PUCKED

by Helena Hunting

  His damn grin appears. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Some girls in the bathroom were making reference to a hat trick.”

  Alex blanches. The guy beside him, who’s been relatively quiet up until now, chokes on his beer, and Kirk laughs. Alex swallows thickly, eyes on the table. A couple of the guys closest to us appear amused. The quiet one beside him shakes his head.

  “It didn’t sound like they were talking hockey scores. So I’m curious, what does that mean, exactly?”

  He doesn’t respond right away, giving Kirk the opportunity to cut in. “It’s when Waters fucks three different bunnies in one night.”

  The words are slow to filter. I turn to Alex to ascertain whether this can possibly be true. His silence is a foghorn blast of confirmation.

  I plaster on a smile. “Oh. Aren’t you special.”

  I don’t need Ipecac syrup to save me from the horror show this evening has become. My stomach rolls at this information. I’ve had sex with a super-whore. I push away from the table. I think I might actually be sick.

  ALEX

  Violet, who’s pale to begin with—unless we’re having sex, then she’s a crazy, sexy shade of red—is so white she looks like a ghost. She wobbles and grips the back of the chair.

  Following her lead, I stand, and grasp her elbow. “Why don’t you let me help you?”

  “Don’t touch me!” She smacks my hand away. “I don’t want your help.”

  Butterson puts his conversation with the bottle-blonde on hold. He takes in the scene, assessing it the same way he would a play. His eyes home in on my hand hovering near her arm. “Vi? Are you okay?”

  I don’t care if he’s suspicious. This is the first time I’ve seen Violet since I stopped by her house last week. Butterson fucked it up for me then like Kirk is doing now. I need to talk to her without an audience. There’s never been a Waters Hat Trick. It’s a farce—an unsubstantiated, overblown rumor—much like the majority of what the media says about me. None of what she’s seen and heard is accurate. Not really. If I don’t clear things up, it’s going to blow my chances with her—if it hasn’t already.

  Violet clears her throat and speaks carefully. “I don’t feel well. I may have contracted an airborne venereal disease being this close to Waters.”

  Some of the guys at the table laugh. Butterson’s going to kick my ass if he finds out what happened. That’s cool. I’ll take the beating. I did sleep with his stepsister. If I can set the record straight with Violet, it’ll be totally worth it.

  “If you’ll excuse me—” Violet shoves her way past me.

  Taking opportunity where I can get it, I follow, hoping to explain. Violet is much smaller, and fast, so she slips between people in a way I can’t without bowling them over.

  Butterson grabs my arm. “What the hell did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything. Kirk was running his mouth, and all of a sudden Violet said she didn’t feel good.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on or why you’re so damn interested in my sister, but you need to leave her the fuck alone.” Butterson goes after her.

  Violet’s halfway across the bar, heading for the door. If I’d pulled her aside earlier we could have avoided this whole thing.

  Darren hands me my jacket. “I’ll catch a ride with you.”

  I’m sure he’s figured it out what happened with Violet, even without me telling him.

  We head for the exit. “Do you think he knows?”

  “What are you mumbling about?”

  It’s too loud in the bar; Darren can’t hear me doing the whisper-out-of-the-side-of-my-mouth thing. Outside the bar, Butterson is on the sidewalk with his phone to his ear. “Don’t puke in the cab. Call me when you get home.”

  “Is everything okay?” Darren saves me from asking incriminating questions.

  “Fuck no. Everything’s not okay. What was Kirk saying to her, anyway?”

  “Spouting his usual crap. Nothing out of the ordinary,” Darren replies.

  “She puked on the sidewalk.” He motions to a puddle close to the bushes. “I had to pay the cab triple to take her home.”

  “One of us would’ve given her a lift.” I’m annoyed he sent her in a cab, alone.

  Butterson’s lip twitches. “I don’t trust you for shit. Don’t think I didn’t see you talking to her again tonight. You show up at her place last week and now this. Something is going on. Vi and I are tight, she talks to me. Don’t think I won’t find out what.”

