Pucked: Pucked Over Part 6

"Oh." She wrings her hands.

s.h.i.t. 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 d.i.c.k), 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 s.e.x 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 s.h.i.tty.

I glance down and get an eyeful of p.u.s.s.y. "You should probably put some shorts on, honey."

"Oh! Oh my G.o.d!" 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 c.r.a.p 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."

"s.h.i.t." 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 c.r.a.p, but I know it exists.

Below the post are a slew of comments from other girls. I recognize quite a few of their names and faces from their profile pics. It's messed up how my rejection is like a rite of pa.s.sage.

I nab a beer from the fridge, twist off the top, and take a long swig. It's too nice to sit inside, so I step out on my back deck, put on some tunes, and relax. That lasts three minutes. I'm not good at sitting around for long. I also feel s.h.i.tty about what happened with Marcie.

It's not my fault she romanticized one night, but it never feels good to make a girl cry. I made Lily cry, but that was different, and I think that's been resolved at this point. I pull up her contact. I messaged her a few days ago and got a response that she was at work. I haven't heard anything since. Next weekend will be here soon, so I figure it's a good idea to start a slightly more consistent back and forth. That way I can get a good gauge on whether she's feeling me or not.

What ru up to?

Her message comes less than two minutes later.

Getting ready 4 wrk. U?

That's all she ever seems to do.

Drinking beer on my back deck.

The next one comes faster. There's a frowning emoticon attached to it.

Rub it in y don't u.

I grin as I type the next message.

I can think of lots of things I'd like to rub on u.

There's a longer break, and I worry I've pushed too far, too fast. I'm about to send a message telling her I'm joking when the dots appear in my feed.

ru trying 2 s.e.xt me?

Perfect. This is the exact response I'm looking for.

Maybe. Do u wanna b s.e.xted?

I don't have to wait long for her reply.

I'm about to teach a cla.s.s. Not a good time.

My next message is loaded: When do u get off?

She either misses the innuendo or ignores it.

I can wait.

I'll s.e.xt u then.

Unfortunately, I drink too many beers and get too much sun, so I end up pa.s.sed out on my couch much earlier than I intended. I wake up at midnight and message Lily, but I don't hear back after ten minutes, so I a.s.sume she's already in bed or ignoring me.

It's cool, though. I have all week to s.e.xt the h.e.l.l out of her in preparation for the weekend.

Chapter 6.

s.e.xting 101 LILY.

I would like to say I don't wait for Randy's s.e.xt messages when I get home from work. But that might be a lie. While I'm hanging out in my room... not waiting... I do what I've been doing since Randy and I first hooked up: I creep him on social media. It's not hard to do. His face is all over the place. His pretty, pretty face and his superhot body.

New ones have surfaced today, including a few of him lounging by a pool in a pair of swim shorts. Even relaxed he has a six pack. There's also one of him with some s.l.u.tty bunny sitting in what appears to be a car. Her b.o.o.bs take up ninety percent of the picture. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration, but they fill more of the frame than mine would.

My stomach does this weird drop thing. It's the same feeling I used to get when Benji flirted with other girls in front of me. He did it on purpose to p.i.s.s me off. He also used to point out all the girls with better b.o.o.bs than me at the beach. I tried not to let it get to me, but I was rarely successful.

Usually we'd end up having a big fight. I'd break up with him, he'd threaten to hook up with some girl, I'd tell him to go ahead, he'd walk away. Sometimes I'd chase him and cry, other times I'd let him go. He'd always apologize eventually, and we'd get back together. I hated the crying part the most. I don't like to feel weak. Not being with him is so much less stressful.

This isn't the same situation at all. I don't have a claim on Randy; we're doing whatever we're doing. He's been messaging quite a bit, so he seems to have picked up on my decision to give him a try. Casual messing around, I guess. Possibly casual s.e.x, depending on what happens next weekend.

He finally messages me at midnight. I stare at my phone for a good long while, debating whether I want to respond. Violet made a good point about Randy being a fun rebound. Based on all my internet research/stalking I know what's going on between us isn't going to be serious. I think I can handle that. I want to be able to handle it. I've been with Benji for seven years so I have no idea if I can handle it. I'm going to try.

Randy and I have incredible chemistry, and he gives amazing o.r.g.a.s.ms, but I'm also not interested in being the phone f.u.c.k after the bunny f.u.c.k. Sloppy seconds are still sloppy, even if they're virtual.

