Pucked Over (Pucked #3) (16 page)

I toss my phone on the bed and rummage through my bag, looking for face wash. I do the nightly routine, still bitter that everyone is getting action now but me. I leave the light on in the bathroom and pull the door mostly closed, leaving a sliver of illumination to guide me to bed. Of course I step on the stupid condom again.

I drop down on the comforter, the empty condom wrapper crinkling under me. I roll over, find it, and toss it on the floor. Now I have that awful spermicide crap on my hands. I should probably shower, but I don’t feel like it. I mash my face into the pillows. The scent of Randy’s cologne lingers. I close my eyes, tingles starting up as I think about the amazing sex.

Sadly, now I know just how mediocre it was with Benji, and how average his dick seems in comparison. I don’t know if all hockey players have giant man rods, but it seems to be the case from what Sunny reports and what I accidentally saw of Alex when I was a teenager.

As I ponder the size of man’s most useful appendage, my phone rings. I pick it up, and my stomach does that fluttery thing. It’s Randy. Calling me. I let it ring twice more before I answer. “Thanks for the rubbery gift.”

“Sorry, ’bout that. I usually clean up after myself, but the interruption made me sloppy. Next time I’ll be the good Boy Scout I am.”

I try to picture Randy as a Boy Scout. All I get is an image of him at twelve with a beard. “Pretty presumptuous assuming there’ll be a next time.”

“You didn’t have fun?”

“It was okay.” I rub my legs together, thinking about how good okay is.

He laughs. “You’re terrible for my ego. You know that, right?”

“If it’s anywhere as big as your trouser anaconda, you don’t need help in that area anyway.”

“Nice backhanded compliment. I’ll take it. How’s Vi?”

“She’s fine now. I think, anyway. It’s hard to tell with her. Alex is worried, but then that’s kind of how he is. I’m sorry you had to leave.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“We can still do dinner tomorrow, if you want.” I let it hang like it’s a question.

“Yeah, about that—”

My stomach sinks, and I get that thick feeling in my throat.

“Something’s kinda come up.”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Maybe Randy lied about my performance being a ten out of ten.

“It’s family stuff. Otherwise—”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m blowing you off. My dad showed up tonight, and I wasn’t expecting him.”

My relief worries me. “You don’t sound too happy about that. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’ll be fine—once he’s gone. He’s kind of an asshole, and I’m not sure how long I’m going to have to deal with him before he takes off, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is. I would much rather be taking you out.”

“Would it make you feel better if I told you it would’ve been hard to pull off anyway? We’re having some kind of retail therapy tomorrow to make Violet feel better, and that’ll probably go all day.”

Randy chuckles. “I’d tell you yes, but that’d be me lying. I guess we’ll have to try again another time.”

“Sure.”

“Maybe the next time I play in Toronto or something.”

“That’d be fun.”

“Don’t feel obligated or anything. I’m having a good time with you, Lily, but if it’s not, like, your thing, or you think it’s getting to be too much, you let me know, okay?”

“Too much how? Like, too many orgasms?” My mouth goes dry, and my hands are clammy.

“Like, it’s getting serious or whatever. I don’t want to make this something it’s not, you know?”

“Right. Of course.” I try not to be offended by the reminder.

“Cool.” He’s so blasé about it. “Sorry about tomorrow. I’ll call if anything changes, ’kay?”

“Sure. Yeah.” I don’t want to get my hopes up.

“Night, Lily.”

“Night, Randy.”

It’s probably better that he can’t take me out for dinner. That’d feel too much like a date instead of it being this casual thing where we bang each other on occasion.

***

I spend all of Sunday shopping with the girls. It’s exhausting. Also, I don’t have money to spend on frivolous crap, especially since I can’t take that dress back anymore. Violet buys us all lunch and splurges on bottles of champagne that cost more than a month’s rent. I’m used to being around Sunny’s family, but this is extravagant.

Violet refuses to go into any bridal shops. She starts itching as soon as we’re within five feet of any store with white dresses. On the way to Victoria’s Secret, we pass a kids’ store with a window display full of those dolls my cousin is always talking about.

“These are so expensive for plastic,” I mumble.