  Hopefully they’re not that tight. “Don’t be such an asshole, Butterson. She’s not well, and you sent her home in a cab when you had other options. She’s puking. It’s not like either one of us is going to hit on her.”

  To avoid exacerbating the issue, I walk to my car on the other side of the lot. Darren climbs in the passenger seat and buckles up.

  “That was a shitshow.” I start the car.

  “I’ll say.”

  “Do you think I was too obvious?”

  “Do you need to ask? She’s been out with us twice and you’re all over her. Yeah, man, it’s pretty damn obvious. What the hell are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know. I’m so screwed.”

  “You did it to yourself when you got in her pants.” I turn right instead of left, in the opposite direction of my house. “Where are we going?”

  “I want to make sure Violet gets home okay.”

  “What are you, her stalker?”

  “I’m only going to drive by, not peek in her windows. Look, she won’t talk to me. I’ve never done this.”

  “Done what? Stalk a girl you’ve had sex with?”

  “I’m not stalking her,” I say under my breath. Any parallels to stalking exist only because I want to explain and she’s not giving me the chance. “I need your help. She won’t listen if I tell her the stories she’s heard are bullshit.”

  “How very astute of you.”

  I’ve never admitted to having sex with three different girls in one night. My agent taught me omission works to my advantage. Leave out the details, and people will infer whatever they want. What happened and what people think happened are two very separate things.

  The night in question took place a number of years ago. I threw a party after I moved into my house. It was wild, as hockey parties can be. I already had a rep for being a player, most of it unfounded. This event dropped me firmly into playboy status. At the time I welcomed it; not so much anymore.

  I could’ve easily debunked the myth, but early on in my career I faced a few challenges. My agent, Dick, thought it wouldn’t hurt to let people believe what they wanted. The playboy reputation, however unwarranted, stuck, and those kind of things are hard to erase.

  I park across the street from Violet’s house, careful to avoid street lamps. The only vehicle in the driveway is an old SUV. Exterior lights illuminate the path from the main house to the gated yard. The pool house is further back, beyond a cover of trees and bushes.

  “Don’t even think about getting out of the car, Waters.” Darren presses the button on the center console, locking the doors. “The last person she wants to see right now is you.”

  I give him a dirty look for being right. “She might—”

  “Punch you in the face?”

  I throw the car into gear, revving the engine as I pull away from the curb. I hate not getting what I want when I want it.

  All I want is to talk to Violet. I also maybe want to see her boobs again and have sex with her. Considering how things are going these days, that’s unlikely to happen.

  Darren lives in a gated neighborhood close to my house, so I drop him off.

  “Don’t do another drive-by tonight.” He shuts the door, gives me the hairy eyeball, and walks up his driveway.

  I ignore his suggestion. The main house is dark and the sports car is still missing, so I pull up close and cut the lights. A dim glow comes from inside the pool house. I pick up my phone, scan an email from Dick about a minor endorsement
campaign—nothing as promising as Sports Pro—and scroll through my contacts to her number.

  She doesn’t answer. I debate hanging up until her voice mail clicks over.

  “Hi. Hey. It’s Alex. You must not think very highly of me right now. If you give me a chance to explain I promise . . . I’m sorry, Violet. If you could call me when you’re not puking anymore, that’d be great.” It’s a lame message. I’ve already pressed end, so it’s sent.

  Violet doesn’t return my call. It’s not a surprise. She can ignore emails, texts, and voice mails, but there is one location I can catch her where she’ll have to hear me out: her work. She won’t be able to yell at me or slam a door in my face there without drawing a lot of attention. We’re leaving for a series of away games on Wednesday, and I want to see her before I go so I can fix things.

  Monday morning I get up early so I can catch her first thing. The girl at the information desk is incredibly helpful. Taking the elevator to the sixth floor, I follow the directions to Violet’s cubicle. It’s nice and public. It’s also empty.

