by Lili Valente
I’m usually a big fan of tail and attention.
But now, as Laura and Libby climb the steps leading up to the patio from the dance floor, clearly intending to wish me a warm, bubbly, old-friends happy birthday, I wish I had an excuse not to talk to either one of them. Laura because she’s insane when she’s drunk—once she’s had a few, the usually level-headed La can’t be trusted not to embarrass herself and everyone around her—and Libs because I’m incapable of hiding anything from that girl.
Ever since thirteen-year-old Libs spent months teaching me how to crochet when I was housebound my sophomore year of high school—keeping me company and furthering my yarn-based education while we watched 80s movies and debated important things like whether Better Off Dead or Just One of the Guys was the superior underrated teen flick of that particular decade—I’ve had a chink in my armor where the youngest Collins sibling is concerned.
She sees through me. Every damned time.
When I had a shitty first half of my first season with the Badgers five years ago, Libby was the one who noticed I was being eaten alive by self-doubt and talked me back from the edge. When my charity was getting audited by the IRS, Libby realized I wasn’t nearly as chill about the whole thing as I was pretending to be and sent me a knight’s helmet she’d crocheted and a note promising that everything would work out. And when Sylvia and I had a pregnancy scare last summer, Libby was the only person I told.
Hearing Libs say that I could absolutely handle being a dad had made me a little less terrified. Not that I’d believed her, but hearing that trying your best and loving your kid is all that really matters from a woman who spends every day with a classroom full of rug-rats was comforting.
But I don’t want to be comforted right now. I want to get through the rest of this party and then hide out at home and lick my breakup wounds in private. So I plaster on a smile and hope it’s too dark for Libby to see how shitty I feel.
“Hello, birthday boy!” Laura throws her long arms around me, hugging me hard enough to make my breath rush out with an oof as she crushes my ribs, reminding me she’s also freakishly strong when she’s three sheets to the wind. “I love you, Justin. I’m so glad we’re still best friends. Let’s go do happy-birthday shots on the roof to celebrate!”
“We’re already on the roof.” I grunt again as she hugs me even tighter.
“Yes, we are, and as high up as anyone needs to be right now,” Libby agrees, meeting my pained gaze over her sister’s shoulder, her brown eyes anxious. Clearly, she’s also aware that her big sis has entered the bad-decision-making portion of the evening and should be monitored closely until she’s home in bed.
“No, the real roof, the one through the locked door behind the DJ booth.” Laura points a wobbly hand toward the stairwell on the other side of the dance floor, then twists her long red hair into a knot on top of her head. “I’ve been practicing my lock-picking skills so I’ll be ready when I quit PR to become a spy.”
“As one does,” I observe dryly.
“Exactly!” Laura jabs a bony finger into the center of my chest. “See, you get it. So let’s do this. We’ll break the lock, climb the stairs, and be the highest things in downtown. Get shots and meet me there. Or maybe we should stick with martinis.” She moans happily as she wiggles her fingers in the general direction of the bar. “Those Thai basil martinis are so amazing! Perfect with the sushi. Like, seriously brilliant. Sylvia did a bang-up job with the catering, Jus. Especially for a woman who looks like she hasn’t eaten since last Christmas.”
“Laura, hush,” Libby whispers, nudging her sister in the ribs with her elbow.
Laura bares her teeth in an “oh shit” grimace before smacking herself on the forehead. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I forgot about the storming out and knocking over a tray of drinks on her way out of the party thing. Are you two okay?”
“We’re fine,” I say, cursing silently. So much for avoiding this particular conversation. “She just decided it wasn’t working for her. It’s no big deal.”
“But breaking up on your birthday sucks.” Laura’s lips turn down hard at the edges. “And I thought she was one of the nice ones. I mean, I didn’t know her that well, but she seemed nice.”
“She was nice.” I take another too big drink of my scotch. “And now she’s gone. But she hadn’t even unpacked her boxes yet, so it shouldn’t take long to move them all out.”
“That’s right. I forgot you two had moved in together. Bet that makes you want to keep drinking, huh?” Laura reaches back, putting an arm around Libby, hugging her much shorter sister closer as she not-so-subtly tries to steal Libby’s martini.
Libby, who I suddenly realize is looking very un-Libby-like in a tight black tank top and a pair of leather pants that cling to her curvy thighs, huffs and swats Laura’s hand away. “Enough! Stop using displays of affection to try to steal my drink.”
“Why? It worked last time,” Laura says, grinning wickedly.
