Page 190 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

I smile and shake my head. “You ruined the moment.”

“Did he?” Oliver asks, leaning forward and nipping my earlobe.

Another wash of fire hits me, traveling straight to my core.

“Maybe not,” I allow.

Carter returns, glancing from us to Penn. His eyebrows hike. “Damn, what did I miss?”

“Obviously a make-out session,” Penn says. His tone is sarcastic, but his eyes gleam. “We could ask them to recreate it if you’re feeling left out.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen them go for heavy petting,” Carter comments. “Would you mind repeating?”

My face flames. “Get out of here.”

Oliver chuckles. He touches my chin, redirecting my attention back to him. His gaze drops to my lips, and I sway forward.

Before I know it, his lips are on mine again.

fifty-seven

sydney

A noise wakes me up.

My body tenses. I slowly open my eyes, trying to orient myself. The noise has stopped, which doesn’t help me pinpoint what it was or how it woke me up.

We all slept in the living room. We put on a movie, and Oliver fell asleep shortly after. I suspect it had more to do with the painkillers Penn produced and less to do with the company. That’s what I tell myself anyway.

Carter rearranged his legs, helping him lie fully on the couch and not slumped in his seat, while Penn went to find blankets.

He only has one couch—and even that isn’t quite long enough to fit Oliver fully—and the two armchairs. But with no hesitation, Penn directed me toward the armchair he had been sitting in. I curled up on it while he put some folded blankets on the thick rug and sprawled out under me. Like a watchdog, almost.

Now, the bright morning sun burns my eyes, and I squint and blink, trying to adjust.

Oliver is gone from the couch, and so is Carter.

Penn moves into my line of sight, smiling faintly. “The cavalry arrived.”

I frown. Oliver referred to his family the same way…

Oh, no.

“Oh, yes.” He rocks back on his heels as I scramble to sit up. “Everyone got a look at your sleep face as they shuffled past. You’re lucky his mom hasn’t started vacuuming in here yet.”

Now that he says it, the faint hum of a vacuum above us, maybe in one of the far corners of the house, reaches me.

I cover my mouth. “I don’t even have a toothbrush, Penn!”

He snickers. “You can use mine, princess. In the bathroom upstairs.”

I scramble up, leaving him kneeling in front of the empty armchair. I had one experience with his abuela and one with his mother and brother—and I’m pretty sure I made a fool of myself in front of all of them.

I make it to the bathroom without running into anyone else. There are not one or two toothbrushes, but three. I grit my teeth and pick one at random. A decent rinse and a healthy amount of toothpaste erases the fact that I’m using one of the guys’. And let’s not even get started on the fact that Carter brought his own?

Somehow I missed that memo.

Anyway. A hair finger-comb later, and I emerge from the bathroom. It’s a ‘this is as good as it’s gonna get’ situation. But the silence that awaits me… The vacuuming has stopped.