  “Can I help you?”

  I turn to find a scrawny guy wearing a loud yellow paisley tie standing behind me.

  “I’m looking for Violet.”

  He blinks a few times, gaping. “Alex Waters.”

  “That would be me.”

  His hand shoots out, so I take it. “Jimmy Fredricks. You’re my idol.”

  “Thanks, Jimmy. Now about Violet?”

  He shakes his head. “Of course, Mr. Waters. She’s down the hall in the conference room.”

  “Is she in a meeting?”

  “Yes. No. She will be. It doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. I’ll take you there, immediately. Is she expecting you?”

  “It’s more of a surprise.”

  “Oh. Right. Of course. Follow me.”

  Jimmy leads me down the hall to the conference room. Before he can announce my arrival, I slip past him, winking as I soundlessly close the door. Violet is facing the table, so she hasn’t noticed me yet, which is precisely the point to my silent entrance. I take a moment to appreciate her attire. She’s wearing dark gray dress pants and a creamy top. The material has a slight sheen to it. Her auburn hair is loose and resting in waves on her shoulders. Her shoes are red with little heels. It’s sexy, yet professional.

  I flip the lock, trapping Violet in the room with me. I take a moment to come to terms with my stalkerish behavior, rationalizing it with my need to defend my shit reputation.

  My dick gets excited about being alone in a private room with her. There’s only a sliver of opaque window to the right of the door, leaving most of the room obscured from view. Violet doesn’t want to make out with me, although my dick seems unaware. I’m also allowing myself to indulge in the conference table sex fantasy a little. Or a lot.

  First, I have to get her to talk to me again—and possibly go out on a date prior to such events. Violet turns as I adjust myself. She lets out a gasping shriek.

  Her hand flutters delicately to her throat. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to explain—”

  She stalks over and shoves her finger into my chest. “Explain what exactly?” She uses one of those angry whispers despite the door being closed.

  “The Hat Trick. The story isn’t true.” She’s still digging her nail into my chest. The contact is nice even if it’s aggressive. Although there’s a chance it may be a precursor to some real violence.

  “I saw the interview you did. It’s on YouTube.”

  “Which one?”

  She glowers. “Which one do you think?”

  I try not to react. I know the interview she’s talking about. It’s atrocious. In fact, it shot a number of endorsement opportunities—unless I wanted the genital herpes campaigns. The trashy gossip spotlight did nothing good for my career. “I never admit to having sex with three women in one night.” I didn’t contest the assumption, which is as good as confirming it in most people’s eyes.

  “Like hell you didn’t.” Violet stomps to the laptop.

  It takes her three seconds to pull up the interview and another twenty to find the Hat Trick part. She must have watched it more than once. I can’t decide if this is a good or a bad thing. It means she’s been thinking about me, but probably not in the way I’ve been thinking about her.

  This interview went live a few weeks after the incident took place. I’d grown accustomed to omitting details, especially where my sex life was concerned. At first, the way the media misconstrued everything was funny. After a while, I became resigned to the annoyance. Now I wish I’d handled things differently.

  “Right here.” She jabs at the screen.

  “You should listen again.” I know exactly what I said, since it’s bitten me in the ass so many times.

  Violet sneers. It’s sexy-scary. “All righty, then.”

  Interviewer: “There’s been a lot of talk regarding your sexual exploits recently. I’m wondering if you’d like to elaborate on the Waters Hat Trick for us.”

  I can feel Violet’s angry glare.

  Me: “I’m not really a kiss-and-tell kind of guy.”

  Interviewer: “Rumor has it some of the women you’ve been with aren’t so tight lipped. I’ve heard the hat trick actually has nothing to do with your skills on the ice, would that be accurate?”

  Violet stares at the wall and fidgets with the collar of her shirt. I want to do the same. The interview was horrifically invasive. I was appalled by the questions and that Dick had approved them.