Violet glances at the storefront and starts screaming like she’s being murdered. “Oh my God! Why do they exist?” She puts her hand over her eyes and latches on to Charlene. “Get them away from me!”

“What’s going on?” I ask Sunny, who shrugs at the freakout.

“Maybe she’s really lost it?”

“Stop flailing, and I’ll get you away from the dolls.”

“Don’t say that word!” Violet buries her face against Charlene’s shoulder. “Tell me when it’s safe.”

I’m not sure whether it’s comical or not. Sunny and I follow Char and Violet into Victoria’s Secret.

“Okay. We’re good. It’s all bras and panties and sexy things,” Charlene assures her.

“No fluttery eyes?” Violet’s still covering her face.

“Nope. Not a one.”

She peeks between a gap in her fingers, eyes darting back and forth, assessing her surroundings. She drops her shaking hand. “I hate those things. They’re so creepy.”

“Do—” Charlene makes a chopping motion, cutting Sunny off.

“Let’s get you some new bras.”

Violet nods. We distract her with a pile of sexy clothes. While she’s in the changing room, I ask Charlene what that was all about.

“She’s terrified of dolls. I think she watched too much Chucky as a kid. Buck used to torment her with them when they were teenagers. He’d put them by her bed so when she woke up in the morning, one would be staring at her.”

Sunny frowns. “That’s not very nice.”

“They were kids.”

Alex calls while Violet’s in the changing room, and they have a video chat that everyone is privy to. Sunny leaves the area, uninterested in hearing Alex tell Violet how sexy she is.

Randy doesn’t call, and while I’m disappointed, I can’t help thinking it’s definitely better this way. If I hear from him on a regular basis, it won’t feel casual anymore. Some distance is a good thing. Sex is just sex. Feelings don’t have to be part of anything.

I fly back to Toronto with the Waters on Monday morning. We have to be at the airport ridiculously early, so I’m bitchy and tired by the time I get home. I’m cutting it close. I have a shift at the coffee shop at noon, and then I go straight to the rink at six. I’m in and out of the house in fifteen minutes, and Sunny drives me to work. I’m on my own to get to the rink after that, but it’s not a problem. Busses are frequent and plentiful in this town.

I check my messages on the ride home from the arena at the end of my day. Randy’s sent one, checking to see if I made it home okay. I send him a brief reply, but don’t invite further conversation.

It’s close to midnight by the time I get home. After a flight, a five-hour shift making coffee for stuck-up pricks, and four hours of teaching kids to skate, I’m beat. I hang my keys on the little hook in the front hall, kick off my shoes, and head for the kitchen. I need an unhealthy snack.

I scream at the sight of a man with back hair and a pair of gray boxer briefs gnawing on a chicken bone.

“Who the fuck are you?” I scramble to get my backpack off. My skates are in there. If nothing else, they’re heavy, so smacking him across the face will hurt. If I can get them out quick enough, they’re a decent weapon.

“Lily!” My mom grabs my bag out of my hand before I can heave it at the random guy in the kitchen.

“What the hell?” I turn to her, gesturing wildly between them. I realize it’s the same guy from last time—the one who caught me coming out of the shower while sporting morning wood.
Shit
. My mom’s got a new boyfriend. I wonder how long this one will last.

“This is Tim. He’s a friend of mine.”

“Why are you in your underwear?” I’m still yelling. I feel like my heart is about to slam right out of my chest. It’s then that I realize my mom is wearing her bathrobe. I bet she’s naked under there. Gross.

I’m too old to deal with this. I don’t need to know who my mom’s boning. If Sunny wasn’t talking about moving to Chicago, I’d say we should get an apartment now. I don’t want to be stuck here, witnessing my mom getting more action than I am. I have enough saved up to front first and last month’s rent. I can do it on my own if I have to. My mom’s talking while I’m thinking through a plan to move.

“I didn’t think you’d be home until tomorrow.”

“I told you I was coming back today. It’s on the calendar.” I point to the adorable kittens rolling around in a flowerbed. In red are the days I’m away. Today is marked with a big H for home.

“I must have gotten the dates wrong.”

“Whatever. I’m wiped. I’m going to bed. Nice to meet you, Tom.”

“It’s Tim,” my mom says.

“Night, Tim. Please wear pants in the future.”

