Pucked: Pucked Over Part 3

Miller's phone buzzes. He takes it out of his pocket and keys in the pa.s.sword. His eyebrows knit together as he reads whatever's on the screen. Miller's dyslexic, so reading's laborious for him. After a few seconds, he hits the text-to-speech b.u.t.ton and a British chick reads the message out loud: "I can't get Lily to toll me what hipped. She's taking Brett hum."

"I'll go find her."

"She's got her little cousin with her, Michael's friend. What're you gonna say with him there?"

"I dunno, but I'll figure it out." I head for the bar. Sunny's standing at the entrance with her phone in her hand, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Where's Lily?"

"She's gone." Sunny drops her hair and sighs. "What'd you do to her?"

I don't think honesty is going to work for me here, so instead of saying I tongue-f.u.c.ked her until she came on my face, I go with, "I think there was a miscommunication."

A kid comes up to me, wearing a familiar look of idolization. "Randy Ballistic?"

I smile. "Yeah, man, how's it going?"

"Can I get your autograph?" He holds out one of those homemade photo books. He's even got one of my rookie cards in a special, protective sleeve taped to it.

"Yeah, sure, of course."

His mom is standing behind him, smiling. "Thank you so much. He loves you. He wants to be just like you when he grows up."

Usually that's something I like to hear, but right now it doesn't make me feel good at all. Not based on what happened in that bathroom.

Chapter 3.

Intentional Overreaction LILY.

Okay, so the way I handled that situation could have been better. But his insinuating I was going to take care of his d.i.c.k later freaked me out-even though I'm the one who brought it up. Because he's right. I would have, had the universe not intervened, even though none of that was supposed to go down. Especially not Randy.

Then there's that whole part where I had an o.r.g.a.s.m with only rubbing through fabric. There wasn't even any real touching. Not at first. That's never happened before. I may have had an o.r.g.a.s.m even before he started leg-humping my girl parts. It was a baby one-nothing more than a repressed sneeze version-but still. How does that even happen?

I haul Brett out of the arena and call my aunt, who picks us up. Brett's definitely not happy about leaving, but he's thirteen, and it's after ten-thirty, which is later than he usually stays out. I'm totally distracted the entire ride home, which is fine because Brett can't stop talking about how awesome Miller and Randy are and how he totally wants to be a professional hockey player.

My aunt nods and smiles and makes the appropriate positive comments, but when she catches my eye in the mirror, I know this has set him up for disappointment. Brett is one of six kids. My aunt stayed home to raise them, and my uncle has a good job, but it's a lot of mouths to feed. Four of them are boys between the ages of three and fifteen. The grocery bills in that home have to be outrageous.

My aunt and uncle can barely manage the costs a.s.sociated with Brett's rec hockey. The time it takes to attend all the away games, not to mention the money, will make it impossible for him to go any further. Hockey's an expensive sport. Just like figure skating.

My heart breaks a little. I know his impending disappointment personally. Four years ago I was on the edge of qualifying for the Olympics. It would have meant sponsors.h.i.+p and the opportunity to move forward in that career. Figure skating was the only thing I knew and my greatest love. But my dad, the deadbeat a.s.shole that he is, stopped paying child support. He owes my mom something like eighty grand. He also owes me my G.o.dd.a.m.n dream back. But I'm not bitter about it. I went to the University of Guelph instead.

By the time my aunt drops me off, I'm not quite so buzzed on mojitos and shooters, and my body no longer feels like it's going to explode. I search my purse for my key and enter the lobby of the apartment building. My mom and I used to live in a little house. It was small, but it was ours. When my dad stopped with the child support, we had to move. The apartment isn't bad. It's in a nice neighborhood, because Guelph is generally a nice town, but it's small, and I miss having a backyard.

I call out when I enter the apartment, but I'm met with silence. My mom isn't home, which may or may not be a good thing. She has the night off, so she could be over at one of her friends' or she could be on a date.

I head to the kitchen. I need water. Lots of it. I don't drink much. I don't like being out of control, and it doesn't take much to get me that way. Maybe that explains the spontaneous o.r.g.a.s.ms.

I root through the cupboards for something to eat. I need to get groceries tomorrow. It's slim pickings. I find a bag of extra b.u.t.tery microwave popcorn and watch it spin around for ninety seconds. Once it's done, I melt some margarine and pour it on top. I have a hard time keeping weight on, so the more fat I consume, the more likely I am to stay where I'm supposed to be.

I tuck the bowl under my arm, refill my gla.s.s, nab my purse from the counter, and go to my room. It's small; the double bed takes up almost half the s.p.a.ce. I drop down on the mattress and flip open my laptop, which is one of Sunny's old ones. It's really nice. My phone buzzes from inside my purse. I fish it out, and my stomach does some flip-flops as I scroll.

I have several texts from Sunny, which isn't unusual. We're together a lot-except when she's at school, teaching yoga, or volunteering at the animal shelter and I'm not working at one of my two jobs. It's the messages from Randy that make my stomach feel like it's trying to jump out of my throat.

