Page 38 of Tricky Puck

“Who are you kidding?” Sabien says. “You’re not ready to settle down.” He turns to me. “Sorry for the wild-ass introduction, but we are like family, and we’re glad you’re here to keep this reprobate in line.” He smirks at Link.

Link raises a brow and looks like he’s going to say something, but then his eyes dart to Cherry, who’s rubbing her belly, and shuts his mouth.

“It’s a temporary situation,” I say partly to ease his tension, partly to remind myself against the incoming warm and fuzzy feeling Sabien’s words prompted. But he’s not Link, so the words don’t hold the same meaning. I’m only part of the family as long as our fake relationship holds—until Christmas.

I smile. Of course. That’s what I signed up for—reluctantly—and maybe it’s all to the good for Granny and my songwriting.

“We’re sort of dating to please our grandmothers.” I shrug. May as well let the family know the truth. Link glances at me, and the relief on his face is loud and clear.

“Delaney will be staying up north in Sugar Hill⁠—”

“That’s near Franconia Notch, not exactly down the street. Dating will be a challenge,” Cherry says.

“We’ll be fine,” Link says.

Jason gives him a skeptical grin and is about to say something—which makes me tense up and hold my breath like I’m diving into a churning river and will need to fight to keep above the tumult—when the server comes to our table to take drink orders.

Everyone orders beers except Cherry, who orders cranberry juice, but I’m a mixed drink kind of girl, having spent a good chunk of my adult life as a bartender.

“I’ll have a Brooklyn.”

The server, a twenty-something guy dressed in black, looks at me like someone turned out the lights, and he can’t see what’s in front of him.

“You make it with one ounce of rye whiskey, half an ounce of dry vermouth, a quarter ounce of cherry-flavored liqueur, a dash of Angostura bitters, and a maraschino cherry and mint for garnish.”

“Okay. I’ll see if our bartender can make it.”

I nod.

Link smirks at me. “Show-off. New Yorker all the way. You sure you’re going to be okay up in the boonies?”

“You offering to rescue me if I’m not? Give me a dose of the Big Apple attitude?”

He looks around to see the others checking out the menu and talking among themselves before getting back to me on that dare. Because that’s what it is.

“You’re still playing the game?”

I shrug. “Why not? It’s fun.” And dangerous, don’t forget that part. Of course, that’s what makes it even more of a thrill ride.

“I’m already on this rollercoaster ride. I may as well make the most of it.” His eyes go dark, and I see some big earth-shattering Os in my future.

“Starting tonight?” I ask.

“We’ve already started.” He leans down like he’s going to whisper in my ear. Instead, he licks my earlobe and then sucks it into his mouth.

My thighs clench like the mouse just hit the trap’s spring.

“What’s the matter, Delaney? You seem…tense.” His eyes pin me and do all kinds of other things to me with their wolfish dark green charm.

“What would your grandma think?” I whisper, leaning into him so our faces are a breath apart.

Sabien clears his throat, and when I look up, the server is here with our drinks.

“Just in time,” Link mutters.

We don’t last long after the meals are served with a second round of drinks. I abstain from a second drink because I’m pretty sure it’ll put me to sleep. Most of the talk centers around the game because Link makes sure of it, and his buds are happy to talk shop. I stifle a yawn. Though I swear I’m trying to follow the conversation to learn what I can about hockey.

Link surprises me when he drapes an arm over my shoulders and leans in, whispering, “You’re really beat.” He’s not asking.