Page 9 of Puck Love

“You playhockey?”

He laughs. “Sometimes. Other days I just beat the shit out of people on theice.”

I don’t know why, but this makes mesmile.

“Why is it you women get all hot and bothered over the hockeyfights?”

“I don’t … I wasn’t getting hot foranything.”

“Right. So I just misinterpreted that smile, then, didI?”

I shake my head. “Van, where are my clothes, and why am I not wearingthem?”

“Oh. We had to snuggle, naked, to keep you from gettinghyperthermia.”

My blood turns cold, and I feel all the color drain from my face. “What?”

“Besides, that spangled gold thing you call a dress was drenched in whiskey and covered in blood. That might only look like a scratch, but head wounds bleed like a bitch. I didn’t want you staining my bedsheets. At least not in thatway.”

I frown, ignoring the crude innuendo. “This is yourbed?”

“Yep.” He lets out a huge exhalation and gets to his feet, wincing as if he’s in pain. He slowly walks to the bathroom and pulls a bottle of meds from the cabinet, running the water and swallowing several mouthfuls from his cupped hands. He stares at me in the mirror and looks me over as if the blanket weren’t even there. I blush right to the very roots of my hair. I’m used to men looking at me as if I’m an object, what I’m not used to is likingit.

I glance at the rumpled sheet that gives nothing away. “Where did yousleep?”

“In mybed.”

“As in this bed, or another bed in this house that you mayown?”

“Relax, sweetheart, after you thawed out a little, I put my clothes back on and didn’t peek once.” He turns to face me, and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Except, of course, for when I was taking yours off.” I swallow hard. “I bet I’m the only man that can lay claim to that,eh?”

I frown, but before I can say anything to the contrary, he turns and tilts his chin up to get a closer look in the mirror. “Goddamn it, woman. What the hell did you do to my beard? You just cost me two hundred bucks. That fucker Torres is going to hold this shit over me for the rest of theseason.”

“Hey, that was not my fault. You could have left a note on the pillow that read, ‘Don’t worry, we’re not going to murderyou.’”

He glares at me in the mirror. “I’ll remember that next time I get done saving you from freezing your assoff.”

I sigh in exasperation. “What exactly am I supposed to wear if my clothes areruined?”

“Oh, there are some things on the chair in the far corner of the room. I had to take a stab at your size. I could probably find more in the lost andfound.”

“The lost and found? What isthat?”

“It’s, er . . . where all the stuff goes fromsleepovers.”

“Sleepovers?”

“Come on, Stella. I know you’re the founder of the Virgins ‘R’ Us club, but surely you’re not thatclueless.”

“I’m not—” My retort is cut off abruptly by Van’s brother bursting through the bedroom dooragain.

“You said we were making pancakes, Van. You know I’m not allowed to turn on the stove withoutyou.”

“Right. I’mcoming.”

“Does Stella wantpancakes?”

“I think Stella needs to get back to her life, bud. I’m betting she’s got a bunch of people to apologize to this morning, what with the media shitstorm surrounding last night’s no-show.”