Pucked Over (Pucked #3) (8 page)

Running in Circles

RANDY

A week after the exhibition game, I’m sitting in a lounge chair close to the pool on Lance’s patio back in Chicago. It’s been unseasonably warm, but today is likely the last time it’s going to be this hot before fall takes me back to jeans and long sleeves. So I’m enjoying the sunshine. Or at least trying to.

Lance invited a bunch of people over. Inevitably, that means bunnies. He’s been better about it lately, but he’s still Lance, so there’s always at least half a dozen hanging around, waiting for someone to throw them a carrot—and by carrot I mean dick.

There’s a girl lying on the chair beside me, yammering away about who-fucking-cares what. She won’t stop talking. The problem isn’t her constant flow of words, which is irritating, but tolerable because I can tune it out. The real issue is that I’ve slept with her before, and based on the way she keeps edging her lounge chair closer to mine, she has it in her mind it’s going to happen again.

I’m not feeling it. Or her. Sure, we got naked, but I didn’t call her or respond to any comments on my social media afterward, so the message should be clear. It was what it was, and now it’s over. Unfortunately, she’s not getting the hint.

I text Miller to see what he’s up to. He’s been steering clear of Lance’s when the bunnies are around. That means he stays for workouts and then he bails unless we’re having Xbox wars. Which isn’t very often. Lance usually gets antsy after a couple hours and calls in the reinforcements.

Miller messages back almost right away to tell me he’s at Waters’ Chicago place. That’s still weird to me that not long ago those guys were busy breaking each other’s noses to defend their sisters’ honor. They’ve worked it out since then, but this hanging out stuff is a new development.

With Miller occupied, it looks like I have two options: stay and let the bunny annoy me, or go home and lounge in my own backyard, minus the pool to cool off in. I have a sprinkler if it’s a real problem. Option two holds more appeal than option one, so I excuse myself to the bathroom. Once inside, I grab my duffle and keys from the rack in the kitchen and head for the front door.

“Hey, man, where you goin’?” Lance asks, tucking himself back into his shorts as he steps out of the main floor bathroom. A random bunny appears behind him, adjusting her bikini top. Her eyes are glassy and her cheeks flushed. She looks well taken care of.

“I got a headache. I’m gonna roll out.”

“There’s lots of cures for headaches here.” Lance pats the girl’s ass as she passes him. She jumps and giggles, then turns to wait. He lifts his chin in the direction of the pool. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He waits until she’s gone. “Everything all right with you?”

“Yeah. Fine. I’m cashed today. It’s been a busy week with getting back into training.”

There’s a brief hesitation on Lance’s part, like he’s not sure whether he believes me. Then he slaps me on the shoulder. “I get it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“For sure.” He goes back to the pool and his company.

My truck is parked beside a Fiat. I hit the unlock button and start the engine. Then I hear a voice.

“Randy! Can I get a ride home?” It’s the girl from the pool.

She’s still in her bikini, but she’s got a massive purse, or bag, or whatever it’s called hanging off her arm. Her legs are like sticks, and her boobs are half hanging out of her top. Her getting into my truck isn’t a great idea.

“I, uh, I’m about to run some errands.” It’s a lame excuse, and she isn’t deterred.

“My apartment is, like, five minutes from here. You don’t mind, do you? My friends are staying, and I kinda wanna go.”

I scratch the back of my neck. “I’m running late already.”

“Seriously, five minutes. Please? I don’t have money on me for a cab.” She drops her head and bites her lip, looking up at me with watery eyes.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive you.”

She does a little skippy thing and runs around to the passenger side. Her head appears at the window. She really is tiny. Except her boobs. Those are busting out. “Can I get a little help here? It’s a long way.”

Yup. Here we go. I can feel the regret as I circle the front of my truck. I take her bag and toss it into the cab, then tap the running board with my foot. “Take a step up.”

She does as I ask, but she’s facing me, so her boobs are right there. It takes an infinite reserve of muscle control not to roll my eyes. After picking her up and dropping her on the seat, I wait for her to swing her legs into the cab. When all she does is give me a blank stare, I hook a finger under the back of her knee and move it so I can close the door.

