Sleet Sugar by S.J. Tilly

EPILOGUE

MEGHAN

Stupid fucking hockey players. They think they’re the goddess’s creation and that we should just bow down at their feet for the scraps of attention they’re willing to give us.

Well, fuck that and fuck them.

Fuck their amazing fucking bodies. And their talented fucking hands. And their perfect fucking lips.

Sebastian kissmyass LeBlanc.

I thought I’d made it clear that I didn’t want him anywhere near me. Yet somehow, there we were, side-by-freaking-side all goddamn night.

I was content to ignore him. Happy to pretend that I couldn’t smell his aggravating man scent. Thrilled to pretend that he was nothing more than a lifeless corpse propped up next to me.

But then he had to lean over and whisper directly into my ear, his stupid lips grazing my skin, as if he had the fucking right. When he said I’d rather be eating you for dessert, my first instinctual reaction was lust. But then my brain clicked on, and the feeling was quickly swallowed by indignation.

So, I turned and told him exactly what I thought of his proposal. That even if he were the last man on earth, I wouldn’t let him put his mouth, or his fat sausage fingers, anywhere near my precious pussy. That she had better taste than that.

I thought that would be that. That he’d let me be. But no, he couldn’t do that. Of course not. The stupid stupid man had to say the one thing that I couldn’t ignore.

“What’s the matter, Banshee.” He whispered. “Afraid you might fall in love with me?”

The smirk on his face told me that this was the most ridiculous idea he could come up with. That the very idea of us being in love was laughable to him.

Maybe I could have turned away. Maybe I could have walked away without throwing a drink in his face. Maybe I could have hated him for saying that. And maybe I should have. But I can’t. I can’t hate Ash, because I’m already fucking in-love with him.