Page 55 of Double Puck

“Really?”

"Well…" She lifts her sunglasses for a second to look at me. “Do you disappear for half the day to go surfing instead of doing your job?”

“No.”

“Then you're already outperforming Colin Holden.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “That is not how executive recruitment works.”

“Should be.” She retrieves her margarita and takes a smug sip. “Although Colin probably doesn't make out with the players he's evaluating, so I suppose he's got you there.”

“Josie!”

“What? I'm trying to give you balanced performance feedback.”

My mouth opens, ready to protest, ready to shut this entire conspiracy theory down, but a shadow falls long across both our loungers before I can get a second word out.

I glance up, and there he is. All six-foot-two of tempting muscle-soaked trouble.

“Oh good,” Beck remarks casually, leaning down between us.

He's wearing a plain white tee that's soft and stretched just right across his broad chest, with a small Bears logo right over his pec that just makes it even more delicious. He's wearing black jeans that are surprisingly snug for a man of his stature.

Or are they… too snug?

Nah. Never too snug when you've got an ass like that.

His cologne swarms the air around me, and when I look up, that mischievous Morrison blue gaze drops directly to my tablet.

"What's up, ladies?" Beck grins. “I’d hate to think that my tongue might be influencing the integrity of the Bears' analytics department. Thinking about me again, Spreadsheet?"

I give Josie the world’s most murderous glare.

She looks like she might explode laughing. "Annnnnd that's my queue to leave. Good luck, Darce."

Josie all but skips away, which feels like a betrayal until I see where she’s headed. Straight into Declan's arms, where he wraps her up like she’s the best thing he’s touched all week.

Fine. Cute. Whatever.

Beck settles himself into the empty lounger Josie left behind, sprawling out with the kind of lazy confidence that makes it impossible to look away.

His long, lean body stretches, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt, and I swear I can see every flex, like he was sculpted specifically to wreck my focus. The sun catches on the sun-bleached tips of his hair, falling messily across his forehead in a way that begs for my fingers to push it back.

He just sits there, completely at ease, like he’s got all the time in the world.

And all I can think about is how unfair it is that one man can look that good doing absolutely nothing.

He glances my way, frowning at the tablet now sitting ignored in my lap.

“You’re not really working are you?” His voice is full of mock horror, dripping in disbelief. “Darcy, we're lounging poolside next to a literal infinity pool. Your mother would be disappointed.”

“I’m doing my job,” I reply firmly, shifting to sit up straighter and forcing glare-level focus back onto my tablet.

You have boundaries, Darcy. Boundaries are good.

He leans in lazily, his arm brushing mine as he glances at the screen.

“But isn't watching me your job?” he asks slowly, smirking the entire time. “Or is it possible you’re just avoiding facing the fact you kissed me last night and you thoroughly enjoyed it?”