Page 53 of Double Puck

Darcy Madden is on my deck.

But more than that…

She's in tiny denim shorts and a little white top her parents would stage an intervention over. She has sunglasses pushed up into that sleek dark bob, those tempting, smooth legs going on for actual miles as she taps at a tablet resting on her lap in the afternoon sunshine.

This is a woman whose regular attire consists of immaculate work blazers. Now she's sitting in my backyard with sun on her skin, looking like the entire reason summer was invented.

I've spent the entire fucking morning trying not to tell a licensed therapist I've become clinically obsessed with this woman.

And now, just like that, Dad's convertible, Mom's Chardonnay and every other Morrison family disaster has disappeared from my head.

Because I'm staring at Darcy Madden.

Sitting on my deck.

Poppy's words drift through my head.

You're allowed to enjoy something good happening in your life.

Well.

That, I can do.

Chapter 9

Darcy

I've been at the mansion for over an hour now, and so far I've successfully avoided Beck Morrison.

Stretched out at the edge of the most ridiculous pool I've ever lounged beside, I sip my second margarita and let the sun warm my face, trying to get some kind of work done as I tap at my tablet.

Somewhere inside the sprawling glass mansion, the Morrison family is making enough noise to suggest Zoey's arrival has triggered either a reunion or a minor structural collapse.

Either that or Beck is finally home from the arena.

I sink back into my sun lounger because out here by this ridiculous pool, it's all ocean breezes, Diego's guacamole perfection, and margaritas strong enough to rewire my brain.

It should be relaxing, right?

Except Josie is beside me, mid-spiral for the seventh time in fifteen minutes.

“Am I sweating? I think I’m sweating.” She tips her sunglasses lower and stares at me, her green eyes half-panic, half-desperation. "Can you tell?"

“You look fine,” I assure her, adjusting the tablet resting on my lap. On the screen, Beck Morrison’s evaluation is glaring at me along with an email from Colin requesting an urgent update. Whatever that means. “Drink another margarita.”

“That doesn’t answer my question!” Josie's voice pitches higher. “Fine could still mean sweaty. Or like... glistening, which Declan thinks is sexy, but I absolutely—"

“Drink. The margarita,” I repeat firmly, not looking up from the screen.

Josie groans and flops dramatically back onto the lounger, her glass tilting dangerously close to spilling over. “I just want Zoey to like me. Is that too much to ask?”

“She already likes you.”

“She doesn’t! She likes that I provided everyone with an opportunity to eat snacks and drink margaritas!”

I exhale, skimming my notes on Beck for the fourth time.

I'm so far behind on this report that I have no choice but to try and get some work done while 'supporting' my best friend and her attempt to woo her future sister-in-law.