Page 122 of Revenge Puck

As if I weren’t capable of swiping on a dating app, which does not interest me. Not when I have the one thing I want in front of me and…Lord forgive me for seeking out hockey players.

I laugh, picking up my cup and drinking through the straw. “Do you realize the last guy I dated spoke over me? Was a sexist, didn’t think I had earned my job. Barely touched me.”

Declan frowns. “Then why were you with him?”

“Because I thought that’s what I was supposed to want!” I shoot back. “Polished. Predictable. Safe in the most boring possible way, and Aaron doesn’t do that,” I continue. “He doesn’t compete with me. He doesn’t make me feel small and insignificant.”

Declan’s jaw tightens.

“And before you have something to say about it,” I add, leaning forward, “no, he doesn’t intimidate me. He doesn’t pressure me. He doesn’t make me feel like I owe him anything.”

So there.

“I mean, it may be way too soon to tell, but I feel like a strong, independent woman when I’m with him.” Not to mention I feel seen, sexy, and desired.

How can my brother argue against that?

“Are you sure he likes you for you? And not because of whose sister you are?”

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water.

For a second, I genuinely don’t understand what he’s implying.

But then it hits me.

My stomach drops.

“What are you saying?” I have to force the words from my throat. “That I’m not sexy or sophisticated enough to date a man like Aaron Bishop? That I’m n-not pretty enough?”

I hate that I’m stuttering.

Hateit.

Declan’s expression changes instantly. “No. No, Jules—that’s not what I’m sayi?—”

“It sure sounds like it.”

Heat rushes to my face. I look down at my latte, because I refuse to let him see my eyes sting and the tears welling there.

“You think I don’t know what kind of man he is?” I say, laying it on thick. Hoping he feels guilty as hell and backs off. “That he could walk into any bar and leave with whoever he chooses? So, why choose nerdy little Juliette Kennedy, right?”

Declan opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Jesus Christ, Juliette, that’snotwhat I meant.”

“Then spit it out! Say what you mean.”

Before I freak out and leave!

“I’m saying,” he grinds out, all his cool composure gone, “sometimes men go after things they shouldn’t.”

Things—not people.

Things.

What an odd way to put it.

My chest feels tight now—I couldn’t be more mortified. The second my brother implied Aaron Bishop might not be into me for me, every insecurity I’ve had since childhood claws its ugly way up to the surface.

Declan’s quiet sister.