Page 66 of The Big Puck

I giggle and lean in. “I enjoyed dancing with you at the gala the other night.” It’s true. I enjoyed dancing with everyone.

He levels a different kind of smile at me now, a more hesitant one, and I scooch a millimeter closer, just enough to let him know I’m interested. I’m hopeful I’ll be interested. Same thing, right?

“I think I enjoy everything about you, doll face—I mean Lainey. Your cookies are killer.” He wags his brows, and I laugh at the sorry attempt at a double entendre.

“I suppose you want me to tell you I’m impressed with your hockey stick now?”

His eyes widen, and he’s speechless for one blink before he cracks up laughing. Then he puts his arm around my waist again, moving me closer. It feels…nice. He’s warm. He smells good.

I still feel nothing. Give him a chance, Lainey. My conscience and sense of fair play is a bitch.

I give him a chance, let him pour me another beer from the table’s pitcher and work hard at not glancing back at Spence, though I know he’s there. I know he’s watching. Hell, maybe he’s applauding, glad I’m coming to my senses and glad to be rid of my infatuation.

Little does he know me and my infatuation are far more stubborn than he could possibly imagine—more stubborn—or rather, determined—than he is.

But these thoughts are counterproductive because I promised myself I’d give Sabien a fair shot.

“Where are you?” he whispers in my ear. It tickles the hairs at my temple, but there’s no shiver of anticipation. I need to up the ante.

“I need to go to the lady’s room. Would you mind accompanying me?”

He slides off his chair in answer, an arm around me with his hand plastered to my hip.

“With pleasure. In case you haven’t noticed, I’d probably accompany you straight into hell if you bat your pretty blue eyes at me.”

I giggle and then swallow it down because I know he’s serious, and they’re pretty words, kind words, and I know I should appreciate them. Am I a mean girl who should go straight to hell because I think they’re funny? I blush in shame and dip my head.

“Are you blushing?” he whispers as we slice through the crowd to the back of the bar.

Shit. He’s misinterpreting my blush. I jutt my chin up because I can’t be dishonest.

“No.” He smiles in a way that tells me he thinks I’m lying, and he thinks I’m adorable. Shit, shit. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

But we get to the small hallway that leads to the restrooms, and he stops, leaning our hips against the wall and holding onto my waist with possessive intent. No backing out now. I need to go for this whole hog, throw myself into Sabien with every ounce of honest enthusiasm I can muster to see if we can truly connect to see if we can create a spark between us.

I look up into his pretty face and concentrate on the prettiness, on his easy confidence and his superb athleticism, his kind if bold words, on all the good things I can think of about him.

He’s a gentleman. That realization makes me smile at him, and I watch the blatant adoration on his face blossom into desire. My nerves kick in.

“Can I kiss you, Lainey?” My nerves disappear. He’s sweet, and I feel it, some small twinkle of fondness for him and his honest sweetness.

But the stubborn devil in me forces a quick glance past his shoulder, and that’s when I see Spence through the crowd. He’s heading our way. Shit. Panic freezes me for a moment.

“Lainey?” Sabien’s smile falters, but his eyes remain on me, genuine and openly interested. He’s too good and decent to lead on without trying. I need to do this. I let my rebellion against Spence’s feigned indifference take hold where my good intentions weaken.

I nod. “Yes.”

Sabien lowers his head, and his lips touch mine. I pray for the halleluiah chorus to break out, to be moved, to feel…something more.

The lack of spark is so immediate it saps all my reluctant enthusiasm like a ref calling back a suspicious goal, all the hopeful anticipation flattening and dragging me down. I can’t return his kiss because I barely feel it, and I place a hand on his chest to separate us.

Before our lips have a chance to part, the barely banked rage of Spencer’s presence interrupts us.

“I told you, Lainey is off limits.” Spence’s voice is a low rumbling thunder that feels like a fierce storm approaching. It generates a bubble of excitement and danger that rises inside me so sudden and disorienting that I feel a need to defend myself the way I always have from overbearing men all my life.

Sabien has no chance to open his mouth. I wheel on Spence. “I’m the only one who decides if I’m off-limits.”

Chapter 25