PUCKED

by Helena Hunting

  Alex shrugs out of his jacket. His short-sleeved T-shirt pulls tight across his chest and hugs his perfectly chiseled arms. He’s so built it’s disgusting. I might whistle-breathe as I openly admire his body.

  “You look hot.” Alex’s eyes go wide. “Shit, sorry. Please don’t ask me to leave.”

  I laugh; we’re two peas in a pod with our awkwardness. “Can I get you something to drink? I have beer, water, milk, and orange juice.”

  “A beer would be great.”

  I grab two bottles from the fridge, pop the caps, pass him one, and then motion for him to follow me to the living room. Alex sits in the middle of the couch, forcing me into close proximity. Couches aren’t safe where he’s concerned. It’s where we went from talking to making out to semi-naked. I still want to straddle him and grind all up on his shit.

  “You’re listening to The Hip.” His scruffy smile is adorable.

  It takes me a few seconds to clue into the music reference. “Actually I found a dedicated station. Crazy, right?” I’m so nervous, like a high schooler with a crush. On a guy with a dick the size of Canada.

  “I listen to it all the time. I’ve seen The Hip in concert thirty-seven times,” Alex says proudly.

  “Thirty-seven times? You must really love them.”

  He nods as if it’s normal to see the same band so many times. His gaze sweeps over me. “No Spiderman pajamas tonight?”

  “They’re in the wash.”

  “Too bad. I liked them a lot.” He’s looking at my chest again. “I like this, too.”

  “You liked getting me out of them.” I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling.

  I shouldn’t be flirting with him after all the media crap I’ve seen, but he’s sitting in my living room, smelling awesome, looking hot, and my beaver is excited.

  His tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip. The split has healed. “I liked that part, too.”

  Silence stretches between us as memories of getting naked with Alex resurface. Being alone with him is unwise. My beaver is far too interested in a repeat of those events. In the past week, I’ve received more gifts from him than from all my previous boyfriends combined. Alex has money to throw around, so maybe it’s typical behavior. I’d be less conflicted if the tabloids didn’t paint him in such an unfavorable light.

  “Is that why you came by?” I hope it’s not the only reason. I don’t think I’m cut out for casual sex.

  “To get you out of your clothes? No.” He distracts me with his dimples. “Mostly I wanted an excuse to see you.”

  “Oh. Well that’s . . . good.”

  “I thought I was making it obvious.”

  Alex does the thing guys do when they’re getting ready to make a move. His eyes drop to my mouth, and he leans in. Then he tucks a few errant strands of hair behind my ear. My hands seem to have a mind of their own. They move along his arms, feeling up his biceps.

  I forget my inner turmoil and make it clear I’m okay with more contact by climbing into his lap. His calloused fingers curl around the nape of my neck, and our lips connect. I love his mouth.

  His monster of an erection nestles between my legs, and dear Lord, does it ever feel awesome. It could bust a zipper it’s so huge. I imagine it with little fists, punching its way out, and giggle.

  Alex bites my lip. “Are you laughing?”

  “No.” I stifle a chuckle.

  “No?” His lips travel up the side of my jaw, his soft beard tickling my skin. He grips my ass as he lifts his hips. He’s so hard. Everywhere.

  “What’s so funny?”

  I moan, all loud and desperate. I’m so horny; it’s not funny at all. I wrap around him koala style, pressing closer. Sneaking a hand between us I palm him through his pants, excited by the low, primal sound Alex makes. I drag the fly down, ready to slide a finger—or my whole hand—into the opening.

  While I’m busy working my way into his boxers, Alex’s palm moves under my shirt. I’m so glad I ditched my bra.

  I freeze at a sudden knock. Only Buck sounds as if he’s sledgehammering through the door. With reluctance, I break the kiss. “Go away. I’m watching TV naked!”

  Alex opens his mouth to speak, his hand still on my boob. I shush him with a palm over his mouth.

  “Bullshit!” Buck yells. “That’s weird even for you, Vi. Open the door. I forgot my wallet in your bathroom.”

  “You need to hide!” I jump out of Alex’s lap and pull on his arm, but he doesn’t budge.

