Charming as Puck(54)

One of the J-men that I think is on his side holds him back. “Hey, Jordan’s having fun. Stop it.”

“We’re going to enter a talent show,” I tell the men. “Me and Sugarbear. My cow, I mean. She can tap-dance.”

“At least she’s not marrying this weirdo,” another of the guys mutters to Cranky Grandpa.

“We have to find the switch to disable the poison chambers,” Kami announces.

“There are switches here!” Jordan points to all the controllers at the console next to the captain’s chair in the middle of the room, and both women dive for them and start flipping switches.

“Alex, go help Nick,” Jordan hisses.

Her fiancé dutifully obeys. “They tried to get me to stink bomb the old man’s house last year,” he mutters to me. “Assholes, all of them. You really weird about the cow?”

Considering a cow to be a dog isn’t weird, is it? “Only so long as it makes Kami happy.” I raise my voice. “Yeah, dude. They make tap-dancing shoes for cows. It’s a specialty shop on the internet. You want, I can send you the link.”

Cranky Grandpa’s watching us. Pretty sure Alex knows it too. He claps me on the shoulder. “Let’s keep looking for that switch to stop the poison from the kittens, man.”

“Kami, you think we could get Sugarbear on ice skates?” I call.

“It really could be worse,” one of the J-men is saying to Cranky Grandpa.

“Nick, sweetie, just keep looking for clues,” Kami says.

We share a look, and I am so getting laid for this tonight. “Anything for you, hot stuff.”

She sucks in another smile, and we all go back to looking for the next clue while the older generations of Wankers and Johnson-Wankers glare at all of us.

I definitely owe Kami a make-up date.

And I can’t wait to pay up.





Twenty-Eight





Kami



I don’t know how I make it back to Nick’s Cherokee before I completely and totally lose it. We both hop in the car, look at each other, and start laughing so hard my eyes burn.

“Oh. My. God,” I gasp. “That poor couple.”

“Did you—hear—bowling—for roosters?” Nick howls.

“The flaming poop bomb!” I cry.

“The hay—in the car!”

Tears are streaming down my aching cheeks, and my stomach is cramping, but I can’t stop. Until a sudden thought strikes me.

I bolt upright and point at Nick. “No,” I declare so forcefully that he stops wiping his eyes, and his chuckles roll to a stop.

“No?”

Oh, shit. The puppy dog eyes. Not the puppy dog eyes. “No what?”

“No, you are not going to use any of those pranks on your teammates.”

There’s a subtle tug of his lips and a barely-noticeable lowering of his lids that very clearly says challenge accepted.

“If I get wind of even a hint of you pulling anything mentioned or inspired by tonight, I’m cutting you off sex.”

He tilts his head, all of his cockiness coming out to play in that smile spreading over his face and lighting his green eyes, and god help me, he’s so stupidly irresistible. My panties are already wet.

Just from one look.

“So you’re telling me I get to have sex with you again.”

My body cries out an oh, fuck, yes. “I d-don’t put out on the f-first date,” I stammer.

Because I really shouldn’t sleep with him tonight.

I should resist.

I should make him earn me. I should demand more than one day of him saying what I want him to say.

“It’s technically over,” he tells me. “So you could put out after our first date.”

“You haven’t taken me home yet.”

“What if I want to take you on a second date right now?”

Yes, please. “You have a game tomorrow.”

He pulls my hand into his, dwarfing mine. Thick veins run from his knuckles to his wrist, and the heat off his skin is warming my entire body. “Way I’ve been playing, I don’t think anyone would know the difference.”

“You’re going to play amazing tomorrow night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’ll have sex with you if you have a shutout. But only if you have a shutout.”

He groans and squeezes my hand. “Fuck, Kami.”

“No pressure or anything,” I add, “but I really miss your cock. And I’ll be really, really sad if I can’t have it tomorrow night.”

“Are you coming?” he breathes.

“Um, not at the moment,” I breathe back, but holy hell, my body’s primed and ready for it.

“To the game,” he clarifies.

“I—yes,” I decide. I’ve given away every set of tickets so far, but tomorrow, hell yes, I’ll be at the game.

He’s suddenly crushing his mouth to mine, and I fall into his kiss.

I do miss this.

For all the ways he’s dense sometimes, he knows how to kiss me. When to go hard. When to go soft. How to stroke his tongue into my mouth to make my nipples so hard and my clit so achy that I have to straddle him.