Pucked Off (The Pucked Series)

by Helena Hunting

I take her face in my hands and press a few semi-chaste kisses to her lips. Then I go back for one more with tongue because I don’t have as much self-control as I’d like.

  When I try to leave the closet, Poppy wraps her arms more tightly around me and tries to pull the door closed again.

  “What’re you doing?” I ask around her tongue.

  “Adding another seven minutes.”

  I laugh, but then it’s not me leading anymore, it’s her. I don’t try to slow her down again, but instead of staying where we are, I take a step back, then another and another until I hit the opposite wall.

  If it’s her against it, not me, I’m liable to find a nice warm home for my thigh between her legs, or worse, I’ll use the convenience of the wall as a great way to keep her pinned as I lift her up and wrap her legs around my waist.

  And she’d let me. The tension between us has been building for a while now, and all this truth is unraveling the tenuous control I’ve been holding on to when it comes to her.

  But if I fuck this up, I stand to lose a lot. Poppy’s touch is the first to be enjoyable in my entire adult life, and I want to find out exactly how good it is when we’re naked. And that’s not happening tonight.

  She moves her palm from the back of my neck to my cheek. I have a brief moment of panic in which flashes of Tash touching me like this threaten to ruin the moment. Every hint of gentleness with Tash was balanced with aggression. But this is different. Poppy is almost careful, and as much as I like the way that feels, it makes me nervous. She has a new, different kind of power over me, and I’m not sure how to deal with that.

  When her hand moves to my chest, I cover it with mine.

  She pulls back; worry making her sparkling eyes wide. “Sorry.”

  I lift her palm back to my cheek and drag her fingers along my jaw, then I kiss the tip of each one, resisting—just barely—the urge to bite or suck on them. My dick is achingly hard.

  “I’m going to go home now.” Jesus. It sounds like I gargled with razor blades.

  “You don’t have to leave yet.” Her eyes drop, her teeth pressing into her lip.

  “Poppy, look at me.”

  Her gaze lifts. She’s hurt. I can read it in her expression.

  “I’m not leaving because I don’t want you. I’m leaving because I do.”

  “But I—”

  “If I’m going to have to see a different massage therapist for the rest of my life, I’m sure as hell not going to screw up my chances of getting more kisses like that from you by jumping the gun tonight. Your body is a gift I want to earn the right to enjoy. Okay?”

  That changes the hurt to a tender smile. “Okay.”

  “Can I steal one more kiss, though?”

  “Please.”

  I savor her—taste her mouth, sample the sweetness of her tongue and the press of her body against mine. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her. I don’t want to claim, fuck, devour. I want to be worthy, and I’m afraid I never will be.

  This is exactly what makes me a bad person, because that won’t stop me. I’ll get inside her. I’ll find out how good it feels to be with her, even if I never deserve her.

  CHAPTER 15

  FIRST DATE ADVICE

  LANCE

  It’s Friday, and that means tonight I’m taking Poppy out on a date. A real date. One that includes dinner, and whatever the fuck else I can think of to make her more likely to go out with me again, beyond the second date I’ve managed to pre-negotiate.

  Canceling all my massage appointments made me aware of how on point I need to be tonight, which is why I’m currently sitting in Waters’ kitchen, getting advice from Violet. She and I got tight when Waters had an accident last season and I beat the fuck out of the guy who took him off the ice.

  I haven’t been hanging around with them as much lately. However, right now I need dating advice, so here I am.

  I could talk to Lily, but I haven’t said anything to Randy about this date. I figure it’s better to keep it on the down low for now.

  Violet’s standing on the other side of her kitchen island, going through a bag of baby clothes and toys.

  “Seriously. How much stuff does a baby need? Don’t they just eat, sleep, crap, and cry? Why do they need so many outfits? Ohhh! This is awesome!” She holds up a onesie with an inappropriate logo on it.