  He frowns. “My car’s in the driveway.”

  “Buck’s not observant enough to notice.”

  To prove me wrong, from the other side of the door, Buck asks, “Whose car is parked behind your shitbox, anyway?”

  Alex arches his split brow. Goddamn him and his sexy face.

  “Shitballs! What are we going to do?” I whisper in panic.

  “Don’t worry. I can handle it.” Alex stands, rearranges his trouser monster, zips his fly, and runs a hand through his hair. He’s totally calm.

  “I need to cover these.” I motion to my rock hard nipples.

  “Probably a good idea.” He caresses one through my shirt with his knuckle.

  “Hey!” I bat his hand away, nab my hoodie from the arm of the couch and yank it on. Rushing to the door, I adjust my glasses and take a deep breath. I’m so screwed. Buck is going to find out I slept with Alex, and they’ll have a throw down in my living room. Furniture will be ruined. At least most of it is owned by my parents, not me.

  I open the door wide; no point hiding the six-foot-two, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound hockey player standing behind me. I prop a hand on my hip and sneer. “Leave your cock ring behind?”

  “Ha-ha. I don’t need that shit. My wallet’s in your bathroom. Did Charlene get a new car?” Buck looks past me, his expression changing from amusement to confusion. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, man. I didn’t get Kirk’s message until a few seconds ago. I thought I was supposed to pick you up.” Alex’s smile is easy. “I figured while I was here, I could ask Sidney about the kid he’s been scouting. Kill two birds.”

  For a second, I worry Buck won’t buy it. Thankfully, he isn’t the brightest bulb in the box. “You mean the Evans kid? The one breaking all the records?”

  Alex nods. “He’s golden. He’ll be drafted this year for sure.”

  “For real. I think my dad’s going to see him play tomorrow night.”

  “I’ll get your wallet,” I mutter since I’m not part of their conversation and head for the bathroom. My heart’s thundering with adrenaline after almost being caught by Buck. It’s also occurred to me that Alex is part of the group for which Buck called his bunnies.

  The wallet sits on top of the toilet tank. To avoid direct contact, I use a tissue to handle it. I don’t want to touch anything residing in the proximity of Buck’s ass.

  When I return to the living room the topic has changed significantly. Alex’s back is to me, and Buck is laughing. “This girl is pretty much up for anything, so I’m hoping her friends are, too.”

  Neither of them has noticed me. I hold my breath, waiting for Alex’s response.

  His laugh is hard, his tone cocky. “Gotta love the wild ones, eh? Especially when they come back for more.”

  I want to vomit. We’ve been making out, and he’s discussing Buck’s “regulars.” I’m probably a stop on the way to the next bunny.

  I hold up Buck’s wallet. “Forget anything else? Your biohazard suit?”

  Alex spins around. I’m sure my expression tells him how much I’ve overheard. I can’t even look at him.

  Buck smiles widely, expecting the insult. I wait for his not-so-witty retort, but he must have been waiting for a chance to use this one because he doesn’t even hesitate.

  “You’re just jealous, Vi. You’re as dry as the desert. You might as well check yourself into a convent for all the action you get.”

  It isn’t a half-bad comeback. Unfortunately, he’s doled
it out in front of Alex, who may be looking to add me to his own list of “regulars.”

  “Fuck you, slut-bag yeti!” I throw his wallet at his head and miss. It bonks Alex in the shoulder instead. He snatches it from the air. “I hope you get crabs and you scratch your dick off! Now get out, both of you. I have things to do, and your whoriness is stinking up my living room.” I spin on my heel and stalk off to my bedroom.

  “It was a joke, Vi!” Buck calls after me.

  I slam my door and lock it. Cranking the volume on my stereo, I blast the music, but it’s The Tragically Hip, so it’s not angry or aggressive enough. I choose an album with lots of heavy guitar riffs and loud drums. Stomping across my room, I punch the Waters beaver, which launches it into the wall. Then I throw myself onto my bed and scream into my pillow like a pissy preteen. I feel better, regardless of how juvenile I am.

  Two minutes later an insistent knocking begins. I scream, “Fuck off!” but it’s Buck and he’s too dense to leave me alone.

