Page 11 of Exes That Puck (The Honey Badger Puckers #4)

I scan the bar, starting with the back booth where the team was sitting. Carter’s still there, Dylan too, but no Zeke. I check the dartboard area, the bar rail, even peer toward the patio door that leads to the smoking area.

Nothing.

He left. The thought hits with an unexpected sting. Did he leave with someone? Some girl who caught his eye after the game? The possibility makes my stomach twist in ways I don’t want to examine.

“Bathroom,” I announce to the girls, already standing.

Payton’s eyes narrow slightly. She knows I’m lying, but she doesn’t call me out. “Want company?”

“I’m good.”

The cold air outside pinches my skin. I tell myself I’m just checking if his truck is still here. That’s it. Nothing more complicated than satisfying simple curiosity.

I step off the curb to get a better view of the parking area, and brake lights flare as a truck stops inches from me. My heart hammers as the driver’s window rolls down.

“Kare?”

The nickname makes my chest tighten. “Kara.”

I move to the driver’s side, automatically glancing at the empty passenger seat. Relief floods through me before I can stop it.

“You meeting someone?” The question comes out more blunt and obvious than I intended.

“No.” His answer is clean, quick. No defensiveness or explanation that feels like an excuse.

The wind cuts through my coat, and I shiver involuntarily.

“Get in,” he says, reaching for something in his back seat. “You’re freezing.”

I shouldn’t. This breaks every rule I’ve set for myself over the past seventy days. But the cold is bitter, and his truck is warm, and part of me has been wanting this conversation since I saw him in the bookstore.

I climb into the passenger seat, and he immediately hands me his hoodie. The gesture catches me off guard, not because it’s grand or romantic, but because it’s considerate without expectation. He doesn’t press for anything in return, doesn’t use it as an opening to touch me.

New behavior. I file it away.

I pull the hoodie over my head, engulfed in his smell. My chest aches until my head pops through.

He puts the truck in drive, then pauses. “I can park somewhere?”

I nod, agreeing. “Yeah. Just for five minutes?”

He nods. “Five minutes.”

He pulls into an empty spot near the back of the lot and keeps the engine on. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, just heavy with things we’re not saying.

“Why were you leaving?” I ask finally.

He’s quiet for a moment, hands resting on the steering wheel. “Because staying would’ve gotten awkward. For both of us.”

“You think?” I say before processing it. I guess he’s right.

He tilts his head, looking out the window.

“The old me would’ve spent the entire night trying to find excuses to talk to you.

Would’ve probably sent you a drink and convinced myself it was just being friendly.

” He glances at me. “Figured it was better to leave and give you space to enjoy your night.”

The honesty surprises me. No deflection, no attempt to make himself look better than he is. I don’t know what to say, so I change the subject.

“I saw you with that kid at the rink,” I say. “During the charity thing.”

A small smile crosses his face. “His name was Connor. I showed him the double-knot trick with my laces.”

I smile. “That’s sweet.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, but there’s something different about him when he talks about it. Like he’s been living a life beyond our breakup loop, finding meaning in things that have nothing to do with me.

“I need to tell you something,” I say. “About the blocking thing.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he nods.

“Payton pushed for it. But I let her do it.” The words feel heavy. “I should’ve handled it myself instead of letting her make that choice for me.”

“Got it.” He doesn’t sound angry, just understanding. “I’m sorry about the meme. I know I said I’d give you space, and then I immediately didn’t.”

“It was actually a funny meme,” I admit. “The person should not take AP.”

He laughs, and the sound loosens something in my chest. “Poor kid can’t spell whether.”

We sit in the warm quiet of his truck, and I find myself really looking at him. The way he holds himself differently, more relaxed but also more intentional. Like he’s learned to sit with discomfort instead of immediately acting on it.

“And how do you spell whether?” I tease.

He looks at me with a smirk. “W-h-e-t-h-e-r.”

I smile at him. “I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks to that meme.”

I roll my eyes, knowing that he’s only saying that to make me laugh. “You’re such a liar.”

He chuckles, searching my face.

I lean in, and he shakes his head slightly.

“What?” I joke.

“Kare,” he warns. “Kara,” he corrects himself.

