[Bad Motherpuckers 02.0] Sexy Motherpucker

by Lili Valente

  Brendan: Ugh. What did she do?

  Laura: Just yelled at me a little.

  She wanted to stay out and play in the snow some more with her friends, but I made her come in and take a bath before we sat down for dinner. We were eating late and I didn’t want to rush the bath after.

  So basically I was a nightmarish hell-beast with a cold ball of ice for a heart who feasts upon the tender flesh of childhood dreams.

  I totally deserved to be yelled at.

  Brendan: I know I shouldn’t laugh, but…

  Laura: It’s okay. You can laugh. I was the same way as a kid. I realize I’m getting a much-deserved taste of my own medicine, but…

  I don’t know. It still bummed me out. I like being the sweet, fun one, while you bring down the hammer.

  Brendan: That’s fine. I don’t mind being the bad guy.

  I like it when you’re sweet and fun, too.

  Sweet and fun and naked, preferably…

  Laura: We’re going to do this again, aren’t we?

  We’re like addicts, Brendan. We seriously can’t stop ourselves, can we?

  Brenda: Why should we stop? When not stopping is so much more fun…

  Laura: But what if someone hacks into your computer while we’re Skyping and records us? And then the sex tape goes viral because you’re famous and the entire world sees me naked and talking dirty to you and I’m never able to show my face in public again? Things like that happen, you know.

  Brendan: No one is going to hack into my computer. I’m the most boring person on the team. Who wants to hack an old, cranky, single dad?

  Laura: Um, lots of people, because you’re smoking hot, especially when you’re wearing jeans and nothing else.

  God, I really can’t wait to see you in jeans and nothing else, babe.

  I’m going to have to exert a serious amount of willpower to keep from dragging you up to my childhood bedroom and having my way with you on my twin bed as soon as you step through the door on Saturday.

  What time does your plane land?

  Brendan: Noon, so I should be at your parents’ place no later than two.

  That’s good, right?

  Laura: Yes. Party is from two to five, and I’ll bring the presents for the Secret Santa thing. You drew Jus, so I got him a gift certificate to that yarn store he likes and a case of seasonal lagers. He’ll be able to drink and crochet at the same time. You’ll be his hero.

  Brendan: I’d rather be your hero. I wish I could come home right now, give you a massage, and let you sleep in tomorrow while I take care of getting Chloe to school. I’ll text her tomorrow and remind her to be extra nice to you.

  Laura: Don’t do that. I don’t want her to be extra nice.

  I want her to be the good kid she usually is most of the time and know that I love her when she’s a brat, too.

  Brendan: I love you. Have I told you that yet, today?

  Laura: I think you did, but I never get tired of hearing it.

  I love you, too, and I can’t wait to see you on Saturday.

  Brendan: Or you could log into Skype and see me now…

  I already took off my shirt, but I’m still wearing my jeans…

  Laura: Brendan…

  Brendan: But I might not be wearing them for long. I’m so hard from imagining you sitting there, texting me in nothing but tiny panties and one of those T-shirts you wear to bed that things are starting to get uncomfortable.

  Laura: How uncomfortable?

  Brendan: “I’m going to have to get my cock out soon and fuck my hand while I think of you” uncomfortable. Though I would prefer to see your pretty face while I do it. And your fingers slipping between your legs and your pussy getting wet because you love watching me jerk off while you touch yourself.

  Laura: Jesus…

  Let me lock the door and I’ll be right back, you shameless pervert.

  Brendan: *smiley face emoji*

  I’ll be waiting…

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brendan

  I can’t believe no one told me this could happen.

  Out of all the books I read and the counselor I saw for a year after the accident and the support group for young widowers I try to get to every once in a while, even though finding a sitter for Chloe is a challenge—not one of the voices I’ve heard talk about love and loss, grief and moving on, ever mentioned there might come a day when I would be grateful for what losing Maryanne did to me.

  Don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t wish that kind of hell on anyone. Because it was hell. Pure and simple, straight up, without anything to cut the pain.

  But the thing about going through hell is that it makes heaven even more precious once you find your way back to it again.

  I loved Maryanne with everything in me, but I was also a twenty-five-year-old dumbass when we met, pre-occupied with my career and my five-year plan and leaving my mark on the world and other shallow shit that doesn’t mean much compared to family. I knew she was special, and that I never wanted to be with anyone else, but it wasn’t until she was gone that I realized the thousand little ways she filled my life with happiness.

  Her hand in mine while we walked down the street to grab brunch on Sunday mornings, her voice singing off-key in the shower, and the little notes she left in my bag for me to find when I checked my gear before a game. The way she smiled when I came home early and she and Chloe were waking up from a nap on the couch—all the little things I took for granted became an unfillable void after she was gone.

  Loving her was a song I hadn’t realized was playing in the background until it was abruptly silenced, and the quiet left behind crushed me with an intolerable weight.

  I am a different man than I was before.

  I’ve known that for years, but it’s only in the past month that I’ve realized I’m not broken or damaged beyond repair. That I may, in fact, be a better person, a better lover, partner, and friend, than I was capable of being before.

