PUCKED Up (15 page)

“
No. I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

We make out until I’m on the verge of getting hard again. I’m still inside her. Usually after sex I hit the bathroom and clean up, get some distance from whoever I’m in bed with. Not tonight. Sunny’s the one who breaks the kiss. She pushes on my chest, and when she tries to wriggle out of my grasp I throw my leg over hers.

“
Miller.” She giggles when I burrow through her sweet-smelling hair and nibble on her shoulder.

“
You don’t want to cuddle with me anymore?”

“
I need the bathroom.”

“
I can come with you.”

“
Ew. No thanks.”

“
Not into that, eh?”

“
I’ll be right back.”

I loosen my hold, but she still has to work get out of my arms, giggling the entire time. She kneels on the bed beside me, naked, her skin still flushed. She looks happy, relaxed, and tired. She wraps her index finger and thumb around the base of the condom.

“
What are you doing?”

“
Getting rid of this for you.”

“
You don’t want to keep it as a memento of your first orgasm during sex?”

She makes a gagging sound. “I think the memory is enough.” She slides it off and holds it out as she bounces off the bed.

I take in the bare expanse of her body as she skips to the bathroom. Sunny pretty much dances everywhere she goes. She’s light on her feet, and her long legs give her a gazelle-like quickness.

She’s in there for a few minutes. I hear the toilet flush and the sound of running water. The door to the bathroom opens, and she’s still magnificently naked. She crosses over to the vanity and starts braiding her hair, working from the right side to the left so it travels along her hairline at the base of her neck and over her shoulder.

I alternate between watching her reflection and appreciating the curves of her body. I’ve been with a lot of women. I’ve seen a lot of bodies. I’ve been with models and those waif types who look like they should probably score a few meals at an all-you-can-eat-buffet. Sunny, however, is my ideal, or she’s become it. Her long limbs are defined with strength, and there’s softness to her in the places there should be. She’s confident and comfortable in her own skin; it’s sexy.

“
You coming back to bed so we can snuggle?” I hold my arms open.

She turns off the light in the bathroom and climbs up beside me. “For a big bad hockey player, you’re kinda a softie, you know that?”

“
Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

Sunny snorts as she curls into my side. She traces the line of my eyebrow. “I wish it was always this easy to be with you.”

I lift her chin so our noses touch. “I’mma work on trying to make that happen, ’kay? Just give me some time.”

She presses her lips to mine. “’Kay.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

UNFORESEEN THWARTS

It takes me a good thirty seconds to orient myself when I wake up. The bed is unfamiliar, but the smell of the sheets isn’t. It’s a combination of sex and Sunny. I glance to the right, where she should be; her pillow is empty. The clock on the nightstand tells me it’s way late already. But then, we were up until five in the morning getting busy. I stretch and yawn, debating whether or not I’ll fall asleep if I close my eyes again. My time with Sunny is limited. I only have today and tomorrow before I have to leave for the camp.

Even if I invite her up to visit, we won’t have much in the way of alone time. She’d have to stay in a cabin with other people. I’ll be in with the male counselors. Sex would be off the table. There’d be zero privacy, and humping on her in the forest, while fun, could prove problematic. There’s no coed business going on at camp since the junior counselors are usually a bunch of horny almost-adults.

When I went to hockey camp as a teenager, I always had the most insane hard-ons. They were a pain in the ass to get rid of, until I became a senior counselor. Then I got to break all the rules I made everyone else follow. Nature makes me wanna get my fuck on. I don’t know why. If I’d been put in a coed room, it would’ve turned into a damn orgy. Okay, probably not, but I would’ve dreamed about it becoming an orgy.

The sheets tent at my waist thanks to my reminiscing. It would be nice to have Sunny there with me, even if we can’t get naked. She’d get to see me doing something other than playing hockey and being an asshole on social media. I’d get to spend more time with her, in an environment where I know she’d have fun. The only real issue would come from not being able to get all up inside her the entire time. On second thought, having her there might be like torture.

After last night, it’s gonna be a real challenge to keep my clothes on when we’re alone together. Sex with Sunny was way more intense than I’d expected. Even more amazing is that I pulled an orgasm hat trick of firsts on her: I made her come with my fingers, my tongue, my dick, and I gave her her first set of multiples. That beats out any other hat trick in the history of hat tricking. It’s a Super Hat Trick with the multiples thrown in there.

I’d tell Randy, but he might slip up and tell Lance, and Lance can’t keep his mouth shut about anything.

I want to tell someone, though. I find my phone, which ended up on the floor a long ways away from my pants. Cuing up my contacts, I call Violet. It’s after eleven, so she’s definitely awake. Sadly, it goes to voice mail.

“
Hey, sis. Call me when you get this. I hat tricked last night, and my hat trick kicks Waters’ hat trick’s ass.”

My phone rings in the middle of my message, so I end my call with Violet to answer the one coming through. I can tell it’s my PA by the ring tone. I get it before it goes to voice mail.

“
Hey, ’sup, Amber? How’s the portage trip going? You do battle with any bears yet?”

“
No battle of the bears, thankfully. We got rained on last night. We’re taking a break for lunch. I thought I’d call you since we have decent reception on this leg of the trip. I’m so sorry you missed your flight. I thought I’d put enough reminders in your calendar, and then Violet told me you mixed up the times.”

“
It’s cool. It’s not your fault. My phone died, and I had it in my head that I was leaving at nine, not six. You know how I am.”

“
I should’ve been on top of that. I feel awful. I saw the social media insanity. How much trouble are you in with Sunny?”

“
We’re good. We got things sorted.”