This is going to be a whole shitton of fun. I hoist myself back into the driver’s seat and shift the truck into reverse. The girl, I think her name might be Mary, or Miranda—it’s definitely got an M and an R in it—shimmies over. Thankfully the center console is in the way, so she can’t get too close.

She practically crawls over it. I don’t notice the phone until she kisses me on the cheek and a flash goes off. I put a hand up to stop from being blinded. “Seriously?”

“Sorry! All my pictures from last time were dark. I wanted a better one.”

“I’m driving here! And it’s nice when you ask first.” I try not to be snappy, but the way she shrinks back tells me I’m unsuccessful. Why did I agree to this? I feel like Miller back in the day. This just looks bad.

“Do you want me to delete it?” Her eyes are all wide and sad looking.

Maybe I’m being paranoid. Nothing’s going to happen; I know that. “It’s fine. I just didn’t expect it.” I stop at the end of the street. “Where’m I goin’?”

“Oh, right! Duh!” She gives me directions to her place. It isn’t five minutes away; it’s fifteen according to my GPS, but she’s already in the vehicle.

She fiddles around on her phone for a minute, probably posting the picture she took. Once she’s done, she drops it on the seat and runs her hand over the dashboard.

“This is a nice truck. Is this the only thing you drive? Do you have a sports car, too? Lance has a lot of cars, doesn’t he?”

She couldn’t be more obvious if she wore a “
bunny
” sign around her neck. “I have an Audi. And yeah, Lance likes his cars.” He has a collection. I’m not sure how he makes things work with all the money he blows, but that’s not my issue to manage.

The girl whose name starts with M roots through her bag-purse and pulls out a shirt. I assume she’s going to put it on over her bikini. That’s not what happens. Instead she pulls the tie around her neck and the one at her back, and the material drops to her lap. I glance at her and then back at the road, holding the wheel tight. I knew driving this chick home was a bad idea.

“What’re you doing?”

“Getting changed. You don’t mind, do you? My bathing suit’s still a little damp, and I don’t like the way it feels.”

I try to keep my tone even. “Again, I’m driving. You can’t be naked in my car.”

“The windows are tinted. No one can see.” She pulls the shirt over her head. It’s almost see-through, but it’s better than looking at her nipples. My dick starts to get the wrong idea about what’s going to happen here and begins the process of inflating.

Next my passenger shimmies her bottoms off. Now there’s naked pussy in my truck. Directly on my seat. She roots around in her bag some more—looking for shorts, maybe. I have no idea. Not like it matters. Normally this scenario wouldn’t be a problem, but I’ve been texting Lily this week, and she’s been messaging me back. I’m seeing her next weekend, and based on the content of our texting, I’m almost positive she’s willing to get naked and have some fun. She’s already made it clear to me and a good portion of my clothing that she doesn’t like to share.

Now here’s the thing: I don’t get into serious relationships. Based on what I’ve seen happen with my teammates, and my own damn asshole father, all relationships do is cause bullshit.

I travel all the time, and my entire life I’ve watched long-distance relationships fail. I had a front-row seat to the shitshow that was my parents’ ruined marriage. My dad was a professional hockey player—decent enough to be farm team and play a couple pro seasons. But he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants when he was away from home.

Apparently I’m exactly like my dad where hockey is concerned, except I’m a better player. At twenty-four, I’m in my sixth season with the NHL. He managed three seasons, but never first line. Still, it’s been hammered into me that I’m just like Randy Senior. We have the same personality, the same face, the same skill set, the same style on the ice, the same everything. And I’ve spent enough time with him to know it’s true.

So that means one thing: there’s a good chance I’m going to screw someone over the way he screwed over my mom. It might not be intentional, but it’ll happen. So I don’t get involved. Usually I’ll hang out with the same girl for a while, rather than bunny hop. We have fun until it gets too involved and isn’t working anymore, and then we part ways and do our own thing.

Most of the time it works out okay. But some girls get invested way too fast. There’ve been a few bunnies along the way that wanted more from me, but I make it abundantly clear that’s not how things are going to roll. It’s not my fault they read more into it than they should. There was one who got a tattoo of my face on her tit—and that was after I cut ties. As soon as I see it happening, I bail. I don’t want to hurt feelings or break hearts; I just want awesome sex and some sleepovers.