  Miller and Sunny’s baby is only a week or so old, but apparently he’s huge for a newborn. His name is Logan. I’ve only been over to visit once. I’m not sure I’m all that great with babies since he puked on me and crapped himself during the two minutes I held him.

  “That’s a lot of baby stuff. Don’t tell me you and Waters are jumping on that train now, too. ”

  She gives me a look. “I’m not jumping on that train. Alex is another story. He keeps buying things; it’s a compulsion. On the upside, he’s taken a break from buying me new bras.” Violet abandons the clothes-sorting project and shoves everything back in the bag. “Okay, so one more time with this. You’re going out on a date with a girl you banged when you were a teenager?”

  “No. I never banged her. I kissed her.”

  “I don’t get why this is a big deal.”

  I’ve been trying to give Violet the abridged version of events. She probably knows the most of anyone about my history, and that’s still not very much.

  “It was in a closet. I was her first kiss.”

  Violet frowns. “Why a closet?”

  “We were at a party, playing Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

  “Wow. Huh. How old were you?”

  “I was almost fifteen.”

  “How old was Poppy?”

  “She said she was fourteen.”

  Violet arches one of her brows and taps her manicured nail on the counter. There are jewel things on the end. They’re a little distracting. “Was she actually fourteen?”

  “No. But that doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “I guess not, if you didn’t bone her. Okay. So let me put this all together. You were her first kiss at a party in a closet—which sounds like some weird horror movie business—and then you met her again last year at a bar, but you don’t actually remember meeting her because you were drunk off your ass. Do I have it so far?”

  “Yup.”

  “And she came back to your house, which you also don’t remember, and you almost slept with one of her friends, but instead you drew a dick on Miller’s forehead and posted it online, which caused the friend to have a meltdown because she was dressed like a slut and everyone on social media saw it.”

  “She was wearing my T-shirt.”

  “She was acting slutty. It’s okay. I mean, I had crazy sex with Alex the first night I met him, and that’s a pretty slutty thing to do, even though in general I’m not a slutty person. I had a slutty moment. He’s so hot. He was hard to resist. I’d also had a lot of beer.” She waves her hand in the air, like maybe she realizes she’s pulling one of her overshares. “I’m just saying I can’t judge her for being in a T-shirt and looking like a slut; although I can say that stupid dickface drawing caused a lot of tension between Alex and me for a while. So thanks a lot.”

  “That was a year ago.”

  “And I still remember not getting any for several days.”

  “Sorry.” I’m not sure what else to say. I didn’t know Violet all that well at the time.

  “It’s fine. I’m over it now that you’ve apologized, even if it’s insincere.”

  “I’m not being insincere.”

  “Whatever. Okay. So back to this girl’s slutty friend who you didn’t sleep with.” She motions for me to continue.

  I try to explain again, as best I can without providing too many details, but it’s not easy. And when I recount the events out loud, to another female, it makes it sound a lot worse.

  “Wait a second, you don’t even remember seeing her the next morning?”

  “I was preoccupied. Tash was there, and she was pissed off.”

  Violet
slaps the counter. “Hold the fucking salami. Tash came over? While you had hockey hookers in the house?”

  “It was before anything happened between us.”

  Violet assesses me, maybe trying to decide if she believes me or not.

  I raise my hands in the air. “Seriously. I’m telling you the truth. It was after that when things started to get…whatever they got. But that’s irrelevant anyway, ’cause this has nothing to do with Tash.”

  Violet rubs her temples. “You need to take it from the top again. This is like a hockey-style soap opera.”

  When I’m finished explaining the whole thing from beginning to end, with a couple extra rewinds thrown in for clarification, Violet closes her eyes for a moment.

  “So tell me if I’ve got this. You were this girl’s first kiss back when she was fourteen, or however old she was, and then you didn’t see her until a decade later. But you don’t remember meeting her again, because you were wasted and you almost hooked up with her friend, but you didn’t. Then fast forward another year later and she ends up being your massage therapist, and you still had no idea who she was until recently, and she’s agreed to go out with you?”