  This time, I heard the music the moment it started to play, and I’m so fucking grateful for it, even when I’m far away from the woman who’s shown me that love can be even better the second time around. Because I’m better. Grief broke me down to my most basic, useful, true pieces and rebuilt me as a man who is grateful, humble, and wiser than I was before.

  There are times now, when I’m doing some simple everyday thing like sitting down to dinner at a restaurant with Laura and Chloe—just a hole in the wall burger joint on a Tuesday night—and I’m flooded with a rush of emotion. It’s so intense it’s like I’m flying over the Rocky Mountains for the first time, seeing that untouched wilderness, so glorious and vast that even an atheist like me is convinced for a moment that God must exist.

  Some sort of God. In some form…

  How else do you explain the beauty of it all?

  And in those moments, when Chloe’s coloring the kid’s menu while she tells a story about a blood-sucking fish she’s been reading about, and Laura is smiling at my daughter in between making “I’m about to be sick” faces because Chloe has a gift for the gruesome, I want to fall to my knees and give thanks. Because my girls are every bit as stunning as the Rocky Mountains and the coastline at sunrise and every work of art hanging in every museum in every corner of the world.

  And I’m the lucky man who gets to love them.

  No matter how hard things have been, most of the time these days I feel like the luckiest bastard in the world. I can’t imagine life getting any better, except for maybe one thing…

  I’m thinking about that one thing a lot on the flight back to Portland, while Justin gives me shit about being his Secret Santa—“I know it’s you, man. I have a Spidey-sense when it comes to these things. So tell me what you got me. Is it a pony? I’ve really been wanting a pony. Or a hedgehog. For real, on the hedgehog. They’re so fucking cute. Did you get me a hedgehog, Brendan? Please say you got me a hedgehog.”—and in the train on the way to Laura’s parents’ place.

  “Have you
and Libby talked about moving in together?” I ask Justin, who looks as relieved to be home—and back in the same city as his girl—as I feel.

  “Yeah, but Libs likes to take things slower than I do.” He shrugs before adding, “And I’m sure the fact that I don’t have the best track record when it comes to live-in relationships has something to do with it. Sometimes dating someone who knows me as well as Libby does has its downside. I’ve told her a dozen times that she’s different, that we’re different, but it’s only been a couple months so…”

  I grunt. Laura and I have only been together a month, and we’re already making move-in plans. It doesn’t feel too soon to me, but Justin’s remark makes me wonder what Libby—or Mimi and Rick, Libby and Laura’s parents—are going to think about our January third co-habitation date.

  “But you’re in a different situation, man,” Justin says. “You’ve got a track record. And Laura isn’t nearly as impulsive as she seems at first, which I’m sure you’ve figured out by now. If you guys are both ready to take the next step, you should go for it. Though, of course, I have to repeat my warning that if you break her heart, team captain or not, I’ll be obliged to break your face.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” I smile. “You’re a good friend.”

  Justin snorts and clears his throat as he hunches lower in his seat. “Damn straight, I am. Wake me up when we get there. I’m going to sleep so the trip goes faster. The last twenty minutes before I get to see Libby are the worst. I have no fucking patience for waiting at this point, you know?”

  I do know. And when we finally step off the train to find Libby waiting by her mother’s SUV in a red coat and a rainbow-striped scarf long enough to wrap around her neck twice and still trail nearly to the ground, I don’t blame Justin for leaving me behind as he sprints across the parking lot to scoop Libby up in his arms.

  I would be doing the same thing if Laura were here.

  “Laura stayed behind to help Chloe wrap presents,” Libby explains as I reach the SUV and lean down for a hug. “They got a late start this morning and were stuck in traffic for an hour, so they needed extra time to get ready for Secret Santa. How was the trip home? Smooth flight?”

  Justin and I assure her that the flight was fine—long, but fine—and load our bags into the back. On the way to the Collins’ house, Justin and Libby keep up a steady stream of chatter, but I join in only when asked a direct question.

  I’m so past ready to see Laura that I’m beyond small talk.

  At the house, I jump out of the SUV before Libby shuts off the engine and am halfway to the front door—fuck my bag, I’ll get it later—when it opens and Chloe rushes out.

  “Daddy, you’re back! I missed you!” She runs down the steps, jumping into my arms.

  “I missed you, too.” I hug her tight, smiling over her shoulder at the sexy redhead coming down the steps. “And I missed you, beautiful.”

  “Missed you, too.” Laura moves closer, I reach for her with my free hand, and a second later I’ve got everything I’ll ever need in my arms.

  And it feels so right, so complete and good and true that I decide it’s not too soon or too much. I’ve picked exactly the perfect gift for this woman who’s made me the happiest person I’ve been in years, and I’m going to give it to her tonight.

  Chapter Twenty

  Laura

  I’m a fraud, a fake, an imposter posing as an adult who clearly has zero skills when it comes to parenting small people, and it won’t be long before Brendan figures it out and decides I’m not all that and a bag of chips.

  I’m not even a bag of chips all by itself.

  I’m a half-empty roll of crackers that has started to go stale.

