Page 17 of Exes That Puck (The Honey Badger Puckers #4)

“I’m sorry about this morning and the sneaking around,” I start. “I’m not trying to upset you.”

She uncrosses her arms, sighing. “It’s not about me, Kare. I don’t want to see you cry anymore. I don’t want you to get hurt. It’s a vicious pattern.” Her voice cracks slightly. “I’ve held you through too many nights. It wrecks me.”

The weight of that settles in my chest. All those phone calls, all the times she left class to walk me home, all the soup deliveries when I couldn’t eat.

“You did so much for me. I know. I’m grateful for you. I hate that I keep putting you in that position.”

“Then why do you keep going back?”

I look down at my hands. “I’m not asking you to approve of Zeke. I’m asking you to still be my best friend.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, then nods slowly. “I’ll always be your bestie. But if he makes you miserable again, I’m pulling the fire alarm.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “Deal.”

“Let me hook you up with someone normal,” she says, leaning forward with renewed energy. “Low-drama. Smart. Cute.”

“Payton—”

“That TA from psych class. Or there’s this pre-med guy from intramurals who asked about you.”

“I can’t picture anyone else right now.” The admission comes out quiet, honest. Not combative.

She studies my face, then sighs. “Okay. Then promise me you’ll tell me before you see him. No secrets.”

I nod. “Promise.”

We hug across the space between our beds. When we pull apart, some of the tension that’s been sitting between us all day has dissolved.

By 11:37, the room is dark, and Payton’s breathing has evened out into sleep. But I’m wide awake, staring at my phone’s glow. Zeke’s message thread is open, cursor blinking in the empty text box.

My heart pounds as I stare at the screen. If he’s really changing, I’ll see it without asking. I don’t need to text him to find out.

At 11:58, I slip on sneakers and a hoodie, leaving a Post-it on Payton’s desk, Can’t sleep. I’ll be back soon.

The Uber is waiting for me outside. When I reach his house, I can see Westley through the living room window, headset on, controller in hand. I tap the glass gently.

He startles, then grins when he sees me. He unlocks the door and speaks in a whisper.

He jerks his thumb toward the hallway. “He’s asleep.”

Zeke’s door is cracked open, room dark except for the streetlight filtering through his window. He’s asleep on his back, one arm thrown over his head, looking younger in the dim light.

I stand in the doorway for a moment, just breathing him in. Then I sit carefully on the edge of his bed and brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

He stirs at the touch, catching my wrist in his sleep without opening his eyes.

“Kare?” he murmurs, tugging me down gently.

I let him pull me closer, and he wraps his arms around me, face buried in my hair.

“I love you, Kare,” he whispers against my neck, still half-asleep.

Hearing him say that when he’s not completely awake is like someone squeezing the hell out of my heart.

I wish things were that easy, that loving someone means you’re good together, and everything will work out.

But the reality is that we’ve done too much to each other, said too much, and now we’re both broken, trying to pick up each other’s pieces.

Life isn’t always fair, and that’s why I cry. Tears hit his pillow as I allow him to pull me in. As stupid as it is, I miss him. I need this from him, to feel like I matter, that I’m worth it because without it, I feel like I’m nothing.

“I love you, too,” I whisper.

When the tears end, I don’t know if I can stop seeing him, even knowing how bad we are together. I want so badly for this to work.

I fall asleep tangled up in him, and I love it. I love the way he smells, the way he pulls me into him.

When I wake at 7:11, his arm is around my waist, and morning light streams through the window. He stirs when I move, immediately reaching for the flask on his nightstand.

“Do you want to go home?” he asks softly.

I look at him, wondering if he really means that. Real Zeke wouldn’t dare.

I give him eyes, knowing exactly what I’m doing. I readjust my sitting position and arch my back. I slowly shake my head, and I watch him gulp.

I point my finger at him and then ask him to come here. I grab his shirt and kiss him on the lips.

Between kisses, I say, “I don’t want to go.” Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. “I’m not done with you.”

I pull him on top of me, feeling his hardness pressing through his clothes to my center.

“Please,” I whisper, touching his whole body. I kiss his neck and then his collarbone. I flip him over so that I’m on top, and I kiss him down his body.

I pull his sweats down, kissing his V-line.

“Kare,” he moans.

I tug at his sweats. “Lift your ass.”

He chuckles, pulling them down for me.

I start pumping his cock with my hand. “I can’t stay away from you,” I admit.

His hands run through my hair as he says, “You don’t have to.”

He always says that when I try to give him head. I open my mouth, licking his tip. “I want to.” I also want to hear that he can’t stay away from me either, but he’s not saying it back.

I slide his dick into my mouth, watching him watch me. He’s slightly growing out a mustache, and it’s so hot. I lick him and say, “Do you want me too?”

He nods. “I always want you.”

I suck him harder, faster, until his eyes roll my back and he’s gripping my hair hard. And then I slip off my pants. He grabs a condom and rolls it on. Then I sit on him with my back facing him. He pulls me back, kissing my neck.

“This will never get old, Kare. I love you so fucking much.”

I start bouncing him. “I love you too.”

When I finish first, we breathe together in the quiet aftermath. No victory grin from him, no commentary. Just closeness.

“I love you,” I whisper before I can stop myself. Heat floods my face immediately, fear following close behind.

“I love you,” he answers simply. No leverage in the words, no attempt to use them as a bargaining chip. Just truth.

Relief and dread split in my chest. Is this real change, or just the calm before the next storm?

“There’s a party this weekend,” he says, fingers tracing patterns on my arm. “Come with me?”

My thumb is already moving across my phone screen, calling an Uber before my mouth catches up. “My Uber’s about to be here.”

I dress quickly while he watches, confused but not pushing. Westley gives me a two-finger salute from the couch as I pass, and Dylan nods neutrally from the kitchen. Again, no judgment. Men really are more chill about this.

Zeke follows me to the porch, hands shoved in his sweatpants pockets. “Text me when you get home?”

I nod noncommittally and slide into the Uber.

In the back seat, I replay everything. “I love you” spoken too much. The party invitation. My panicked exit. The driver asks if I’m okay, and I realize I’m crying.

I want Zeke so much. Not just sex. I want all of him. I also want proof that I won’t shatter again, that he won’t break me and watch.

The contradiction sits heavy in my chest as campus blurs past the window.