That One Night: A Pucking Around Prequel Novella (27)

I don’t bother hiding my smirk. So she’s never used it before?

Don’t go breaking my heart, Hurricane.

I bend my good knee, dropping down with a slight wince, and help her shove things back inside the broken bag. The rest of the plunder is innocent enough—books, random chargers and cables. I pick up a snow boot and raise a brow at her. “You expecting snow on the beach?”

She huffs and grabs it, shoving it inside the split in the bag. “Always good to be prepared. Thought I might need to pack snow gear for an away game or something.”

Actually, that’s smart. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with just my flip-flops in Toronto either.

We finish gathering her stuff quick as we can and team lift the bag into the back of the jeep. Whatever wouldn’t fit back inside is tossed unceremoniously on top. She tucks her backpack safely in the backseat, keeping her purse with her as she climbs in the front.

I slide in on the driver’s side and slip my sunglasses back on. “Any music preference?”

“No,” she replies, helping herself to my phone charger. “Sorry, my battery is dying.”

“Okay, well it’s gonna get a bit windy,” I say, flipping my vision down. “You might wanna—”

“I know how jeeps work,” she huffs, clicking her seatbelt on.

We both go still as we sit in the silence of her response.

Then she groans, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, shit—I’m sorry. That was the bitchiest thing to say ever.”

“It’s okay—”

“No, I’m so sorry, I’m just—god—I’m so tired,” she says, a note of desperation in her voice. “I think I might be getting a bit delusional.”

I swear, if I have to deal with a tentacle dildo and tears in the same car ride, I’m gonna ask for a raise. Airport runs already aren’t in my job description, but I’m trying to pull my weight, be a team player. Look what I get for my trouble…

“I haven’t slept in like two days,” she goes on.

Yeah, those are definitely tears in her voice. I am now officially uncomfortable.

“And I’m so hungry. I haven’t had anything but a bag of pretzels since this morning. But that’s no excuse,” she adds quickly. She turns to me, her fingers brushing lightly against the ink on my forearm. “I’m sorry. God, I’m such a mess that I don’t even remember your name. I feel like a total bitch. You put it in your text, but I was in such a rush, and I couldn’t check it again. And you were waiting for me for so long, and I’m sure you think I’m a total jerk, but I’m not—”

The words only stop because she’s out of air. Yeah, this girl is a total swirling vortex of mass chaos.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Then she opens them, those dark brown pools sucking me in. “Can we start over? Please, let us start over.” She holds out her hand to me. “I’m Rachel Price. I’m the new Barkley Fellow, and I’ve had a really rough two days.”

I look down at her offered hand. She’s tugged her hoodie sleeve up a bit and now I can see that she definitely does have tattoos.

Be still my cold dead heart.

A pair of heart outlines on her wrist, a small, detailed sketch of an electric guitar on her forearm. There’s a signature alongside the guitar, but I can’t read it at this angle.

Sy chooses this moment to pop his head between the seats, nosing her open palm, which diffuses the tension. She giggles, giving him a pet between the ears. “At least someone wants to give me another chance. I swear I’m not a bitch. No, I’m not,” she croons in that sugary sweet talking-to-a-dog voice all people seem to have. “No, I’m not. I’m really nice. Yes, I am.”

Sy eats it up, licking her hand as she laughs out loud.

With a groan, I gently push him back and put out my hand, letting her shake it. “I’m Caleb Sanford, Assistant Equipment Manager.”

She smiles. “Wow, tough job. You guys work crazy hard.”

“Yep,” I reply, dropping her hand and placing mine back on the wheel.

“And who is this angel?” she asks, turning in her seat to give Sy more attention. “His eyes are so gorgeous. I could just eat you with a spoon. Yes, I could,” she coos.

The furry idiot is a total chick magnet. Too bad he warms them up only for me to put them right back on ice.

“His name is Poseidon,” I reply. “My nephew named him. I call him ‘Sy’ for short.”

“Ooo, how regal,” she says, her fingers scratching the thick fur of his neck. “You feel a bit salty, Sy. Were you swimming in the ocean with daddy earlier today?”

I go stiff.

Wait—no. My arms—my—shit, not my dick. My dick is definitely not going stiff at hearing a gorgeous woman call me ‘daddy.’

With a groan, I turn away from her, my eyes firmly on the road as I jerk the jeep into gear. At the same time, I crank up the radio, blasting the air with my favorite mix of rock music. She said she had no preference, so Led Zeppelin it is.

She fishes a pair of sunglasses out of her bag and slips them on, leaning back in her seat with a smile the moment we hit that Florida sunshine. Between the wind and the music, it’s hard to have a conversation in a jeep…which is one of the reasons I like driving with the top off.