Pucked: Pucked Over Part 21

"Sure. Okay."

Randy gets out of the Jeep and comes around to help me with my knapsack full of clothes that smell like s.e.x. The Jeep also smells like s.e.x, and I'm positive I do, too. He opens the door of the cafe like he's being all chivalrous. Except he pats my a.s.s.

I stop inside the door. What in the serious s.h.i.t? Sitting at one of the tables is my mother.

Here's the thing, my mom almost never comes to visit me at work. Most of the time she doesn't pay attention to my schedule. Not that she needs to. I'm an adult; I can manage my own life. Usually we try to stay out of each other's business. So I have no idea what would bring her here, today of all days. She's not alone either. She's got a guy with her. His back is to me, so I have no clue who he is, or why in the world she'd have a coffee date at my work.

My first instinct is to push Randy back out the door. But the d.a.m.n bell has chimed, alerting everyone in the shop to our arrival. My mother looks up before I make any kind of pre-emptive move in one direction or another.

She smiles and waves.

"Oh, s.h.i.t."

"Some crazy customer?" Randy runs his fingers through the back of my hair, catching a few knots along the way. I didn't even think to check it before I got out of the Jeep.

"That's my mother. I don't know what she's doing here."

"Oh. s.h.i.t is right. Is that your dad?"

"Nope. My dad's a d.i.c.k. I haven't seen him since never." I don't mean to impart that ma.s.sive boulder of baggage truth.

"Huh. Well, my dad's a d.i.c.k, too. So we have that in common." He pushes me forward. "We should go say hi."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's cool. Just don't moan my name or anything when you introduce me."

"Your ego is its own country." I take a couple of halting steps forward, figuring out what I'm going to say.

"Lily bird!" my mom gets up, her eyes darting behind me to Randy and then back, clearly wanting some kind of introduction.

I'm pretty sure telling her he's the guy I'm casually boning who provides the best o.r.g.a.s.ms I've ever had isn't going to fly. "Hey, Mom, so weird that you're here right now. This is my friend Randy." I motion between them. "Randy, this is my mom, Iris."

"Randy. Hi! So nice to meet you." She sticks her hand out.

He shakes it with the one that's been inside me in the past hour. "Hi, Iris. Looks like I'm surrounded by all the most beautiful flowers."

It's a super cheesy line-like, poutine with double cheese and extra gravy-but my mom giggles like she's fifteen. I roll my eyes, and Randy flashes me a grin.

"Holy s.h.i.t!" the guy with my mom yells.

I'd almost forgotten he was here, thanks to the s.h.i.tting of my pants over introducing Randy to my mom. At least she hasn't recognized him as anyone important yet.

"Randy Ballistic?" Dude shoots up out of his chair and thrusts out his hand.

"Hey." Randy takes it, and the guy-who I now realize is Tom, or Tim, or whatever his name is, all I know is I'm glad he's wearing more than underwear this time-gives him one of those over-enthusiastic handshakes.

He continues to pump Randy's hand so much that I almost expect Randy's mouth to open and water to come splashing out. "Iris, do you know who this is?"

My mom lifts her shoulders in an apologetic shrug.

"This is Randy Ballistic. He's a new forward for Chicago. He used to play for New York. That game on Friday was killer. You really showed your worth to the team."

Her smile freezes. "You're a hockey player?" Her tone makes it sound more like he's committed a heinous crime.

"Uh, yeah. It's cool if you root for Toronto. I won't hold it against you. I used to play for them, too."

"Um, I'd love to chat, but I have to start my shift." I wave behind me to the counter, where no customers are currently waiting.

"I need to use the ladies' room," my mom says through gritted teeth. She threads her arm through mine, gripping hard as she steers me toward the back of the shop.

"A hockey player, Lily? What is wrong with you?"

I can't deal with her now, so I need a cover story-one that's plausible and no one can refute. "Relax yourself, Mom. He's a friend of Alex's. I stayed at Sunny's last night, and Alex was home visiting. He brought a couple friends with him. Randy was on his way out the door and offered me a ride."

"Oh, I'm sure he did."