“Uhhh
…
”

I don’t wait for actual words. I take my bag from my mom and carry it to my room. If this turns out to be more than half a dozen dates, I’m going to have to consider my options. I can’t go through another one of my mother’s boyfriend cycles. The guys she picks make Benji look like a damn saint.

***

Over the next week I don’t hear from Randy at all. I’d like to say I don’t perseverate on this, but I do. And I masturbate often to his pretty face. It’s not hard to pull up a pic of him on social media. I creep his Facebook page, but asking him to be friends would take us from casual to something else. We don’t want to do that, so creeping is as far as I’m allowing it to go.

September rolls into October, and the leaves turn a lovely shade of red, followed by orange and yellow. Fall’s an interesting season. It’s beautiful, but all those lovely colors represent leaves choking to death. It’s kind of macabre, really.

I slip back into my normal routine: work at the coffee shop, teach skating lessons, hang out with Sunny when I’m not doing either of those things and she’s available. Now that training is over and the regular hockey season has begun, Miller can’t visit as often.

She’s talking more and more about moving at the end of December, after she’s finished the course component of her public relations program. Internship placements can be done anywhere, and she’s already gone to the program coordinator to discuss options in the States. I don’t know that I’d want to up and move my entire life for another person, but then my relationship experience has been limited.

On the ex-boyfriend front, Benji’s started calling again. I’ve come to recognize the pattern. The longest we’ve ever been broken up in the past is eight weeks—long enough for me to go on some dates; sometimes have meaningless sex I feel guilty about afterwards, and then we get back together. Break up again. Make up again.

I try hard not to respond or encourage him, but I have a box of his crap at my place, and he’s got stuff of mine, including my favorite jeans. Seeing him is inevitable. Benji and I have been through a lot together. It was a lot of years, and he was there when I lost my Olympic dream. In the past that’s been enough to pull me back to him after one of our breakup fights. But not this time. Among other things, now that I’ve had much, much better sex—like, the outstanding kind—my position feels less vulnerable. Still, I’d like to avoid him for as long as I can.

Today I’m pulling eight hours at the coffee shop and rushing to the rink to teach three hours of lessons. I’m on hour number six, and there’s a lag between customers. It makes the day seem that much longer. My feet hurt, and I’m tired. I’m also cranky.

My phone buzzes against my ass, signaling a text. Since I’m sometimes the manager, I won’t get in trouble for checking it, but I try to avoid doing that in front of other employees in case it gives them the impression it’s okay for them to do it, too.

I scan the shop, once I’m sure no one is paying attention to me, I slip my phone out. I sigh as Benji’s name comes up, along with three new messages. He wants to meet up, presumably to give me my stuff back, but he’s vague. I make the mistake of telling him I’m working, so I can’t.

Half an hour later he shows up. The counter is a great barrier, keeping him from hugging me. He looks the same as he did the last time I saw him, which was almost a month ago when he stopped by with some girl. I went to the back and made one of the other girls wait on them. He texted a thousand apologies later and said she was one of his coworkers. I know better. He did it to make me jealous.

He’s still growing that awful beard, which isn’t really a beard. It’s a bunch of patchy scruff. It’s not attractive. He’s wearing a shirt I gave him two years ago for his birthday. He doesn’t have a bag or a box or anything with him, but it could be in his car.

“Hey, Lily.”

“Hi, Benji.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You look great.”

“Thanks.” I roll back on my heels and wait.

The awkward silence drags on until his face starts to turn red. “Think you can take a break?”

“I’ve already taken it.”

He sighs, and my toes curl in my shoes, like they want to be fists and punch him in the knees.

“Aren’t you, like, kinda the manager? Can’t you take one whenever you want?”

“We’re short staffed.” It’s a lie. There are only three people in the shop, and two other people are working with me. One of the girls is in the back checking inventory; the other one is cleaning tables.

Benji glances pointedly at the girl across the shop. “Come on, Lily.”

“I can’t. It’s her break in five minutes. She has to have one. It’s unfair otherwise.”

“Well, what time do you get off?”

“In an hour. I have to go straight to the rink after that.”

“I’ll drive you.” Benji knows I don’t have a car, and that it’ll take almost an hour to get from downtown to the rink at the university by bus.