I Pucking Love You (The Copper Valley Thrusters #5) - Pippa Grant Page 0,109

question a minute to register, and when it does, I have to stop myself from choking on a laugh. “She’s not you, Muffy. No one will ever be you.”

“You forgot her name.” Muffy’s a little cross-eyed, but she’s starting to grin as she pushes me in the shoulder. “You forgot her name.”

“I’m gonna have to tell you all of this again when you sober up, aren’t I?”

“And basically a dozen times a day, every day for the rest of your life,” Veda agrees.

“Kiss her!” one of the bunnies cries.

“You can use the walk-in fridge again if you want,” another chimes in. “We’ll keep it clear.”

“And clean it afterwards.”

Jesus. I’m not banging Muffy in the fridge again.

At least, not when she’s drunk. Next time we’re here when she’s sober—if she wants to come back—might be a different story. “Can I take you home?” I ask her.

She loops her arms around my neck, leans in, and presses a wet kiss to my cheek. “No. I like it here. We’re moving in. It’sh my new office. And my bedroom. Someone bring me Rufus.”

“Aww, he’s missing practice for her!” another woman says behind me. “That’s like, the most romantic thing a hockey player can do!”

“No, it’s way better if he misses a game.”

“A playoff game!”

“For a funeral,” Veda chimes in with a smirk.

It all bounces off, because Muffy’s tugging me into a hug, her breath hot on my neck, smelling very much like a distillery crossed with a cotton candy factory. “I love you too, and that’s not the alcohol talking,” she tells me.

“I’m still gonna make you say it again when the alcohol’s out of your system,” I murmur back against her neck.

She shivers, sighs, and then—

Snores.

She snores.

Muffy Periwinkle, goddess of my world, the woman that every step of my life has led me to, and the love of my eternity, has passed out drunk on my shoulder.

And you know what?

I think she’s utterly perfect.

Perfectly perfect for a guy like me.

46

Muffy

Someone replaced my brain with concrete and I cannot lift my head off this fluffy bit of silky something under my ear.

Also, there’s a vibrator gluing my leg to a very soft floor.

“Amoofle?” I grunt.

The vibrator meows and the floor sags and the concrete sloshes, but then gentle fingers brush through my hair, and soft lips press against my forehead, and the concrete gets a little less hard and angry.

“Hey, party girl,” a familiar voice whispers. “Aspirin and water?”

I whimper.

What did I do yesterday?

Yesterday?

Today?

This morning?

Last week?

“Muffy. I need to get to practice, but Daisy and West and Remy are staying here if you need anything, and Veda’s on her way over too. I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?”

I’m at Tyler’s place.

I flipped out, freaked out, shut my business down, ran into the bunnies, got drunk with them, and now I’m back at Tyler’s place.

I crack an eyelid open, and four Tylers swim into view. He’s crouched at the side of the bed, all the blinds shut so he’s shadowy and mysterious and hot, especially when he grins at me like that. “You rest more.”

The Tylers all lean close so I can sniff the laundry detergent on his T-shirt—T-shirts? Are they all wearing shirts?—and I get a single kiss on my forehead. “Love you, beautiful.”

And then everything’s dark again.

But it’s a happy, glowy kind of dark.

I slide into the dark, and everything is good, until I have no idea how many hours later when I wake up with a gasp.

Rufus is sitting on my chest, sliding onto my neck. People are talking and laughing down the hall. A small human is squealing nonsensical words. And the light filtering through the slats in the blinds has an early afternoon quality to it.

I’m at Tyler’s place.

He came for me.

He found me.

Did he tell me he loves me?

Never mind that.

Did I tell him I love him?

I push Rufus off, throw the covers back, leap out of bed, and my head reminds me that we subsisted basically on alcohol and cheese yesterday, and I go down.

Am I wearing pants?

Am I still wearing my own boobs?

And why does my hip feel like my padding is bruised?

“Aw, Muffy, it’s like finals week again.” Veda pokes her head into the door, smiling widely, and I’d hug her, except I won’t be trying my legs again.

“What day is it?”

“Monday.”

“You’re still here.”

“I’m quitting my practice. It’s not what I want to do, and I wish I’d followed your lead out the door before med school graduation. There’s an opening for a