Page 8 of My Pucked Up Neighbor
“For what it’s worth,” he says, voice quieter now but still cocky, “I think the folders are a front. You’ve definitely got trouble hidden somewhere in that highlighter collection. After all, you are a Fields.”
My hand pauses on the doorknob to my apartment. “And wouldn't you like to know!"
He smiles a big smile. “Maybe I would.”
I should laugh it off.
But instead, I blush.
And I haven’t stopped thinking about his smile since.
Which is bad. Very bad.
Because Nate Jones is exactly the kind of man I’ve spent years avoiding.
He’s gorgeous, confident and a badass.
And he flirts like a fire alarm—fast, hot, and with enough intensity to short-circuit common sense.
I’ve got the bar exam in six months. My life is flashcards, outlines, and grinding until I make partner before thirty. That’s the plan.
Nate Jones is not part of the plan.
Chapter three
Nate
“This feel like a co-ed dorm mixer to anyone else?” James asks, stepping into the elevator with a dramatic sigh. “I’m having college flashbacks.”
“Except now we have abs and dental insurance,” Ethan replies, flashing that cocky grin.
Mikey lifts a brow. “Speak for yourselves. I’ve got a cracked molar and two gym memberships I never use.”
James elbows me. “What exactly did you promise this girl to get us into a future-attorney shindig?”
I smirk. “Just told her I’d show up. Her roommate is a total party girl and apparently a big Acers fan. She invited me and the rest of you.”
“Sounds like she’s a risk taker,” Ethan mutters.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open.
Kira answers the door with a drink in one hand and confidence in both shoulders.
“Well, well. Hockey royalty arrives,” she says with a wink. “You must be the starting lineup.”
“Only the charming half,” James says, sliding past her with a smirk.
“I’m the cute one,” Mikey adds.
Ethan raises a brow. “And I’m just here for the snacks.”
Kira’s grin widens. “This way, gentlemen. Try not to ruin the vibe.”
The apartment’s more crowded than I expected, maybe twenty people, scattered in small groups with drinks and paper plates. There’s music playing, something retro-pop with a beat that makes your shoulders move whether you mean to or not.
I scan the room and find her.
Mandy.