  I throw open the door. “Why are you here? Don’t you have a hooker to fuck?”

  He kicks at the door jamb, shoulders slumped. “I don’t pay for sex.”

  I don’t care if I’ve hurt his feelings. I’m so pissed at myself, and Buck, and Alex for my current predicament. I’m angry and more confused than I was before Alex showed up at my door. He was so sweet up until now and contrary to the media portrayal of him. Maybe that’s his thing. Maybe he gets off on messing with women.

  “Would you like me to throw confetti for you?” Buck holds the door open. I lean against it and get nowhere. I hate Buck and his huge hairy arms and bulging muscles.

  “I think Waters likes you.”

  A useless blossom of hope forms in my chest. I tromp on it with tabloid images of other girls wrapped around Alex and his uncensored comment to Buck.

  “I’m not interested in your disgusting friends.” Not anymore, anyway. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone. I have work to do.” I push on the door. This time he lets go and shouts when it hits him in the face.

  As soon as Buck leaves, Alex calls me repeatedly. He must have me on redial. Annoyed, I turn off the phone and toss it on my bed. I’m not interested in anything Alex has to say.

  Over the next several days, I avoid all contact with Alex. I make plans in the evenings and delete voice mails without listening and texts and emails without reading. I don’t empty my email trash, though. My lack of action is a problem because it means I can read them if I want to.

  The Hawks are playing a home game tonight. I’ve tried everything in my power to get out of going. Okay, I’m lying. I said I didn’t want to go. Buck and my mom pull the puppy dog and giant Sasquatch guilt trip, so I cave. It didn’t take long.

  I put real effort into getting ready—something I don’t normally do. I don my rattiest sweats and my most stained hoodie. My mom refuses to let me get in the car.

  “I told you I feel like crap. If I have to go, I want to be comfortable.”

  “I don’t care if you have Ebola. You’re not going to the game in this.” She gestures to my outfit.

  “Harsh. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.”

  “Not if you’re homeless.” She grabs my arm and marches me into the pool house. Then she holds me at flat-iron point until I put on makeup and change into something nice. My mom is well aware of all the gifts I’ve received from Alex. She’s perceptive enough to surmise this has to do with him.

  I consider asking Sidney to stop at the pharmacy on the way to the game so I can buy Ipecac syrup as an emergency backup. With the way my stomach is rolling, I doubt I’ll need it.

  Our seats are close to the ice again, only a couple of rows away from the Hawks’ bench. I can’t decide if I’m excited or not. Thankfully, beer helps calm the nerves. Puck bunnies cluck like chickens behind us, but they’re difficult to hear with my mom yapping away beside me. She insists Alex is a lovely young man and informs me I shouldn’t believe the tabloids because they’re full of crap. I snort into my beer and remind her everything they say about Buck is true. This shuts her up.

  The butterflies in my stomach grow exponentially when the Hawks take the ice. I slouch in my seat as Alex sits on the bench, his face set in a scowl. It’s a challenge to pay attention to the game while trying not to stare at him. He’s shaved since I saw him last, and he doesn’t look so beat up. My beaver drools in my underwear.

  Some drama has taken place while I’ve been staring; everyone in the arena is on their feet, people either cheering or yelling. The whistle blows, and Alex jumps the boards. Moving with fierce grace, he snatches the puck from his opponent, pivots, and barrels across the ice.

  A powdery cloud follows Alex as he comes to an abrupt stop. He raises his stick and brings it through with swift surety. Everything slows as the puck hurtles toward the goalie. Breath frozen in my lungs, I grip the armrests, waiting. Like every other die-hard fan, I shoot out of my seat, screaming enthusiastically as the puck races past the goalie into the net. Alex scores an awful lot of goals.

  The game is full of action. At one point the opposition scores, briefly tying it up. The Hawks take the lead again at the end of the second period with another incredible goal. This time, Alex manages to stay out of the time-out box and the Hawks take the win.

  I’m an absolute mess of nerves as we make our way out of the arena to the car. It takes forever to get to the bar, thanks to celebrating Hawks fans. By the time we arrive, my bladder is on the verge of exploding. I hightail it to the bathroom and get stuck in the unfortunate line of women who need to use the facilities as well.