"Mom. He drove me to work. He's nice."

She stares at me hard for few seconds. "They all seem nice at first."

I love my mom, but sometimes her hypocrisy is frustrating. "I need to start my shift. Is this Tom guy going to be at home when I get there tonight?"

"His name is Tim. Maybe. Probably. Why?"

"Can you please make sure he's wearing more than underwear outside of your bedroom?"

She gives me a pinched look.

"I gotta go. I'm supposed to be working already."

"We'll talk about this later."

"There's nothing to talk about, Mom. It was just a ride." I mean that literally and figuratively.

My mom goes into the bathroom, and I drop my bag in the manager's office and rush to get my ap.r.o.n on so I'm out before my mom is finished in the girls' room.

Randy and Tim-Tom are still talking. Well, Tim-Tom is talking, and Randy is nodding. Tim-Tom follows Randy to the counter and stops yapping long enough for Randy to order a coffee, one of the specialty kinds.

My stomach is in all kinds of knots. I need Randy to leave before my mom comes back, but based on Tim-Tom, that's not likely to happen. I pa.s.s the coffee to Randy, along with a bag of cookies, and I try not to let him pay, but he keeps shoving the money at me.

He covers my hand with his, blatantly ignoring Tim-Tom's rambling. My mom shows back up at the same moment Randy kisses me on the cheek and whispers, "Thanks for all the fun."

My mom shoots laser beams from her eyeb.a.l.l.s.

At least we're in public and she can't make a scene.

Chapter 16.

Trainer Troubles and Other Problems RANDY.

I miss a training session because I don't get back to Chicago until late on Sunday. After dropping off Lily I stopped in to see Michael, the kid we held the exhibition game for back in September, before I caught a flight home. Miller had been to see him yesterday, like I figured he would. We can't be this close and not visit. I talk to him on Facebook and stuff, but it's not the same as face to face. It's hard to see a thirteen-year-old sick like that, but his treatment is going well, and surgery is scheduled for early December.

I've ignored my phone since I left Toronto for Guelph. More like I turned it off. I have seven messages when I turn it back on. Three are clearly speech-to-text-recorded from Miller because some of it doesn't make sense. The rest of are voice mails. I only have to listen to one to know he's stressed.

"Dude. You need to call me. s.h.i.t's about to go down. Coach is p.i.s.sed. I mean p.i.s.sed. You have no idea. Where the h.e.l.l are you? We have a team meeting at eight tomorrow. You better not miss it or you're gonna be benched. You might be anyway for missing today."

That's early for a game day. It's already after eleven. I've just walked in the door after my flight back from Lily Land. Calling him to find out what's going on will probably kill the buzz I'm still riding.

Instead, I throw some food in the microwave and send Lily a message while it heats.

Back in Chicago. I'd rather b in u.

We used an entire box of condoms. All twelve, with the last time in the Jeep. That's a record. I've never had that many consecutive hard-ons in a row and been able to finish every time.

If that keeps happening, I'm going to develop some kind of addiction problem. To her. I glance down. I'm hard. Again. And everything is hypersensitive after so much action in such a short period of time. I'm almost inclined to pull a Miller and walk around naked to keep the friction at bay. If I end up having to whack it tonight, I'll need some kind of lube to prevent it from being unpleasant.

The microwave beeps, so I take the plate out, burning my fingertips. I search for a dishtowel or something and take my meal into the living room so I can watch sports highlights. I also call Miller on the off chance he's still awake. I should probably know what I'm walking into in the morning.

He answers on the third ring. "f.u.c.k you for calling me this late, a.s.shole."

"What's going on?"

"We have a meeting at f.u.c.k you o'clock in the morning, and a game tomorrow, night, and you're calling to ask me what's going on? Screw you, b.a.l.l.s. You'll find out in the morning." I get dead air.

I'd call him back, but he sounds p.i.s.sed. Miller's usually a level guy. He wasn't exactly happy about me swinging by Guelph to visit Lily. He didn't so much say it as I could tell by his att.i.tude.

