Pucked: Pucked Over Part 24

"Later as in after you hang up?" I squeeze my thighs together. Pressure builds as I imagine him stroking himself with the same aggression he uses when he gets me off, over and over again.

"Yeah. That's the plan, anyway."

I have a feeling that wasn't his plan at all, but I'm obviously nervous enough that he's backtracking. I wish I had the b.a.l.l.s to follow through right now. I bite my lip, considering it.

"I'm gonna let you go so I can take care of things. 'Kay, Lily?"

"I'll do the same over here." My hand is already creeping down into my panties. In my head I say, or we could do it together.

"Let me know how that goes." His eyes are heavy and his chest rises and falls faster. "Night."

"Maybe we-" I say, but he's already hung up. "f.u.c.k. s.h.i.t." I had the chance for phone s.e.xy times, and I ruined it by not being adventurous enough. What's wrong with me? I could've watched Randy come. I could've said dirty things to him. Except I've never dirty-talked unless, oooh, f.u.c.k me harder and that's so good count. I don't think they do.

I decide to do something either really bold or really dumb. Probably both. I stick my hand down the front of my panties and slide two fingers inside. Then I snap a picture, but only of my hand in my panties. And I send it to Randy.

I want to take it back as soon as I've done it. This is how people end up famous for having their girl parts splashed all over social media. But my face isn't in the shot. No one can actually prove it's me. Well, Randy could prove it, and possibly Benji because he's seen all my parts up close-although he was never much of a magic-marble licker, so maybe not. He was more of a stick-it-in-and-pump-until-it's-done guy.

I stop thinking about Benji, because he's an a.s.shole and not someone I care to imagine while my hand is in my underpants. I get a message back from Randy a minute later.

I see how it is. Now ur not feeling shy.

It's followed by an image. It's not a d.i.c.k pic, but it's close. Randy's wrist peeks out of the waistband of his underwear. He's clearly fisting his c.o.c.k, and the head is peeking out as well, just a little tiny bit. It's mostly in shadow, but it's there.

Talk about missed opportunities. I get myself off to that picture. It doesn't take long, so I go for round two. Once I'm sated, I pull on a pair of sweats, unlock my bedroom door, and peek into the hallway to make sure it's clear before I hit the bathroom and wash my hands.

I'm so disappointed I won't get to see Randy next weekend. Maybe if I could get the car for the night I could drive to Toronto and meet up with him afterward. It doesn't hurt to ask.

The next morning I find my mom in the kitchen with Tim-Tom. He's wearing plaid pajama pants, and he's shirtless. I don't need to see his bare, hairy chest first thing in the morning. Or ever.

I make some mindless chitchat for a few minutes to appear social even though I'm not in the morning, especially with the smell of old s.e.x in the air and Tim-Tom giving my mom the goo-goo f.u.c.k eyes.

"Do you think you'll need the car next Friday night?" I ask, swishing the teabag around in my mug.

"I work next Sat.u.r.day morning at seven."

"What if I could have it back by then?" I'm working on being super nonchalant.

"Don't you have some skating thing on Friday night? Aren't your girls performing?" She glances at the calendar. It's marked with a huge red square, as is Sat.u.r.day, since that's the day of the performance.

"Yeah, but Sunny invited me to Toronto, and I thought maybe I could go after."

"What's in Toronto?"

"Isn't Chicago playing Toronto? That game's gonna be fantastic," Tim-Tom pipes up.

I hate him.

"Is this so you can see that boy? The one with the tattoos?"

"I already told you, he's a friend of Alex's, and he was dropping me off."

She sets down her mug. "He kissed you!"

"On the cheek!"

"In front of me. I bet if I hadn't been there his tongue would have been down your throat."

"He's a hockey player, not a tacky, cla.s.sless a.s.shole."

"I'm sure that's what he wants you to believe."

I put my hands up to stop her. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

I'm not in the mood for another lecture on how dirty professional hockey players are. I've already had more than one since the Randy introduction. My mother's a.s.sumption is that he only wants one thing, and once he gets it he'll toss me aside like a half-eaten taco. She didn't use that exact a.n.a.logy, I don't think, but I stop listening almost as soon as she starts in on me.

She's not exactly wrong. But the point is, I also only want one thing from Randy, and that's his awesome d.i.c.k inside me. But I can't tell her that. She thinks I need a break after Benji. He's still calling, and that worries her. He's sent a few texts and left a couple of voice mails, but they were predictably him: the words were sweet, and the tone was not.