Except that’s actually a load of BS, because in all honesty, if I wasn’t at risk of fucking up someone else’s life, I might want an actual girlfriend. I can see the appeal. But definitely not this chick currently taking up space in my truck.

With Lily, I have to be even more conscious of what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with because she’s connected to Miller and Alex. I don’t want to mess shit up and make my life or theirs more difficult. She’s a lot of fun, though, and she’s clearly on the rebound, so I’m thinking we can spend some time getting to know each other without clothes on.

I chuckle at the memory of Lily’s expression when she saw my underwear in that bathroom last weekend. I plan to pull them out next weekend to see how she reacts again.

M Girl must mistake my chuckle for some kind of green light to get all up on my dick. She’s still pants-less. She adjusts her seatbelt’s shoulder strap and leans over as far as she can. Her hand lands on my upper thigh and moves to my slowly inflating, traitor dick.

I glance down and then at her. “What’re you doing?”

“I thought maybe I could thank you for the ride.”

“By holding my dick?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a blow job.”

I exhale heavily through my nose and move her hand off me. We’re less than two minutes from her place now. “I don’t really have time for that.”

“I can be real fast. I give amazing blow jobs.”

I want to tell her that’s not something she should be bragging about. I take the next corner a little too fast, almost fishtailing. She slides across the seat and bumps into the passenger door.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She moves back into position as I turn another corner. I need both hands on the wheel, so she takes the opportunity to slide her hand into my shorts.

Her building is two hundred feet away. I screech to a stop in front—it’s a nice place—and throw it in park.

“No!” I bark, gripping her wrist.

Her eyes go wide, and she retracts her hand like she’s been bitten.

I close my eyes for a second and breathe. When I look at her again, I’m calm. I’ve given this speech a bunch of times, so it’s nothing new. “Look, you’re a nice girl, and we had fun, but the new season’s about to start, and I can’t get into anything right now. I gotta keep my head in the game, you know?”

“Oh.” She wrings her hands.

Shit. I hope she doesn’t start to cry. “It’s not personal. I need to stay focused.” A daylight truck BJ wouldn’t be happening with her regardless (still news to my dick), but at least the excuse is mostly true.

“Right. Sure. I understand.”

She unbuckles her seatbelt and leans over like she’s going for some kind of goodbye kiss. I only spent one night with her. I think we had sex twice. It was decent if I’m remembering right, but I’m not positive. I lift my chin so I get her forehead instead of her mouth.

I pull back and smile. She returns it, but it’s got that watery quality again. She reaches for the door, which is when I realize she’s still not wearing bottoms.

“Hey.”

She stops with her hand on the door, and her hopeful expression makes me feel shitty.

I glance down and get an eyeful of pussy. “You should probably put some shorts on, honey.”

“Oh! Oh my God!” Her cheeks flush, and she mutters an apology as she rummages through her bag. It takes forever for her to find her shorts. She jabs her feet through the holes and pulls them up, then jams all the other crap back in.

She opens the door without looking at me. “Thanks for the ride.”

There’s a thick feeling in my throat. “No problem.”

She gets down just fine without any help. She’s about to close the door when I notice her phone on the seat.

“Hold up!”

She lifts her head, that same hopeful expression appearing again. Except she uses the back of her hand to rub at her eyes. I made her cry. I don’t think this situation could get any more awkward.

I hold out the phone. “You almost forgot this.”

“Shit.” She climbs back up to get it. “Thanks. I wouldn’t want you to have to come back here or anything.”

Any sympathy I might have felt dissolves with the sharp bite of her comment. She backs out of the truck and slams the door. I wait until she’s inside before I pull away. As soon as I get home, I check my social media feeds. She’s posted the pic. Her name is Marcie. She’s also posted this:

RBBRs: Forehead kisses are the worst.

She’s referencing a group called the Randy Ballistic Bunny Rejects. Apparently it’s where girls I’ve been with more than once go to swap stories. I stay away from that crap, but I know it exists.