“
Talked your way out of it, did you?” She doesn’t sound all that surprised.

I think about all the ways I made Sunny come last night. “It always looks worse than it is. But yeah, I managed to smooth things over.”

“
So you found the box of condoms in the bag of gifts, then?”

“
Box of condoms?”

“
I got you two, in case you were extra busy.”

“
No shit. You’re the best, Amber.”

“
Remember that when the bill for my birthday present comes in this year.”

I don’t think she’s joking. “You’re always saving my ass, so you deserve whatever you choose—as long as it’s not a car.”

“
Well, there goes that plan.” She sighs dramatically. “So I wanted to talk to you about the camp and some possible promotion opportunities.”

“
You know how I feel about that—”

“
Hear me out before you say no.”

I sigh, but give her the chance to try to sell me on whatever she’s planning before I shut her down.

“
I think it would be a good idea for you to let one of the local papers come up and interview you.”

“
You know I don’t do well in interviews.”

“
You don’t do well in scripted interviews. You’re fine when there aren’t any lines to learn. It doesn’t have to be a big thing, just a few questions about your role at the camp.”

“
It’ll be a circus.”

“
It won’t. It’s small town out there, Miller. It’s not like being in Chicago where everyone goes crazy over you guys.”

“
Okay. I’ll think about it. Oh, hey, Randy emailed me something about a car wash fundraiser out near the camp. I’m probably going to go with him if the timing works out.”

“
Do you know who’s hosting it?” Amber asks.

“
No. Some guy Randy knows from when he played for Toronto. Randy says he puts on a lot of events.”

“
What’s the charity? Can you forward me any information?”

“
It’s for breast cancer. And sure, I’ve got an email I can flip you.”

“
Okay. Sounds good. I’ll make sure it’s on the up and up.”

Any cancer fundraiser gets me, and Amber knows it; so does Vi. “Okay. Yeah. And I’ll check with Balls.”

“
Great. Perfect. Don’t forget you’re picking him up from the airport, either. I’m sending you his flight details. You’ll have time to connect with him before Sunday?”

“
Yeah. Of course.”

“
Just checking. You might be busy blowing through all those condoms.”

Amber has a sense of humor. She has to if she wants to work with guys like me. “Ha ha. I’ll take a ten-minute break to deal with details.”

“
Have fun with Sunny.”

“
I plan to. Repeatedly. Enjoy the bears.”

“
Fuck you, Miller.”

I get a dial tone and smile. Amber’s an awesome PA.

Before I go looking for Sunny, I decide now is a good time to get the trimmer out. I’ll be off to camp soon enough, and mosquitoes have a tendency to get caught in my arm hair and bite the shit out of me if I don’t take it down to a number three.

I’m not as hairy as Vi makes me out to be with her mythical fur-covered creature comparisons. Some of the guys on my team are way hairier, especially around playoff time when the beards are in effect and the neck hair meets the chest. Being blond means I can get away with a little less in the personal grooming department than the average guy.

Trimming is messy business, so I step out on the balcony overlooking the backyard. There’s lattice for privacy, but I don’t want to flash the neighbors, so I leave my shorts on.

I check the trimmer blade to make sure it’s the right one. The two lasts longer, but it makes things prickly, and I’m going for soft, not efficient, tonight. When I first started seeing Sunny, I tried the number two. Vi had been making the usual yeti jokes, and I got self-conscious. But I had to wear long sleeves on my date with Sunny during a heat wave. My arms felt like a cactus for a good week before the hair grew out.

Resting my foot on the railing, I start on my left leg. I go over everything twice. My shorts prove to be a problem, though. They’re in the way. I don’t want to end up with the equivalent of a reverse farmer’s tan, except with fuzzy thighs instead of overly white skin. I peek around the lattice. I can see the edge of the pool. On the other side is the neighbor’s patio. An old dude sits in a lounge chair, drinking iced tea and reading the paper in his bathrobe. There’s a pair of binoculars on the table beside his drink. This has to be Sunny’s pervy neighbor. But he can’t see me, so I’m safe to drop the shorts.

After I finish round two with my legs, I run a hand against the grain. The resulting semi-smoothness is gratifying.

Once I shaved my legs with a real razor. Actually, I used four of them. I wanted to see what it felt like. It was winter when I did it, so I didn’t think anyone would see them. Unfortunately, I forgot about the part where I’m an NHL player and I get changed in a locker room with other guys who would notice my hairless legs and razz me about them. Which is what happened.

I lied and said one of the bunnies I’d been with must have done it while I was sleeping. It seemed believable. Some bunnies get territorial. Those are the ones I cut loose in a hurry. Or used to cut loose. Before Sunny.

Moving on to my arms, I resume my mission to tone down the fur. When the breeze picks up, the trimmed hairs swirls around in the air before they go over the edge, floating toward the neighbor’s yard. I bet the birds will love it. Sunny says it makes great nests.

On the final pass with the trimmer, a strong gust of wind lifts the liberated hairs, and the cross-breeze from inside the house creates a cataclysmic weather system. A mini-tornado spins the fluff around in a circle. The tumbleweed of blond rises into the air, disappearing over the edge of the balcony.

There’s some sputtering and clanging from the patio next door. “What is that?” A yippy dog barks in distress as the yelling continues. “Thor! You made me spill my tea!”

I turn off the trimmer and flatten myself against the sliding door. Shimmying over a couple of steps, I peek through the lattice. Sunny’s neighbor has knocked over his chair and drink. His dog, Thor—which, incidentally, is tiny—chases after one of my fuzz tumbleweeds.