I ignore all of them to test my self-restraint and log in to my computer. As soon as the browser opens, I type in "spontaneous o.r.g.a.s.ms." I don't get much in the way of helpful information. Mostly it's a bunch of nonsense and hypothetical c.r.a.p. One article is about a woman who has more than a hundred o.r.g.a.s.ms a day. It sounds awful, and embarra.s.sing. I can't imagine what it would be like if I had unprovoked o.r.g.a.s.ms every time I saw Randy. Or maybe I can.

My whole body gets hot and my toes curl at the memory of his mouth on me. Did I really let him eat me out in a bathroom? In the arena where I work? I'll never be able to use that bathroom again without having some kind of hot flash.

I chug my water and perform another search, this time with "Randy Ballistic" and "girlfriend." I've been cyber-stalking the guy since I ruined his underwear and he ruined my v.a.g.i.n.a with his fingers and his mouth.

Here are some interesting facts about Randy: he's a serial short-term dater. From the research/stalking I've done, I discovered an online group for girls who have "dated" Randy and been dumped. Four of them have his name tattooed somewhere on their body. The hip seems to be popular. One girl went so far as to have his face tattooed on her b.o.o.b, except it's a bad tattoo and he looks more like a caricature of that guy from Sons of Anarchy than Randy. I'd feel bad for her, but she's a bunny, so it's her own d.a.m.n fault.

The message is disconcertingly consistent: Randy's awesome in bed. Ballistic is definitely a fitting last name. He has a great sense of humor. He has amazing fingers. He has incredible stamina. His d.i.c.k is enormous-there could be some exaggeration here. I'm not for sure on that since I have yet to see it. Based on my stroking, it's substantial. They seem to have missed the fact that his tongue is a weapon of s.e.xual ma.s.s destruction.

Most interesting is this tidbit: he only has s.e.x with the lights off.

When we were fooling around at Alex's cottage, the light in the bathroom was on, so it wasn't totally dark, but he pulled the covers over us. I thought it was cute because he wanted to keep me warm. In August. Now I have things to ponder, such as is that a fetish? Is he thinking about someone in particular while getting busy? If so, who? And f.u.c.k her.

There are way too many questions I don't have answers to. Not that I need them. I'm not getting trapped in a bathroom with him again. At least my intention is to avoid that scenario in the future. My lack of self-control is humiliating.

I have two weeks to prepare for Alex and Violet's engagement party. By then I should have gained some will power. Nothing good can come of being a bunny, so here's hoping.

My phone buzzes again. It's Randy.

You still p.i.s.sed at me?

Silence, huh? You hold a long grudge. U gotta know the car wash was a misunderstanding. I meant 2 tell u in the bathroom, but u jumped me, so I didn't have a chance ;) The winky face annoys me almost as much as being called out on jumping him. And being reminded of the stupid car wash pictures that made me go berserk. I decide to be cheeky.

Who is this?

The humping dots appear right away.

The guy whose face u came on earlier.

Every muscle below my waist clenches. Blood rushes to my cheeks and then moves lower, tingles following. I chew my fingernail, unsure if I want to play this game with him. I should brush him off. The trail of emotionally crippled bunnies with his name tattooed on their bodies should be the equivalent of CAUTION tape. But those o.r.g.a.s.ms...

My phone rings, startling me. I answer it before I can appropriately weigh my options.

There's no h.e.l.lo, just Randy's deep, s.e.xy voice low in my ear. "Still a little foggy, Lily? Having a hard time remembering? Wanna come by my hotel so I can refresh your memory?"

I bite my knuckles to stop myself from saying yes. Of all the bad ideas, going to his hotel definitely tops the list. I'm guaranteed to make all kinds of bad decisions. Including the one I want to make the most, which is letting him get inside me. I don't know if it's normal to be this attracted to another human being.

I go with snark, because it's safe. "So I'm guessing you didn't find a bunny to ride your d.i.c.k?

Randy chuckles. "Nope. My d.i.c.k told me he didn't want a bunny. He's holding out for you."

I roll my eyes, even though he can't see me. "Does that line work?"

"It's not a line. Me and my d.i.c.k are tight. We had a very serious conversation."

I laugh. "Well, you should tell him not to hold his breath. He'll turn blue."

"He's already blue. You should come by my hotel and see."

"You can send me a picture." I'm almost hoping he does.

"It's not the same. What if I come see you instead?"

I can't even imagine someone like Randy in a bedroom like mine. "You're persistent, aren't you?"

"Is that you saying yes?"

I hesitate for a second, knowing full well if I agree it's a booty call. "I can't. I have to wash my hair."

"Oh, man. The hair-was.h.i.+ng excuse? And here I thought we had fun together. Well, if I can't convince you to come to see me, I'm gonna go take care of my own problem. Night, Lily. See you in a couple weeks."