  Three underdressed puck bunnies primp in front of the mirrors, chatting away while I unleash Niagara Falls. How do I know they’re puck bunnies? They’re talking about the Hawks and who they’d do. One of them mentions Alex. I tense, halting the pee stream.

  I hear the term hat trick again. Maybe they determine who they want to score based on the team members’ stats. The hand dryer cuts off the puck bunny conversation. As soon as I’m done, I button my pants and I burst out of the stall so I can eavesdrop again.

  “Well, I’d rather be first in line than third. Who wouldn’t want to be first?” the fake blonde asks. There’s a skunk stripe of brown at her roots. She fluffs it out and pouts at her reflection.

  The brunette beside her shimmies her head from side to side. “Whatever. First, second, third—if I got to handle Alex Waters’ stick, I wouldn’t care where I was in line.” Her eyes slide my way and stay fixed on my face.

  “Oh my God! I recognize you. Aren’t you the one who was, like, making out with Alex Waters, like, three weeks ago?” she screeches.

  I never expected anyone to recognize me from those pictures. I assumed the focus was on my tongue in his mouth. Horrified by what I’ve overheard, I go with denial. “I must be that girl’s doppelganger ’cause you’re not the first person to ask.” I lower my voice. “I read somewhere she said he was a shitty kisser.”

  If I’m going to lie, I might as well make it a good one.

  Her eyes widen. “Really?”

  “And he’s got a small—” I point to my crotch.

  “No!” Her jaw drops, her expression one of dismay.

  “That’s the rumor.”

  I wipe my hand on my pants in lieu of waiting for the hand dryer and leave the bunnies to their gossiping. What I’ve done is shamefully childish and vindictive, but I’m okay with it.

  On my way to the bar I run into one of Alex’s teammates. I don’t remember him even if he remembers me.

  “Hey, aren’t you Butterson’s sister?”

  “Stepsister, but yeah.” I scan the crowd, searching for Sidney or Buck. They should be easy to spot, both being well over six feet.

  “I’m Kirk. I play defense for the Hawks. You’re named after a flower or something, right?” The way he looks at me is discomfiting.

  “It’s Violet.”

  “Right. You gonna come hang with us?”
<
br />   “I need to make a quick call first.” I hold up my phone as an excuse to get away from this guy. He’s got to be a good ten years older than me, and he’s smarmy.

  “I’ll save you a seat. Maybe we can get to know each other better.”

  “Uh, maybe.” I roll my eyes as he saunters away. I can’t believe women fall for such crap, but then again, look at what happened with Alex. After overhearing the bathroom gossip, all I want is to go home.

  I wait until Kirk the Jerk disappears into the crowd before I put my phone away and resume my search for Buck. A bouncer puts a hand up to stop me, controlling the flow of traffic into the section the Hawks occupy.

  “She’s with me.” Alex’s palm comes to rest on the small of my back as we move forward. His voice is low, burning like DEET over my skin. “I want to talk to you.”

  All my witty retorts stick in my throat. There’s no escape; he’s right behind me, allowing no space.

  In full bullshit-gentleman style, he leads me to the table, pulls out a chair, and takes the seat to my right.

  My new buddy Kirk is on the opposite side of the table, his arm hanging casually across an open seat. “Hey, stepsister. I saved you a chair.”

  Alex shoots him a look. “She’s good where she is.”

  A leer distorts Kirk’s smile. I can see a space where a tooth should be. “Does Butterson know you’re—” A waitress with excessive cleavage stops to take his order, distracting him.

  Alex seems relieved. I say nothing. Buck’s at the other end of the table, too busy chatting up a puck bunny to notice my arrival. The way these women throw themselves at these guys is embarrassing. What’s worse is knowing I, too, have fallen prey to the charms of a hockey player more than once.

  Alex orders me a drink from the boobalicious waitress. I let him because I’ll need the booze if I have to sit next to him. He tries to engage me in conversation, but it’s loud and I’m too distracted for small talk.

  Eventually I can’t contain myself any longer. I want him to refute what I heard in the women’s restroom. “So what’s with all the talk about you being magical?”