Page 12 of Holding Penalty

The thought of Piper giving this guy another chance after he cheated on her makes my stomach twist and brings a bitter taste to my mouth.

That’s easy to understand. Fuck cheaters. But what’s a lot harder to understand? Why the thought of her fiancé having a real explanation, being able to prove he isn’t guilty, and them making up gives me the same feeling.

Actually, the feeling that idea drags along with it might be even worse.

That’s so messed up that I order another beer-and-shot combo.

Mixing beer and liquor like this can’t be good, but this is a fuck it kind of night.

As I down the whiskey, my cock pulses at the idea of finding myself in a very different kind of fuck it scenario with Piper tonight.

I quickly chase the thought away. I should kick myself for even having it. She’s in no state for something like that. It would be out of the question.

Not to mention the fact that we can’t stand each other.

“Fuck, I just want to think about something else for a little while,” Piper says, rubbing the heels of her palms over her eyes. “I don’t suppose you have many conversation topics at hand other than hockey?”

“Not really.”

A negative feeling curls through me. That was another one of Bridgett’s complaints—one of the reasons why she was driven to do what she did, in her words.

Piper frowns and hums. “Anything amusing happen to you lately?”

I shrug. “Well, I did accidentally buy a petting zoo.”

Piper’s head whips to face me, her eyebrows shooting up. “Excuse me? You bought a petting zoo? Accidentally?”

The whole incident of what happened when I thought I was buying a large, secluded plot of land outside Austin has been one giant pain in my ass over the last couple months.

It’s caused me endless annoyance already and promises plenty more of it in the future. But as I start to tell Piper the story and see her eyes come alive, see her lips perk into a smile, hear her laugh in a genuine tone rather than a bitter and ironic tone …

Heaven help me, I’m almost glad it happened.

5

NASH

I’m experiencing a lot of very clear signs that I drank way too much.

I have to concentrate to keep from stumbling to my side as I walk forward. The whole world seems to spin every time I turn my head. There’s a prickly buzz dancing over my skin.

But the most worrying sign of all?

I can’t stop looking at Piper.

When we step onto the sidewalk, into the night air that’s grown cooler since I picked her up who knows how many hours ago, I turn my head to her, and it takes me way too long to look away.

She’s a fucking knockout in that dress. My better judgment was working overtime all night long to keep me from dwelling on that fact, but all the beers and shots I’ve sucked down tonight have sidelined my better judgment by this point.

Her bare shoulders make my heartbeat pick up. Then my eyes trail along the outline of her collarbone and tick a fraction downward to the gentle swell of her perfect breasts, the tasteful but tantalizing cut of her dress allowing a brief hint of cleavage. My heart starts to slam against my breastbone like a ping-pong ball.

My gaze inches down her figure. When my eyes land on the dip of her waist, the desire to grab her there and pull her flush against me crashes into me like a tsunami. I flex my hands and turn my head away, trying to get control of myself.

Piper lets out a loopy laugh. The sound hits my ears like gentle windchimes. “How am I getting home? Where even is home right now?”

That second question of hers has my heart sinking. But when I turn to look at her again, it jumps back up, because now she’s looking at me, too.

The stunning emerald of her green eyes paired with the light brown of her hair has my breath hitching as my heart tries to climb into my throat. Suddenly, I can’t think about anything except what it would feel like to lift my hand and run my fingers through that hair. It looks so soft that it actually fucking hurts to hold myself back from finding out.