He can’t keep eye contact with me. That’s also something new. His presence feels refreshing, calm. He’s staring at his lap, and I want to know what’s going on his head.

“Hey,” I say softly, reaching for his face.

He goes still under my touch, eyes searching mine. “Kare—”

“Kara,” I repeat jokingly as my fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He tugs his chin away from my touch, and I inhale, afraid that he’s rejecting me. It’ll be the first time he’s ever rejected me, and it feels like a stab to the heart. I know I broke up with him. I told him to stay away. I asked for space, but that hurts.

My fingers linger, barely touching his face.

He inhales and exhales dramatically, looking out the window. Then he wipes his face. Is that frustration? Did I read this all wrong?

He shakes his head slightly. His expression slightly turning like he’s fighting some internal war.

“Zeke,” I breathe, afraid of what comes next.

He scratches his chin, exhaling.

“Fuck it,” he mutters.

He kisses me with an intensity that steals my breath.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

His hands tangle in my hair, and the way his lips move have me wondering why I’d ever say no to him.

I kiss him back, needing him like I need air.

I’ve missed this so much. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer across the center console.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. He touches my lips with his thumb, eyes dark and searching.

“What now?” he whispers.

The question hangs between us, loaded with so much hanging in the air. I don’t know if this is a good move. I know what the smart answer is. I know what Payton would say, what my rational brain is screaming at me.

But I also know what I want and have been craving but denying myself.

“We need rules,” I say finally. “Clear ones. Before this goes any further.”

He nods immediately. “Okay. What kind of rules?”

I take a moment to think, and I’m relieved he’s following my lead. I need to set some serious boundaries because this has the potential to go back to exactly how it was six months ago, and I don’t want that. Mentally, I’m ready to set some looser boundaries because I can’t not want him.

“We are not together,” I start, counting on my fingers. “No sleepovers. One-line texts only of where and when. No paragraphs, no post-fight essays.”

He nods. “Got it.”

“No jealousy questions. No ambushing me before class or work.”

He nods again. “Understood.”

“Condoms. Always.”

His cheeks flush slightly, but he nods. “Always.”

“And stop means stop. No debate, no negotiation.”

“Stop means stop,” he repeats, politely. “Of course.”

I study his face, looking for any sign that he’s just agreeing to agree. But his expression is serious, focused. Like he’s committing these to memory.

“Can you repeat them back to me?” I ask.

He looks at me, and I swear his pupils dilate. “We’re not back together. Condoms always. No means no. No sleepovers, no texting, no ambushing. No jealously.”

I feel giddy, hearing him and watching his shoulders become less tense. I hold back my smile and say, “I’m off tomorrow at ten-fifteen.”

He adds, “My place. Side door. No sleepover. I’ll take you home after.”

The fact that he voices the boundary first makes me feel safer somehow. Like he’s not just tolerating the rules but embracing them.

“Okay.”

We sit in the charged silence, both of us processing what just happened. Finally, he clears his throat.

“Has it been five minutes?” he asks.

I nod. “Probably. We kissed for three of those minutes.” I blush.

He swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “Can I kiss you goodnight?”

The question catches me off guard. Such a simple thing to ask permission for, but it feels significant. Consent given freely instead of assumed or taken.

I nod, almost embarrassed. “Yes.”

His lips press against mine, and I lose myself in him. I’ve missed this so much, and if he could be less possessive, controlling, and jealous, I would do this a thousand times a day. His hands stay on my face, no roaming or grabbing. When it ends, I feel like I’m floating.

“Keep the hoodie for now,” he says as I reach for the door handle. “Or bring it tomorrow. Whatever you want.”

I slip out of the truck and back into the cold night air. Inside the bar, I rejoin my friends with a story about a long bathroom line that nobody really believes but nobody challenges either.

Lola leans in and whispers, “Nice hoodie.”

My eyes snap to hers, telling her to say no more. We both laugh, and really I’m only giggly because I’m giddy about what Zeke, and I just agreed to. We’re not getting back together but we’re still going to have fun, and that’s all I want.

My phone buzzes as everyone continues on with the conversation.

Zeke: 10:15. My place. Side door.

I don’t reply. I don’t need to. We set the rule of one-line logistics only. No confirmation required.

Tomorrow is on.