Page 27 of The Puck Bunny

“Okay. My name is…” I cast around my stupid over-crowded brain for my puck bunny name that I should know except my brain is Quinn-fogged. “Lola.” I tilt my head and lean closer. “Now you have no excuse. You already admitted you’re attracted.” I bend down to get the key from under the loose brick, but he pulls me upright.

“Lola?” He drops his skeptical smile and lets go of me maybe because I’m trembling at his touch. “Look, I admit it, I’m attracted, but I… don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re—”

“What? Please take advantage of me. I really like you. I’m begging you to take advantage of me.” I bat my eyes, all pretenses gone, going for the genuine girl who needs a good night of big O indulgence that I am. “I would consider it a great favor if you were to take me and fly me to the moon. You know—make me forget my name and what planet I’m from, give me the biggest O there ever was or ever will be.”

He’s looking at me funny so I dial it back.

“I mean—no pressure. It can be any kind of O. I mean, how would I know?” I slip my eyes from his and talk to his jacket which is very nicely filled out by his massive shoulders. “You see, I wouldn’t exactly know a big O from a mini-O since I’ve never had any kind of O—I mean, orgasm.” I look up because, at this point, I’m more curious than afraid to see what his reaction is.

And in that split second, I remember that in my urgency to beg for my big O virginity to be popped, I’ve forgotten to disguise my voice.

He looks at me funny and steps back. It’s fifty-fifty odds that he’s reacting to my announcement that I’m an orgasm virgin.

But the way he’s looking at my face, as if he might know me from somewhere—because he does—I’m thinking the odds are shrinking.

Then he tilts his head and stares closer, so I turn away.

“Okay, have it your way,” I say, breathing too fast and wishing I could take everything back because suspicion isn’t the reaction I was hoping for. I back up a step.

“We could get to know each other better first,” he says.

His words stop me and set off all kinds of alarm bells in my body, both the good kind where my panties are on fire, and the bad kind, where I know there’s going to be a big bucket of cold water dousing my plan any second. If he gets to know me, he’ll know I’m not Lola. He may figure out I’m Sara. Then it’s all over. Crap.

He’s already suspicious, so I collect myself and get my new Lola voice back

“Maybe that’s not a good idea,” I say, sanity finally winning out while I contemplate the craziness of my scheme.

“I think it is, Lola.” He runs his fingers through my hair.

My nerve endings explode, sending a frisson of pre-orgasmic proportions rocketing through me. My body responds before my brain and I lean into him, needing to connect to him.

“Yes. I mean, let’s get to know each other.” The word is breathy and I can’t think.

CHAPTER 10

QUINN

She fumbles the keys as she tries to open the door and I take a deep breath to clear my head of the idea of her big O virginity. In spite of my noble words about getting to know her better, the instant her invitation hit me like a blow to the head, my dick latched onto it with a vengeance and I lost ninety percent of my brain power.

But I’m pretty sure, in spite of a less than clear head, that I’ve figured out Lola is not who she says she is. I’ve heard that voice and seen that face before. I’m almost certain, unless she has a twin sister—and so help me God, I’m hoping for the twin sister explanation—that my puck bunny is none other than Ms. Bellagamba, Sara-of-the-beautiful-leg-times-two.

“Come in. Please.” She stands on the other side of the threshold, looking all kinds of vulnerable, her eyes big and innocent, holding her breath as if I hold the key to her future—or at least the key to unlock her orgasm block.

“I’ll come in for a few minutes, but I’m not staying. I have a few questions for you that I’d like you to answer, Lola.”

Her smile freezes with guilt and she rushes to the kitchen area of the small apartment, mumbling something about getting a drink. She’s confusing and young and I shouldn’t be here, but I need to confirm what’s going on.

“We don’t need another drink. Come and sit with me a minute,” I say. “I won’t bite. I promise.” It’s a damn shame, but it’s true. No way can I touch this innocent girl. She’s adorable and a little crazy in a harmless way—and my mother would probably love her—all which adds up to the fact that she’s untouchable.

“Are you sure?”

I nod. Her voice is different, like she’s purposely altered it.

She comes over and sits next to me, raw hope mingling with raw desire painted all over her gorgeous, albeit over-made-up, face. She’s putting up quite a charade if she’s working for the Brawlers by day and playing puck bunny with the players by night.

“Tell me about the real Quinn James underneath the glamorous super star,” she says.

“Funny, but I was going to ask you who the real Lola is underneath the outfit.”