“Well, it’s not going to work this time. I’m keeping my martini.” Libby narrows her eyes, which are ringed in heavy black liner and some silver glittery stuff that emphasizes how enormous they are. It’s a look that’s way more rock-star than kindergarten teacher and also decidedly…odd. For her, anyway.
I can’t remember the last time I saw Libby wearing makeup or tight clothing. She’s a “layers of linen draped around her until she looks like an adorable bag lady or a hippie pirate” kind of girl. I’m used to the Libby who wears ruffly dresses, clogs, and crocheted sweaters, and totes her knitting bag with her everywhere she goes.
This new look is so unexpected that I’m distracted long enough for Laura to snatch my scotch right out of my hand.
“Hey, give that back,” I say, scowling as she dances out of reach. “It’s an open bar, psycho. Go get your own scotch.”
“But it’s more fun to steal yours,” Laura says. And then, with the gleeful giggle of a woman who is going to be very hungover tomorrow morning, she turns and flees into the throng of dancers writhing to the music, tossing, “Come get me when it’s time to break and enter! You know you want to,” over her shoulder.
Libby sighs heavily, and I turn back to see her watching me with that same anxious expression, making my heart lurch. “I don’t want to talk about Sylvia,” I say, cutting her off before she can ask.
“Okay,” she says, letting me off the hook far more easily than I expect her to. “But can we talk about something else? Something kind of…private?”
“Um, sure.” I do a quick scan of our immediate surroundings. Aside from a couple making out in the shadows about ten feet away, we’re alone. Everyone else is either out on the dance floor, queued up at the bar, or lounging on the couches near the fire pit on the other side of the patio, soaking in the view of the city.
“Thanks.” Libby smiles nervously as she lifts her glass. “Just let me down a little more liquid courage first.”
“All right,” I say, wondering who this woman is and what she’s done with my sweet, rarely drinks more than one drink, doesn’t own a stitch of black clothing, would never leave the house without putting on a bra Libby.
I really don’t think she’s wearing a bra under that lacy shirt. And I really can’t stop staring, trying to solve the bra or no-bra mystery, and I’m swiftly becoming way too fixated on Libby’s breasts for my personal comfort.
“Maybe I should get a drink, too.” I start for the bar, needing a moment to pull myself together, when Libby puts a hand on my arm.
“I’m sorry,” she says, but I have no idea what she’s apologizing for, only that her touch feels different than it did before. As different as the Libby I’ve known since she was a kid is from this seriously sexy woman standing in front of me.
HOT AS PUCK is Available Now!
Learn more at Lili’s website.
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling author Lili Valente has slept under the stars in Greece, eaten dinner at midnight with French men who co
uldn’t be trusted to keep their mouths on their food, and walked alone through Munich’s red light district after dark and lived to tell the tale.
Find Lili on the web at
www.lilivalente.com
Also by Lili Valente
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THE TROUBLEMAKER
THE HEARTBREAKER
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a USA Today Bestseller
FALLING FOR THE BOSS-co-written
with Sylvia Pierce
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SPECTACULAR RASCAL
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featuring hot hockey players!
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PUCK ME BABY
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The Master Me Series,
red HOT erotic Standalone novellas!
SNOWBOUND WITH THE BILLIONAIRE
SNOWED IN WITH THE BOSS
MASQUERADE WITH THE MASTER
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Bought by the Billionaire Series—
HOT novellas, must be read in order.
DARK DOMINATION
DEEP DOMINATION
DESPERATE DOMINATION
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Kidnapped by the Billionaire Series—
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CRAZY BEAUTIFUL LOVE
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Under His Command Series—
HOT novellas, must be read in order.
CONTROLLING HER PLEASURE
COMMANDING HER TRUST
CLAIMING HER HEART
Under His Command Trilogy-USA Today Bestseller
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To the Bone Series—
Sexy Romantic Suspense, must be read in order.
A LOVE SO DANGEROUS
A LOVE SO DEADLY
A LOVE SO DEEP
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Fight for You Series—
Emotional New Adult Romantic Suspense.
Read in order.
RUN WITH ME
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Bedding The Bad Boy Series—
must be read in order.
THE BAD BOY’S TEMPTATION
THE BAD BOY’S SEDUCTION
THE BAD BOY’S REDEMPTION
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The Lonesome Point Series—
Sexy Cowboys written with Jessie Evans.
LEATHER AND LACE
SADDLES AND SIN
DIAMONDS AND DUST
12 DATES OF CHRISTMAS
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SUNNY WITH A CHANCE OF TRUE LOVE
CHAPS AND CHANCE
ROPES AND REVENGE
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