  Five nights and six days of being the responsible adult in Chloe’s life has left me feeling like I’ve been ridden hard and hung up wet. And then I fell off the line where I was trying to get dry and was immediately pummeled by a herd of stampeding buffalo.

  Chloe is one of my favorite people. But Chloe, infected with pre-holiday-excitement and snow-day-inspired euphoria, is also a ball of constant motion. Gone is the girl who would sit and color for hours, and in her place is a pint-size powerhouse with roughly the energy contained in the sun.

  She’s a nuclear reaction in little girl form, and I’m suffering from radiation poisoning.

  “It gets easier,” my mother promised with a smile when I collapsed onto the couch after an hour of helping Chloe wrap packages while she jumped up every few seconds to change the Pandora station or run to the window to see if Brendan was here yet or dash into the kitchen to see if she could steal another cookie, even though I told her four times that there would be no more cookies until after we sat down for a late lunch at three.

  I’m sure Mom’s right, but in the meantime, I’m in way over my head and terrified that I’m going to let Brendan down.

  Even when he arrives and pulls me in for one of those perfect, warm, tingle-inducing Brendan hugs, the worry remains. I’m so happy to see him. The past week has felt like sipping air through a straw, and now finally, there’s all the oxygen I could ever need rushing into my lungs as he kisses me hello and whispers, “You look beautiful, Freckles.” But I’m also suffering from a raging case of imposter syndrome.

  Fake it until you make it, Collins.

  You can do this!

  You are not going to fuck up the best thing that’s ever happened to you because you’re not woman enough to swing childcare solo when Brendan is out of town. He’s been doing this alone for over three years. You can manage the usual two-night away-game absences and the occasional week-long road trip on your own.

  “Come on, Dad! Come see all the presents! And the cookies. There are four different kinds!” Chloe squirms out of Brendan’s arm and grabs his hand, towing him toward the door, but not before he manages to slap my ass twice in swift succession, making me yip in surprise.

  “I keep my promises, sexy,” he says, winking at me over his shoulder. “That’s for calling me an old man.”

  I narrow my eyes, but I’m grinning when I say, “It won’t be the last time, old man. In hockey years, you’re at least fifty.”

  Justin laughs as he and Libby pass me on the way up to the house. “Man, am I glad I’m not old yet.”

  “Neither is Brendan,” Libby says with an outraged huff. “Thirty-two is not old. You two are crazy.”

  I follow them up the path while Justin explains that the majority of forwards quit the game by thirty-two or thirty-three and drop like flies from thirty-four to forty. He’s right, but I don’t see Brendan quitting anytime soon. He’s playing too well, and it’s clear he loves the game.

  And I love him, so we’ll find a way to make it work, even when he has to be out of town a lot.

  It’s disgusting how much I love him, really. The way the world suddenly seems brighter because he’s close enough to touch. The way my heart starts beating faster and a giddy, goofy, magical feeling swells in my chest when I catch his eye across the room and he smiles that new smile of his. The free, easy, blissed and blessed smile that leaves no doubt that he’s every bit as crazy about me as I am about him.

  “I’m so happy for you.” Libby wraps her arm around my waist as we lean against the island in the kitchen, waiting for Justin to put the finishing touches on our glasses of eggnog. “He’s the sweetest man.”

  “He is,” I agree, grinning at Brendan, who is looking through Chloe’s drawings from the past week while she talks his ear off about how wonderful things are at her new school (which is really her old school; the transition back has gone so well, thank God) and makes a case for having her first ever sleepover.

  He is incredibly sweet. But he’s also sexy as hell, a fact that moves to the forefront of my awareness as I finish my whiskey-laced eggnog.

  “I’m hungry, Daniels,” I say, cornering him as he emerges from the bathroom half an hour later.

  “Your mom said lunch would be ready in less than an hour, right?” H
e draws me into his arms, pulling me against him as he slips around the corner into a quieter hallway, farther from the madness ensuing on the other side of the house.

  “But I’m not hungry for food,” I whisper into his ear, before nipping at his earlobe, grinning as his breath rushes out across my neck in response. “I need cock, Daniels. Your cock, to be specific.”

  “Yeah? How bad do you need it, Collins?” He palms my ass and squeezes tight, drawing me against the ridge of his erection until I can feel it pulsing against me through his jeans and mine.

  I moan softly as I rock my hips forward. “So bad. So, so bad. I can’t wait until we get home tonight. I’m suffering from extreme cock deprivation.”

  A concerned sound rumbles from deep in his throat. “Well, we can’t have that. I won’t let you suffer on my watch. Not if my cock and I can do something to make you feel better.”

  “I think you can.” I take his hand and draw him toward the stairs. “But we’ll have to be quick. Chloe is outside with Libby making a snowman, but I’m sure she’ll be in to get you as soon as they’re finished. We might only have ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”

  “Then we’d better hurry.” He moves quickly around me, leading the way up the stairs with a remarkably soft step for a large person. “If I give it my A game, I can make you come at least twice in that amount of time.”

  “You always give your A game, baby.” I close the door to my childhood bedroom behind me, giggling as I fall into his arms. His lips meet mine and his tongue sweeps out, saying a sweet, sexy hello to mine, and I melt the way I do every time we touch.