  Me: “That’s quite the rumor.”

  Interviewer: “Would you like to substantiate it? I’m sure your female fans out there would like to know.”

  Me: “Like I said. I don’t kiss and tell.”

  Violet hits pause. “Right there.” Despite her triumph, I can see it’s all bravado.

  “That’s not an admission of anything.”

  “It’s certainly not a denial.” She crosses her arms over her chest. No one really challenges me unless I’m on the ice. It makes me want to follow through on the conference table fantasy, but the interview is ruining my chances of that ever happening.

  “It’s an old interview.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? You made no attempt to correct them if they were wrong, which is hard to believe.”

  “The media likes to twist things around.”

  “Do they? You’re the one who showed up at my hotel room in the middle of the night so we could ‘hang out.’ You’re the one with the sleeve of damn condoms at the ready. Judging from all the shit floating around out there on the Internet, I don’t think the media is far off the mark.” She flails, pointing at the screen, then me, and then the screen again.

  “I’m trying to explain—”

  “Why bother? I don’t get it. I’m just another woman you’ve stuck your monster cock in. I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t need to account for where else you’ve put it.”

  Her eyes are shiny, the way my sister’s get when she’s on the verge of tears. Oh shit. What if I make her cry?

  “I want a chance to defend myself before you lump me in with all the other assholes out there.”

  “You’ve done a pretty good job all on your own.”

  The door rattles, followed by a soft knock. “Violet?” It’s a deep male voice. I don’t like it.

  Violet’s relief isn’t what I want to see. She tries to sidestep me, but I’m bigger, faster. A decade of figure skating helps. Violet trips over my foot, giving me the perfect excuse to touch her.

  It happens in one of those slow motion sequences. As she falls, I wrap my arm around her waist and spin her body toward me, righting her. She ends up pressed against me, her face mashed into my chest. She’s so warm, and small, and soft in all the right places. She smells fantastic—like fabric softener and fresh shampoo. She lets out the tiniest whimper, gripping my shoulders rather than pushing away. Of course, the guy on the other side of the door ruins the
moment by knocking again rather vigorously.

  “I-I need to let Dean in,” she says softly, her eyes fixed on my chin.

  “I want to ask one thing first.” I hold her tightly, battling an inconvenient hard-on.

  “I need to . . .” Her fingernails dig in harder, and I feel the slight shift of her hips. That last part may be wishful thinking.

  “Have coffee with me. Or tea or beer, whatever you want to drink. We can even go for chocolate milk. I just want to talk.”

  She peers up at me, her chest brushing against my ribs. I remember with unparalleled clarity what her nipples feel like in my mouth. I’m getting harder by the second. If she feels it, I’m screwed. Letting her go isn’t an option until she agrees to go out with me. It’s a conundrum.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to have a drink with me?”

  “Because I like you. Because you’re fun. Because I want to get to know you better. Because I want you to see for yourself I’m not the kind of guy you think I am.”

  Her silence lasts a long time. “One drink.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nods.

  “Are you free this afternoon?” I don’t want to give her a chance to change her mind.

  “I should be done at five today.”

  “I could take you for dinner—”

  “No meals. Only one drink.” Her grip on my shirt loosens, and her fingers slide down my arms. “There’s a coffee shop across the street. I’ll meet you there.”

  Dean knocks again. I unlock the door, open it two inches, and hold up a finger while giving him my fuck-off-or-I’ll-beat-you-with-my-hockey-stick look. Then I close it again and turn to Violet.

  “You’re not going to ditch me, are you?”

  “I don’t see the point. You’ll probably break into my house and I’ll find you hiding in my closet or under my bed if I do,” she says dryly, eyebrow raised as if challenging me to disagree.

  “I don’t think I’d go that far.” Even I have my boundaries in this stalking business.

  “You’ve locked me in a conference room with you. Who knows your limits?”

  Before Dean has a coronary, I flip the lock and open the door again. He glances between me and Violet.