Page 22 of Pucking Sweet

“You’ve got nice eyes,” she says at last.

Oh, shit. This is actually working? I lean forward and bat my lashes. “What, these eyes right here?”

She hides her smile.

“What do you like about them?”

“I like the color,” she replies.

“What color are they?”

She raises a brow. “You don’t know your own eye color?”

“I’ll admit, I don’t look at them much,” I say with a shrug.

“Interesting. With the way you were crossing your arms trying to get me to notice your rippling pectorals a moment ago, I would’ve thought your full-body mirror was your most prized possession. My only question would be does it stand along the wall, or is it mounted to the ceiling over your bed?”

“Trick question,” I tease. “I havetwomirrors.”

“Of course you do.”

“But don’t stop now. You were saying you like the color of my eyes. What color are they, Poppy?”

She searches my face again, her gaze softening a little. “They remind me of salted caramel.”

“Mmm, sweet and delicious…and soft,” I tease. “I’d say I’m more of a hard and spicy rock candy, wouldn’t you?”

“During the holidays, my Nana used to make salted caramel sauce by the gallon,” she goes on. “She made so much, we couldn’t give it away fast enough. And the kitchen always smelled like caramel for weeks after.”

Shit, that was a deeply personal answer. I wasn’t expecting it. Time to deflect. “I remind you of your grandma?”

“Only your eyes,” she clarifies. “And it’s a compliment, Lukas. It’s the only one you’re getting today. Take it, and let’s change the subject.”

I cross my arms again and puff out my chest, just because I can. “Sure. Why don’t you tell me something else you like about me?”

“Still fishing for compliments? I never would have pegged you as insecure.”

“Try curious.”

She sighs. “You know you’re attractive, Lukas. You’re not as beautiful as Ryan, obviously. But then, what man can be?”

My chair squeaks as I roll forward again. “Wait. Who the hell is Ryan?”

“Langley. You know, Ryan Langley? Star forward of the Rays?” The minx practically purrs his name.

Why do I suddenly feel the urge to track down Langers and punch him in the head? “Seriously? That pretty boy? He’s all hair. Please tell me that’s not your type, I beg of you.”

“I never said he was my type,” she replies. “I’m simply saying he sets a standard for male beauty that even Adonis himself would fail to meet.”

Okay, this game is officially over. “Keep talking about Langley like that, and I may just turn green.”

Reaching up, she tucks a few loose strands of her blonde hair behind her ear. “No need for any jealous fits. You’re handsome too, and you know it. You’ve just got that ‘jock pretty’ look.”

I raise a brow. “Jock pretty?”

“Yeah, you know, the kind of pretty where you can tell all the conventional attributes of a handsome man are present—strong jaw, proud eyes, imposing profile—but you’ve also been knocked one too many times in the head, so it’s all starting to go a bit hazy.”

I bust out a laugh, surprising myself with the honesty of the sound. “Ain’t that the truth. This poor face has taken a real beating over the years. Broke my nose twice.” I point to the noticeable lump in my bridge. “And look.” I flash her a crocodile smile. “Four of these teeth aren’t real. Bet you can’t guess which ones.”