Page 31 of Double Puck

And then… She shakes her head.

God help me, I’m going to ruin her.

"No… I didn't think so."

Every smart ass comment in my head disappears.

All I can think about is that hot-pink string beneath these trousers. How easily I could close the last inch and find out whether her mouth tastes as sharp as everything that comes out of it.

Instead, my fingers find the little glass bowl behind her. I take a mint without looking away from her and slowly straighten.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow night?"

I unwrap the mint and pop it into my mouth, flashing her the grin that got me voted most eligible bachelor the moment I signed for the Bears.

“Beck,” she says, but her voice has lost some of its bite as I reach the door and turn around. She looks me in the eyes, like she's taking a second to really think her next sentence through. "Please behave. My parents will be there."

I chuckle to myself as I step out of her office and away from the warmth of her body.

She thinks I’m joking.

But Darcy Madden just told her mother she has a date.

Lucky for her, I look fucking spectacular in a tux.

Chapter 5

Darcy

Igrip the wheel of my black convertible, cruising up the Pacific Coast Highway, as the ocean stretches endlessly to my left, waves crashing against the golden cliffs.

I put the roof down before I left, because the sun is gorgeous today, the wind is fresh, and this kind of afternoon demands the need for speed.

Maybe just as much as it demanded the deliciously strong Goldie's iced-coffee currently sweating against its biodegradable cup in my center console.

I take a sip, then press my foot harder on the gas, watching Beachside shrink in the rearview mirror.

I’m pretending I’m just a woman on a drive.

In reality, I’m driving toward my mother’s fancy-as-shit gala in Beverly Hills. I’ll spend the next five hours smiling at people who compare careers like designer handbags, because the Madden Foundation gala is the one night a year my mother treats as a religious holiday.

Nobody carrying her surname is permitted to miss it.

Yes, tonight I won't be the Performance Analyst trying to save the failing Beachside Bears roster. I won't be the woman whose job depends on making the correct calls no one else has the stomach for.

And I absolutely will not be the woman who recommended trading Beck Morrison, only to then let the man himself press her against her own desk days later, then go home to enjoy the benefits of a detachable showerhead and excellent water pressure.

God.

I haven't been able to stop replaying yesterday.

I still can't work out if he was serious about coming tonight or not, I've been too busy thinking about the way he crowded me until I felt every inch of that hard body pinning mine right where he wanted me.

Seriously… is he coming tonight?! Should I have worn my lace panties?

Shit.

I need to stop.