I check my messages again, even though my phone hasn't beeped. Lily's definitely asleep. I'm sure I wore her out this weekend. She kept up, though. It's hard to find someone who can manage my s.e.xual appet.i.te. I kinda wish she lived closer.

Since there's so much time between seeing each other, I should be able to stretch things out a little longer than usual with her. Which is fantastic since the s.e.x is out of this world. Plus she's not clingy. Usually after a marathon s.e.x-fest like the one we had, the girl is texting me nonstop, asking about the next hook-up. Lily's not like that. I appreciate it, and I don't. Her lack of communication makes me second-guess how well things went and how she's feeling about it.

I scrub my hands over my face and vow to stop fixating on Lily and start wondering what I missed at our training session this afternoon. I'm probably in trouble for that, but I'm sure Coach'll understand my flight delay-which didn't actually happen, but I'm pretending did.

I give Lance a try, but I get his voice mail. I don't leave a message. I try one last person. I hit the call b.u.t.ton and regret it immediately. Waters and I aren't all that tight yet, but he seems to like me well enough. As the team captain, he might be willing to give me the information Miller isn't.

I'll be lucky if I'm not waking him up. I second-guess myself and am about to end the call when someone picks up. "h.o.r.n.y Nut Sac, why are you calling my fiance's phone at this hour?" It's Violet. I'm not sure whether I should be relieved.

"I'm sorry."

"You've been inside a Canadian haven't you?" she asks.

"What?"

"You're apologizing, and you don't even know for what. You've definitely been inside a Canadian."

"I don't-"

"If you tell me you don't know what I'm talking about, I'm going to kick your a.s.s."

I decide there isn't any reason to lie about this situation. Also, there's no way Violet can kick my a.s.s. "Miller left me a message and said some s.h.i.t had gone down. He's not answering his phone right now, and I don't want to go into tomorrow's meeting blind."

"You boned Lily."

I have no clue why this matters to Violet. She's not close with Lily, at least not that I know of.

"I don't see how that-"

"Matters?" She doesn't wait for me to answer. "You don't see the importance of you banging your bestie's girlfriend's bestie? Seriously, b.a.l.l.s, I thought you were smarter than that."

"Smarter than what? How do you even have this information?"

"Honestly? I live with Alex. Sunny's his sister, and we're girls. We talk. In detail. Sometimes too much."

"It's not a big deal. I'm a rebound. Me and Lily are having some fun."

"If you say so, b.a.l.l.s. Anyway, if you want to know what the real issue is here, you should probably talk to Romero or Tash, but I doubt either of them is answering the phone right now."

"What happened with Lance and Tash?"

"Nothing good. You'll get the full report in the morning. I'm tired, and my fiance is already pa.s.sed out, so I'm gonna go snuggle up to him and get some sleep. Good luck tomorrow."

I'm ten minutes early for the morning meeting. I'm tired and on edge because I don't know what's going on. Most of the team is already there, and I find Miller sitting beside Waters. They're deep in conversation, both of their knees bouncing hard. I drop down on the bench beside Miller.

"Nice of you to show up, b.a.l.l.s."

I ignore the shot. "What's going on? Where's Lance?"

"He better get here soon," Waters says. He's in a foul mood. Most of the time he's not bad to deal with. But when he's p.i.s.sed it's advisable to stay out of his way.

"I think he's f.u.c.ked either way already," Miller mumbles.

"I told him to watch himself, but he didn't. Now he's screwed the entire team," Alex replies.

"What happ-"

A whistle blows, and everyone stops talking. Coach stands in the middle of the room with Lance and some new guy. Coach tells Lance to take a seat, and he drops down on the end of a bench. He rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together, keeping his eyes down.

A few whispers break out, and Coach clears his throat, silencing the room. "This is Evan Smart, the new team trainer. He's been training professional athletes for the past seven years. He's got a great track record, and we're happy to have him on board. Whatever he says goes. You will work with him as a team. If there's a workout scheduled, you will be there. Unless you have some kind of injury, or a life-and-death situation you have made me and Evan aware of in advance, you'll be at training. Everyone understand?"