  “Yeah. Pretty much.”

  “Wow. So that’s either the most romantic thing ever, or the most twisted. Are you sure she’s not some kind of weird stalker?”

  “She didn’t come looking for me; I just happened to find her.”

  “Then it’s totally romantic; it’s like fate keeps throwing you together! Except the part where you don’t remember her being at your house and almost sleeping with her friend. That’s not romantic at all.”

  “No. Not really.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Based on the look on her face, I’m probably not going to want to answer.

  “Does she know about your…” She makes a bunch of random gestures.

  “My what?”

  She flails some more. “About your sexual…habits?”

  “Habits?”

  “Jesus, Lance, I’m trying to diplomatic, and you know how hard that is for me. You were a Mathlete. You’re not an idiot. Use your brain! Does she know about your reputation with the hockey hookers?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “But does she believe them?”

  “I don’t know. You believed the rumors about Waters when you first started dating him.”

  “Yeah, but he perpetuated them all the time, so of course I believed them. It was only when they became an actual issue that he started defending himself. I know people blow things out of proportion, Lance, but in your case—”

  She has a point, even though I don’t want her to. “Not all of it is true, but that’s not something I’m going to have to talk about.”

  “Not on the first date, no.”

  I run my hands over my thighs. “But you think I will eventually?”

  She blows out a breath. “Forget I mentioned it for now. Let’s focus on getting you through the first date and then we can go from there. Where are you taking her for dinner?”

  “I was thinking about Spiaggia, downtown. I made reservations and asked for a private table.”

  “Ohhh, that’s nice. You must really like her.” She does that tappy thing with her fingernails. “Ever take Tash there?”

  “No. We didn’t go out on dates. We just fucked.” I look down at the counter, unwilling to see her pity.

  “Are you over her?”

  “What?”

  “Tash? Are you over her?”

  I line up the oranges in the fruit basket so I don’t have to look at Violet. “I’d be fine if she stopped calling.”

  She touches the back of my hand, and I pull it away, hiding it under the counter.

  “Why do you want to go out with this Poppy girl if you’re still hung up on Tash? Is that really fair to her?”

  I run an anxious hand through my hair. “I like her, and she’s different. Even when things were okay with Tash, I never felt settled, but Poppy—she’s like…all this goodness wrapped up in one person. I want to have that.” I look down at the counter. “I want to deserve to have that.”

  “Well, you deserve it. You just have to work for it since this girl isn’t a hockey hooker and won’t throw herself on your dick. My advice is to bring her flowers at the very least. And don’t pick her up in your Hummer. That thing is big enough to have an orgy in.”

  “Good point.” I can definitely do flowers again. “Should I take her out after dinner?”

  “Take her out where?”

  “I don’t know. To a club?”

  “No. Definitely not. You want to avoid reminders of how you completely forgot who she was and don’t remember her ever being at your house. Stay as far away from that scenario as possible.”

  “What if she invites me to come inside after the date?”

  “What about it?”

  “Should I go in?”

  “If she invites you, yes. If she doesn’t, I don’t suggest trying to invite yourself. That makes you look desperate. Unless you want to look desperate. Then go for it.”

  “Do I want to look desperate?” I don’t think I do, but then I’ve done a lot of screwing up where Poppy is concerned, so it’s possible I do want to. More than that, it’s possible I look that way already whether I want to or not.

  “Probably not? But you may want to keep in mind this advice is coming from me, so a second opinion might be helpful.”

  “Why would I need a second opinion?”

  “Well…Alex kind of stalked me after the first time we slept together, and I didn’t actually mind his stalkery-ness.”

  We both turn at the sound of a throat clearing. Alex is standing at the threshold of the room with questions all over his face. Waters and I are close to the same size, but he’s a little broader.

  He looks his wife over. “What kind of lies are you telling about me?”

  “They’re not lies. You wouldn’t stop calling, and then you started sending my boobs gift certificates and presents. Then you showed up at my house uninvited, and my work, and you pestered me until I cracked.”

