Page 31 of Pucking Forbidden

She does, dropping down carefully, elbows on her knees.

“I don’t think I like beer,” she mutters after a beat.

I huff a quiet laugh. “Noted.”

She glances up at me, squinting. “Did you drink?”

I shrug. “Not really.”

“Why?”

I grin. “Someone had to stay responsible.”

Her lips curve. “How noble of you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I tease with a wink.

She laughs, then winces and groans as she drops her head to her knees.

“Come on.” I reach down and take her hand, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get you home.”

I keep a steady hand as I wave down an approaching cab. When it pulls up, I help her into the back seat, then I slip in next to her.

“Hads, what’s your address?” I ask.

It takes her a moment, but she manages to mumble it out. I give it to the driver. As we pull into traffic, she leans her head back against the seat, eyes closed, breathing slow and even at first. The streetlights flicker across her face as we pass under them, catching the loose strands of her hair.

For a minute, I think she’s dozing.

“You’re hiding dimples, aren’t you?”

I glance over at her, her sudden statement catching me off guard. “What?”

Her eyes stay closed, but there’s a faint smile on her lips. “Under all that scruff. I bet they’re there.”

I shake my head, a quiet laugh slipping out. “You’re drunk.”

“M’not,” she mumbles. “Observant.”

CHAPTER TEN: CAREGIVER

JULIAN

I’ve never been to her apartment before. I know her dad is paying for a place for her, but looking out the cab window as we approach the tree-lined, gated entrance sends a familiar, bitter prickle straight down my spine. This isn't some cramped, drafty starter flat over a loud mechanics shop on the border of Chicago. This is a sprawling, high-end luxury complex with manicured courtyards and secured, private entrances.

When the cab rolls to a stop at the main drop-off awning, Hadley’s head is resting against my shoulder, her breathing slow and deep. I reach into my pocket, slide a few crumpled twenties through the plastic partition to the driver, and nudge her gently.

“Almost there,” I murmur.

She just nods, her eyes barely fluttering open. I step out into the freezing night air, turning back to help her out of the backseat. She leans into my chest without an ounce of resistance, her small boots dragging on the asphalt. As we walk toward the secured glass double doors of the building, I reach down and gently slip her ring of keys right out of her small, unresisting hand to pass the lobby scanner.

We take a pristine, quiet elevator up to the top floor. The hallway is carpeted in a thick, expensive weave that completely silences the heavy thud of my boots.

Stepping into her apartment, I flick on a single lamp in the entryway so the sudden glare doesn't blind her. The apartment has a sprawling, open-concept layout with towering ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the mountain skyline. The furniture is all brand-new, pricey, high-end designer stuff in muted creams and heavy oak. There’s a plush, oversized sectional couch in the center of the living room. It makes me feel massive, rugged, and entirely out of place, but I push the thought down as Hadley steers herself toward it.

She collapses onto the thick cushions, rolling onto her side and curling into a ball, her eyes fluttering shut as she pulls her knees to her chest.

“Hey, no sleeping yet,” I say, my voice a low rumble as I step into her sleek, state-of-the-art kitchen. I find a clean glass in one of the upper cabinets and fill it with cold water from the tap.