Page 30 of The Puck Bunny

That short-circuits my thinking for a second. Maybe she’s not as innocent as I assumed. Maybe I was crazy to ever assume she’s an innocently-dressed puck bunny. Young and innocent are two different things and I should know better than to confuse them.

“The story for a kiss?” she prompts me, her mouth a breath from mine.

I nod and turn my head so I’m talking into her ear and watching her profile.

“The story is one of my best boyhood memories. It’s about the time I got in trouble with my favorite teacher. It involves my exhibitionist streak.” I pause. “By the way, how did you know about that?”

“I saw you in that movie.”

I laugh. “You have a point. It’s under control now, but back then I’d do crazy stuff to get attention.”

“Tell me the worst best thing.”

“This is it. Also in sixth grade.” This is the story I’ve been warming up for.

“That was a banner year for the trouble-maker in you.”

“My peak.”

“We’ll see.”

I laugh again because she’s right. I’m thinking of causing some big trouble right now—involving her. “I borrowed a guitar, found an old sombrero, and snuck outside this girl’s class I had a crush on at the time and serenaded her.”

“That’s sweet.”

“You didn’t hear my voice.”

She laughs. “What did you sing?”

“Who said I could sing? I bellowed out I’m a Believer Davy Jones-style and embarrassed the hell out of her. The teacher yelled at me, but her heart wasn’t in it because I could see the laughter in her eyes.”

“So what happened?”

“The girl never spoke to me again, but I developed a massive crush on that teacher and brought her roses and chocolates every day for the next week. I quit when I waited for her after school one day and saw her boyfriend picking her up.” I shrug. “He was massive. Looked like he could bench me and three of my best friends.”

“Wise decision.”

“I found out he played linebacker for the NFL and that’s when I got serious about sports. I started lifting and throwing myself into hockey with a vengeance.”

Her eyes widen. “Wow. Guess he was quite the inspiration.”

“No, it was my teacher. She was gorgeous and kind and had the best smile.” I touch her face. “Kind of like someone else I know.”

She blushes in an instant and my chest tightens.

“You’re pretty good at flirting, aren’t you?” she says.

I raise my brows, surprised by her sass, though I shouldn’t be. Anyone with enough spunk to stand up in a bar and call out an NHL hockey player for his bad behavior definitely has a reservoir of guts, even if it is well-hidden under a layer of insecurity. Innocence, though? Not sure.

“Sorry—it must be the tequila talking,” she says.

“Don’t be sorry when you’re right, Lola. I mean Sara.”

She swats me, pinker than ever, but grinning. She should be giving me innocent-girl-next-door vibes, the kind that scream Don’t touch! because she’s the exact kind of girl I’ve avoided—the kind who could get hurt because they’re too real, feelings and all. No matter how she’s trying to comem off tonight.

But I’m not that guy anymore, am I? Or I’m not supposed to be. I’m supposed to be the kind of guy looking for a real girl, the kind I can bring home to Mama, literally. Shit.

“You’re a much nicer person than I thought you’d be,” she says. “And I always thought you’d be pretty nice.”