  Waters smirks. “That’s just tenacity.”

  “It’s also called stalking.”

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?” He moves her ponytail out of the way and kisses her shoulder.

  “Yes. Yes it did.” She looks to me. “But maybe you should talk to Lily about this, too, to be safe.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know about that. You’re the only person who knows about this for now.”

  “Knows about what?” Waters asks.

  “Lance has a date.”

  Waters’ eyes go wide. “Like a date, date? Or with someone you met off Tinder?”

  “A real date, not a hook up. I mean, I’m not opposed to the hook-up part, but that’s not the reason I’m going out with her.”

  “Wow. Uh…that’s great?” He still hasn’t lost that shocked look.

  “Let’s see if I can manage not to fuck it up.”

  Violet gives me a warm smile. “You’ll do fine. Just remember the flowers and not to be stalkery.”

  “Got it all locked up here.” I tap my temple as I push the stool away and stand. “I’m ready whenever you are,” I tell Waters. “We’re picking up Westinghouse on the way, aye?”

  “Yup. I’ll be back in a few hours. You still gonna be here, or do you need to go to the office?” Waters asks Violet.

  “I’ll be here.”

  He whispers something in her ear, and her cheeks turn pink. She murmurs something and pushes on his chest. “Good luck tonight, Lance.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  “Anytime. And if you want to know more about the ins and outs of stalking, ask this guy right here.” She pats Alex’s cheek.

  I wonder what it’s like to have that kind of connection with someone. I bet it’s terrifying. But if it wasn’t worth it, people wouldn’t let it happen.

  After our workout and ice time, I drop Waters and Westin
ghouse off. I don’t have to see the team massage therapist for a couple more days, thank fuck. Every single hour of torture makes me highly aware of what I’ve forfeited to get this date with Poppy. I hit the flower shop and follow that with a candy store. I stock up on all my favorite treats from the UK, searching for the things Poppy’s said she likes.

  Then I go home and whack off, followed by a shower and more whacking off. I adhere to all the first-date guidelines as set out by Waters, who gave me some of his own advice on the way to get Westinghouse. We didn’t discuss it in front of Darren, and I was relieved since his relationship with Charlene is a little fucking weird from what I’ve witnessed. And that’s saying something, coming from me.

  I shave because I don’t want any parts of Poppy to chafe as a result of too much stubble.

  Once I’m dressed and ready to go, I pace around my house. I consider whacking off one more time, but twice should be enough, so I hit my garage to pick a car. I decide on the Audi; it’s not too flashy, but it’s nice. I’m going to arrive early, but I don’t think I can wait any longer. It’s been four days since I’ve seen Poppy, and I’m antsy.

  Once I’m parked in front of her house, I take a few deep breaths before I get out of my car and walk up the front steps. The door is painted deep green. The mat on the front step says WELCOME. It’s homey—not like my place.

  I ring the doorbell and wait, listening to the sound of pattering feet coming down the hall. The only time I’ve been more nervous was my first official NHL game.

  The last time I tried to do this kind of thing I was fifteen years old. I went out with this girl in high school before I really understood my extreme aversion to physical contact from the opposite sex—before I got how badly my mother had fucked me up, how she’d made it impossible for me to have anything resembling a normal relationship. There I was, trying to be normal when I wasn’t.

  The door swings open, and my dick starts crying. Maybe a third whacking session would’ve been a good idea based on where all the blood has redirected itself in my body. I don’t plan to let the head below my belt govern my actions tonight, but Poppy is my goddamn wet dream.

  She’s wearing a silky emerald green dress. It’s the perfect color for her hair and her peachy, pale skin. The straps are two inches wide, showing off a light dusting of freckles on her shoulders—the only sign she’s been out in the sun recently. Her dress cinches at the waist and flares at the hip, stopping above her knee. It’s classy, pretty, and sexy all at the same time.