When I get back to him the next day, I make a point of linking to one of the pictures of him with the b.o.o.b girl, so he knows I'm not an idiot. My phone rings right away. My stomach flips and tries to turn itself inside out as I answer the call. "Hi."

"Are you stalking me?" The hint of teasing in his voice makes the flippy feeling even worse.

s.h.i.t. Maybe the social media creeping is getting out of hand. I go with nonchalant. "It's only stalking if I've erected a shrine."

He chuckles. I wonder what that sound would feel like against my vag. "That chick was one of Lance's friends."

"Who?"

"One of my teammates. Listen, I need you to take a picture of your room for me."

His unexpected explanation and request throws me. "Why?"

"So I can see your shrine." I can practically hear his c.o.c.kiness.

It's my turn to laugh. "I can't. I'm at work."

"Take a picture anyway."

"What's the point if you can't see my shrine?" I bite my knuckle to stop the giggle.

His voice is low. "So I can see you."

Oh my G.o.d. Now my girl parts are freaking right out. I made a point of messaging him when I knew I wouldn't have much time to banter. "I'll take one before I get on the ice."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"I'm looking forward to it. Talk to you soon, okay?"

"Okay."

He ends the call and I stand in front of the mirror in my skating outfit. It's a simple, black, skirted leotard with neutral tights. Nothing spectacular. I hold the camera up high like Sunny does, smile, snap a pic, and hit send without looking at it. I try not to think about the b.u.t.terfly storm in my stomach. Or the buzz between my thighs.

I toss my phone in my locker, snap it shut, and hit the ice. I have about fifteen minutes to warm up before my girls arrive. After this morning session, I'll spend the afternoon working at the coffee shop, then come back to do an evening cla.s.s at the arena with the older kids.

Getting next weekend off for the engagement party has been a pain in my a.s.s. I'm working extra shifts at both jobs this week to make up for missing three days. It's hectic, but it'll be nice to have a break. I do a few laps around the ice to warm up. The sound guy puts on my music, and I practice the routine I'm working on with the girls today. It's simple because they're young, but some of them are so talented. Watching them develop into dancers is as painful as it is inspiring.

I don't have time to check my phone again until I get home that night. I'm exhausted, but Randy's messaged me, so I flop down on my bed and scroll through them.

The first one is a screen shot of the s.l.u.tty chick's selfie with Randy, but he's pointed out her comment, which I failed to read before because her b.o.o.bs were my focal point. He rejected her. That makes me feel better than it should.

The next image is a picture of what's obviously Randy's hand down the front of his underpants. It's the pink pair again, with my lovely warning: TINY d.i.c.k INSIDE.

Did u jerk it 2 my skating outfit?

The response is immediate: Yes I'm sure he's joking: Pervert I laugh at his response: Yes. I still want a pic of ur room. 2b sure ur not a stalker.

I take off my sweatshirt so I'm wearing a tank and leggings. I search my closet for anything I have that's round. I find golf b.a.l.l.s, but those aren't big enough. Eventually I find a set of mismatched tennis b.a.l.l.s. I stuff those down my shirt, strike a pose in front of the mirror, and snap a pic from the neck down. I giggle as I press send.

My phone rings. "h.e.l.lo?"

"You're killing me; you know that, right?"

His deep voice goes straight to my crotch. I flop down on my mattress. "You like my b.o.o.b job?"

"Don't mess with your b.o.o.bs. They're perfect the way they are. Especially when they're in my mouth."

His candor throws me, and all I can do is make a whimpery moaning noise.

"You remembering what that was like?"

"No."

"Yes you are."

"I gotta go. It's late. I have to work in the morning."

"How much do you work?"

"A lot. I have double shifts this week because of the engagement party."

"Well, that sucks." There's some rustling in the background and the sound of a door closing. "Where are you staying while you're in Chicago?"

"At Alex's."

"You think you can get a night away from the Waters family while you're here?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Why?"

"'Cause I was thinking maybe we could do dinner or something."

"Uh... um..." That sounds a lot like a date. Or maybe it's Randy's way of enticing me into getting naked: dinner first, then s.e.xing.

"Unless you're all booked up. I know it's gonna be a busy weekend. It was just a thought."

"Can I get back to you on that?"