Looks like I'm out of options where seeing Randy is concerned. I'm sure he'll get bored of chasing me soon and end up banging a puck bunny. Not that he isn't already doing that. I just haven't borne witness to it through social media-yet. It's bound to happen. I can't be the only person he's s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g, seeing as there's so much time between screw sessions. And that's part of casual fun, right? I could screw someone else, too.

I don't want that to bother me. But it does. A lot. Maybe if Benji hadn't been such a horrible boyfriend, I wouldn't be at risk of getting attached to the first guy who's remotely nice to me.

Chapter 18.

Unmade Beds RANDY.

We're in Toronto, we won the game, and I should be naked in my hotel room with Lily underneath me. Or on top of me. I checked in twice more to see if anything had changed, but she couldn't find a way to make it work. Today I got a picture of her in her skating getup. I don't know why, but those little skirts make me so f.u.c.king hard.

So instead of being b.a.l.l.s deep inside that sweet, hot p.u.s.s.y, I'm sitting at a table in the bar with Lance. He's past the moping phase now, or at least he's acting like he's past it. He's taking bunnies home or back to hotel rooms again. And because they know that, a couple of them have found their way to our table. Lance bought them drinks, which means I feel obligated to stay and chat.

Maybe I should have gone to Guelph tonight. I could've cabbed it, called her, booked a hotel room for a few hours, then cabbed it back in time for my flight out in the morning. But I didn't. So I'm here listening to these girls talk and talk about how much they love hockey.

The one sitting beside me is wearing a low-cut top and lots of eye makeup. I think her eyelashes might be fake, or they're just insanely long. She keeps moving her chair closer until she's almost in my lap, then she puts her hand on my arm.

"Wow! Your art is amazing! Where do you get it done?"

"I go to this place in downtown Chicago." I'm used to handsy chicks. Normally it doesn't bother me, but I'm in a bad mood. I wanted Lily this weekend, and I don't get to have her. I'm bratty.

"Really? I have friends in Chicago! I've been thinking about getting some new art, and I'm looking for someone good. What's the place called?"

"Inked Armor. They're booked out, like, six months to a year in advance, and they don't do walk-ins. I see this guy Hayden. He's a master artist. Moody as f.u.c.k, but all his work is amazing."

"Oh. Wow. Good to know." She nods like this means something to her. "So..." She bites her lip and gives me what I suspect is supposed to be a coy smile. "Do you have any other ink you're hiding?"

I fight an eye roll. "I only have the sleeve right now."

"Does it go all the way to your shoulder?" Her fingertips slide under my cuff. She's trying to segue, and I'm too preoccupied with the fact that she's not Lily-and why that matters-to a.s.sess what's coming.

"Yeah. It's a full."

She leans in until her b.r.e.a.s.t.s press against my arm and her lips are at my ear. "Maybe you wanna go back to your room and I can show you my ink?"

Miller's long gone with Sunny. Waters and Westinghouse are bromancing it up in their room since their girlfriends are back in Chicago. There's no one here to give me any grief about hooking up. Lily and I aren't a thing. I haven't seen her in more than a month, and she's not falling all over herself to see me. It shouldn't be an issue for me to bag a random and release some of the pent-up tension I've been carrying around since last G.o.dd.a.m.n month.

It shouldn't. So I don't know why I stall instead of saying yes right away.

"It's okay if you have a roommate. I'm not shy." She bats her abnormally long eyelashes.

"I don't have a roommate."

"Great. So I can have you all to myself." She hooks her purse over her shoulder, looking at me expectantly.

Lance has his arm around the other girl, his hand resting near her t.i.t. He looks at me, then at her, then back at me. "You out, Ballistic?"

"Uh, I don't-" I should feel something other than conflict, like maybe some kind of reaction in my pants, but there's nothing. Not even a hint of hard-on happening.

Lance eyes her again. "You check your messages lately?"

I don't know why he's asking me that. I've got this weird feeling in my stomach like I drank too much. That could explain the lack of action in my pants, except I've only had three beers. That's nothing. I can drink at least six before I start feeling it.

I reach behind me for my jacket and feel around in the pocket for my phone. The girl who thinks she's going to get naked with me puts her palm on my thigh and squeezes. "You can check your messages on the way to your room, right?"

I ignore her and her wandering hand and look at my phone. I checked it a couple hours ago after the game on the way to the bar, but I had nothing-not even a good luck message from Lily, which kind of sucked. Now there are fifteen new messages, all of which have appeared in the last half hour. I don't know what the deal is with the reception here in Canada. Miller warned me it can be wonky sometimes. It's weird, like this country creates some kind of phone limbo.

Some of the messages are from Miller-but his contact is all screwy, coming up as a number instead of his name. Several are from another number that's vaguely familiar. The girl beside me is still talking. Her hand's still on my thigh. I move it off because it's distracting. "Gimme a minute."

