

Dean waits until Alex turns the corner. “He was here to see you?”


“He’s even hotter in person than he was in those pictures of you two making out.”


“Uh, uh . . . I, uh . . . sorry. I didn’t mean . . . you look hot, too.” Dean busies himself with rearranging folders on the conference table.

“Why is everyone so hot for Alex Waters?” I grumble. I’m annoyed at how easily I’ve fallen into this trap.

I attribute it to how good he looks when he’s clean shaven and nervous. I want, in a very desperate way, to believe he’s not a fuckwit-asshole-super-whore. I’m still glad I kept my appointment with the gyno last week. Bagged or not, I wanted to make sure I hadn’t contracted any diseases from chomping on rotten wood. From what I’ve read and seen, I’ve slept with a man who’s been with the equivalent of a brothel or two of women. I’m grateful all the results were negative.

“Please tell me you’re going to bang him.”

I choke on a cough. “We’re going for coffee.”

“That’s almost a date. You can totally have sex with him afterward.” Dean nods vigorously, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Charlene and Jimmy show up and save me from Dean’s inanity.

“Charlene told off Alex Waters!” Jimmy says, gesturing wildly to the empty hall.

I gape in disbelief. “Charlene did what?”

“I didn’t tell him off. I gently suggested he watch his ass or he’ll have me to deal with.”

“You didn’t.” I palm my face, mortified.

“He seemed very agreeable. All he did was nod a lot and apologize. I also asked if he could introduce me to Darren when you two are done making up. He offered to send tickets to the next home game, provided I bring you.” Charlene is all smiles.

I can’t believe Charlene sold me out for tickets to a game. She’s seen the Waters Hat Trick interview, I told her about the sexin’, his monster cock, the puking, the relentless emails, texts and phone calls, as well as the assload of gifts I’ve received courtesy of Alex Waters.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m totally serious. I’m not passing up a chance to see Darren Westinghouse play.”

“Charlene, what if I don’t want to go to a game? What if I never want to talk to Alex ever again?”

Charlene turns my laptop toward her and checks out the interview again. I’ve probably made her watch it half a dozen times, dissecting the content or lack thereof. She seems far less offended by his non-responses. In all fairness, she hasn’t slept with him.

She props her chin on her fist, eyeing me speculatively. “He told me you agreed to coffee, so you must want to see him.”

“Who says I’ll see him again after this?”

“I understand the media stuff bothers you, but he seems to be honestly interested in you. I mean, it’s been weeks and he’s actively pursuing you even though you keep blowing him off.” A smug smile is plastered across her face. “Oh, and nowhere in this interview does he say he’s done that Hat Trick thing. All he does is give evasive answers.”

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