The reminder that we'll be seeing each other at the engagement party is yet another reason I shouldn't keep entertaining this possibility.

"Night, Blue b.a.l.l.s," I shoot back.

"So clever. Not for long. I'll be thinking of you."

Randy hangs up. I send him a meme of an old lady with no teeth with the caption "Let's Make Out."

Ten minutes later, I get one back of his middle finger on the hand with the tattoo. That finger has been inside me recently. He's taken it while lying in his hotel bed with only a sheet covering him from the waist down. His tight abs and the deep, heavily muscled V are captured beautifully. I can see, very clearly, a lump that resembles the shape of his c.o.c.k under that white cotton. I can also see his blurred reflection in the mirror. His hair is loose and messy, brus.h.i.+ng his chin. He's the picture of absolute relaxation.

I don't send a response. Instead I shut down my computer, lock my door, and get out my magic bullet. I pull the covers over my head and get myself off while staring at that d.a.m.n picture on my phone.

Chapter 4.

What The h.e.l.l is Normal Anyway?

LILY.

The next morning my phone wakes me up. I feel around for it on my nightstand. It's not there. I find it under my pillow, where I left it after I rolled my marble to Randy's middle finger. Three times. I think I have a problem.

"'Lo?" I mumble.

"Are you still asleep?" Sunny asks.

"Not anymore." Sunny gets up stupidly early even on the days she doesn't have to work. I'm lucky she waited this long to call.

"Great! Get dressed. I'm picking you up in fifteen minutes. I made cinnamon buns, and we're having family brunch. And make sure you bring a bathing suit since all mine fall off you."

"It's freezing out."

"It's hardly freezing, Lily. It's going to be eighteen degrees today."

"That's not pool weather."

"We cranked the water heater. It's like a sauna."

"Wait. What about Randy? Is he going to be there?" My v.a.g.i.n.a gets all excited by the thought.

"He flew back to Chicago this morning. You will be telling me what happened last night. See you soon." She hangs up.

I lie there for a minute and stare at the ceiling, working up the energy to get out of bed and take a quick shower. Instead, I check my messages from last night. Not just to look at Randy's middle finger and naked chest, or the hint of peen under the white sheet. Although that's part of the reason. I have a message from him. It's another picture. It's a close up of his neck and jaw. He's wearing a T-s.h.i.+rt. Red lines travel from his ear and disappear under his collar. It was sent at six this morning.

I'm collecting 4 damages next time I cu.

Oh, man. Those are scratches. From me. I wonder exactly what collecting for damages entails. I don't have the guts to ask, either. I'm certain the answer will make me regret not taking him up on his offer of a visit last night.

I toss my phone aside and roll out of bed. I shuffle to the bathroom across the hall. The apartment is quiet. I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I turn on the shower. My hair is sticking up all over the place. On second thought, if Randy woke up next to me looking like this, it'd be the last invite I got.

Less than ten minutes later I'm showered. I open the bathroom door and scream. There's a man standing in the hall in a pair of-please G.o.d why?-tightie-whities. I'd estimate him to be in his late thirties to mid-forties. He's actually in decent shape, although there's some graying and male pattern baldness. I'm also having a hard time keeping my eyes on his face, because he's tenting the front of his underwear with some morning wood.

"What the s.h.i.+t?" I yell as he stands there, gawking. "Mom! There's a mostly naked man in the hallway! Is he yours?"

She comes out of her bedroom in one of her satin robes. I try to hold in my gag, knowing she was probably getting the action I should have gotten last night. She runs her hand through her s.e.x hair. "I thought you were staying at Sunny's last night."

"So he is yours." I point at the silent man standing two feet away from me. He's still flag poling, but he's put his hands down to cover it. "Just checking to make sure some half-naked crazy pervert didn't wander into our apartment with a hard-on."

"Lily!"

"What? It's true. And it's happened before."

"Mr. Van Winkle isn't a pervert. He's senile. He forgets where he lives sometimes."

"Yeah, well, he also forgets to wear clothes." Judging from what happens in his saggy underwear, Mr. Van Winkle was probably a hit with the ladies in his day. I turn sideways and slide by my mom's date from last night. Thankfully, I'm skinny enough that I don't have to touch him, since he seems incapable of moving out of the way.

I lock my door and throw on a pair of leggings and a hoodie. I stuff a bathing suit into my knapsack and my clean skating gear, since I have lessons to teach this evening. I'm banking on Sunny being able to drive me to the rink. My phone beeps as I'm running a brush through my hair. It's Sunny letting me know she's here. She knows enough not to come up unless I invite her. My mom's chatty. She can keep us here for hours with tea and lectures about men. Although that's not likely to happen today, what with her man friend.

I open the door a crack and peek my head out. The hall is empty. I tiptoe down it, shove my feet into ballet flats, lift my keys from the hook, and open the door.

"Going to Sunny's and then work. Be back later!" I let the door close behind me before my mom can stop me with requests for groceries.