I skip the messages from Miller and check the other ones.

Msg me when u get this. I can take Uber 2u idk what hotel ur at Sunny isn't answring Lft u vm Got hotel addy. On my way, ok?

"f.u.c.k." A horrible feeling slams into me like a puck to the groin. "f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k." I scrub a palm over my face.

The girl puts a hand on my arm. "Is everything okay? Why don't we go upstairs?"

"Can you back off?" I'm way loud. And angry. For a lot of reasons I don't understand.

She blinks a few times, her caterpillar eyelashes fluttering. "What's your problem?"

My phone beeps with another message: here "I gotta go." I push my chair away from the table. "I'll get you for the drinks tomorrow, yeah?" I say to Lance.

"Sure thing, Ballistic. You okay?"

"I don't know yet."

The girl, who's clueless, stands up like she's ready to come with me. I hold it up, prepared to shut her down, but Lance grabs her by the wrist and pulls her close. "He's got s.h.i.t to take care of. You can stay here with us, gorgeous."

She's does that blinking thing again, but seems too stunned or maybe confused to argue. Lance pulls her down in the chair beside him. I owe him one.

Grabbing my jacket, I make my way to the exit. I don't want Lily to see Lance with the girls. Nothing happened, but that doesn't mean I don't feel like s.h.i.t about what might or might not have if I hadn't gotten her messages. I hit the call b.u.t.ton and bring the phone to my ear.

"h.e.l.lo?" her voice hits me in stereo.

She's standing in the lobby, close to the elevators. She's wearing a skirt, and her legs are bare. Her shirt has a sheen to it-fitted, pretty, soft. My c.o.c.k jerks like it's been electrocuted. I cross the room, punch the b.u.t.ton for the elevator, and slide an arm around her from behind.

I lower my mouth to her ear. "You came."

She gasps, and her phone drops to the carpeted floor. "You scared the c.r.a.p out of me!"

She turns around and puts her hands out as if to push me, but I tighten my grip around her, crushing her to my chest.

"Seriously, why didn't-"

I don't give her a chance to finish the question. I tilt her head back and take her mouth. It's already open, so I don't have to fight to get my tongue inside. She tastes sweet, like she's been eating candy. She stops trying to push me away and holds on to my shirt. I don't give a s.h.i.t that we're in the middle of the lobby and I've got my tongue down her throat. I may also have my hand on her a.s.s.

I hear my name and see the flash of a camera, reminding me that while I'm fine with this PDA, Lily's picture posted all over the bunny sites-with me groping her-isn't going to go over well with Waters or Miller. It's more Waters I'm concerned about.

I move my hand to her waist and break the kiss, pressing my forehead against hers. "Hi."

"Hi back," she says breathlessly.

"You came."

"Well, not yet. But based on this greeting, I probably will soon." Her laugh is shaky, laced with nervousness maybe, or uncertainty.

The elevator dings. I scoop up her phone, take her hand, and pull her inside, slamming my thumb against the close door b.u.t.ton repeatedly before anyone else can get in with us. We narrowly miss having to share the s.p.a.ce with another couple. As soon as we're alone, I press the b.u.t.ton for the twenty-second floor. Then I cage her against the wall with my arms.

"I didn't think you were coming." I don't mean to sound p.i.s.sed, or like it's an accusation, but I think I do. I don't get what the h.e.l.l is happening, or why I'm feeling so messed up. It's not like we're a thing. She's not my girlfriend. I'm the guy she's f.u.c.king, or being f.u.c.ked by, every once in a while.

"Neither did I." She swallows hard.

Her hands are on my chest, those gorgeous, dark brown eyes locked on mine. Her full lips are parted, breath still coming fast.

"I'm really glad you did." I lean down, intending to kiss her, but the elevator dings. A group of guys joins us, forcing me to back off.

Lily drops her head and stares at her shoes. She's wearing navy flats. The toes are scuffed. The cuff of her jacket has a string hanging from it, and one of the b.u.t.tons is missing. She's carrying what I'd call a girl-sized duffle bag. It's worn out to the point that it looks like it's going to fall apart.

She never talks about money with me, but then most of our conversations don't include a lot of personal facts. Based on my discussions with Miller, I have a feeling the two-jobs thing is about more than saving for school. There are loans for that.

She had to take a cab to get here, and that cost money. Which I have lots of, and clearly she doesn't. But she's never said anything about it, ever. Maybe she doesn't trust me, or she's embarra.s.sed. Both of those possibilities bother me. Normally this isn't something I'd be concerned with, but it's just that making things easier for Lily would make things easier for me.