Randy knocks on the door. “Butterson, we gotta go unless you wanna be there all day.”
“Two minutes!” I shout back.
Then I put my mouth on her and erase the sad look from her face, replacing it with another orgasm.
***
The fundraiser is about half an hour away. We don’t take the rental, which would be lame. Instead we borrow one of Waters’ cars. He has two in the garage. One’s a truck with sweet rims. The other is an old-school Iroc Z with an eagle painted on the hood.
“Waters is a weirdo, isn’t he?” Randy eyes our ride.
“He’s marrying my sister, so yup.”
“Not that I’m complaining.” He slides into the red-leather interior. The whole thing has been redesigned so the inside looks like a racecar.
I don’t expect we’ll be gone too long. All we need to do is write a check, get the car washed, schmooze with the host, and I can get back to Sunny. We’ve only got another night or two before Randy goes back to Chicago. I don’t have to get back right away, but Sunny has work, and that means going back to Guelph. I’ll bite the bullet and stay a couple extra days there, even if it means awkward dad conversations and sleeping in the spare room.
As soon as we pull out of the driveway, I start with the questions. “So? What’s the deal?”
“Huh?” Randy’s on his phone, texting. He pauses and sniffs. He lifts the bottom of his shirt to his nose and follows with his fingers. “What’s that smell?”
“Bunny repellent.”
“Say what now?” He arches a brow.
I repeat myself, but don’t elaborate.
“It smells a lot like pussy.” He cracks a window and goes back to texting.
“Speaking of, what happened with Lily?”
She came through the kitchen to get coffee while I was cutting peaches for Sunny and me. She was wearing Randy’s T-shirt. She was also friendly. It was very un-Lily.
“We had fun. Several times.” He doesn’t pause his texting. “I’m hoping to have even more fun tonight.”
“Oh, yeah?” I try to see what’s on his screen, but it’s impossible to read and drive at the same time. “Who’re you texting?”
“No one.”
“Please tell me you don’t have plans to meet up with a bunny this afternoon?” I don’t need more drama. I’ve already had enough over the past week.
“No, man. I’m not a total asshole.” He sends one more message and pockets his phone. About two miles down the road from Waters’ cottage, I spot a camping trailer parked halfway in the bushes. I slow down.
“Is that Bushman and Benji?”
Randy frowns as we pass. “Maybe? It’s hard to tell.”
There’s a car behind us, so I speed up again. “If it’s still there on the way back, I’m definitely stopping. Those guys are as persistent as the stalker bunnies.”
“No kidding. That dickhead kept texting Lily all night. Eventually I made her shut off her phone, otherwise I would’ve thrown it out the damn window. Or gone to find the fucker and broken all his cocksucking fingers.”
He flips through radio stations and taps his fingers on his knee.
“So?”
He stops fidgeting to look at me. “So what?”
“That’s all I’m gonna get? You had fun.”
“Don’t forget the several times part.”
“I’m guessing I was wrong about the vagina teeth if you managed to get in there more than once.”
“Vagina teeth?”
“Yeah. I figured she’s kinda snarly, so maybe her vagina is, too.”
Randy shakes his head. “Butterson, sometimes your brain is a fucked up place to be.”
He flips down the visor and checks his reflection in the mirror, smoothing out the short ponytail he’s sporting. He’s joined the man-bun fad. I think he looks like a douche, but the ladies seem to like it.
“She wasn’t snarly with me at all.”
“That’s because you were boning her.”
“Lily’s actually a lotta fun.” His mouth quirks up in a private grin. He flips the visor back up. “She has a cousin who was at Camp Beaver Woods this past week.”
“With us?”
“Yup.”
“No shit.”
“She said he’s been playing hockey since he could hold a stick, but her aunt and uncle have, like, six kids, and they can’t afford all the lessons, or whatever. Don’t tell her I told you, though. I think he might’ve been one of the kids you helped subsidize.”
“Huh.”
“I don’t think she hates you as much as you think.” His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he checks the message, ending the conversation.
I try to decide if Lily has been different with me since we arrived yesterday, but I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell with all the Benji BS and Sunny’s poison ivy.
The fundraiser takes place at a cottage on top of a hill. The driveway curves around a rocky bend, making the actual structure impossible to see. Cars snake upward in a slow line—luxury rides interspersed with moderately expensive vehicles. Based on the sheer number of cars, we’ll be sitting here for a while. It’s like a small version of a car show. The rental would’ve sucked compared to Waters’ car.
Randy pulls his phone out and sends a few more messages while we wait, so I do the same, including a warning to Sunny that we saw a camping trailer parked a couple miles down the road from the cottage.
Sunny messages back. They’re hard to decipher without listening to them, but the last one has a heart and a kissy lips emoticon, which is cool.
Randy passes over his phone with our invitation to the suits manning the gates. The dude passes me a clipboard with a bunch of forms to sign. I pass it to Randy to scan, otherwise we’ll hold up the line.
“It’s a bunch of waivers for photos. The usual.” He passes it back to me, I sign, and we move forward.
As soon as we round the bend, the cottage comes into view. It makes Alex’s pad look like a dump, and that’s saying something. Three stories of glass, wood, and stone are built into the side of a steep, rocky incline. The view is spectacular. The top floor is the only one accessible from the driveway. I’d love to appreciate the architecture more, but I suddenly realize I’m in trouble. Cars worth a quarter million dollars and up line the edges of the driveway. Two Ferraris—one red, one yellow, a black Mercedes, and an orange Lambo are among the nicest.
I’m a guy. I have a hard-on for cars. I don’t own anything quite so insanely expensive, only because Violet won’t let me. The money’s there, but she wants me to wait a few years before I do something stupid with it—like throw it away on a car I’ll never fit in comfortably.
But the cars aren’t where the trouble is. It’s what’s happening with the cars: bikini models drape themselves over the hoods, or the owners who stand with them, holding fake checks that represent donations. I can’t read the amounts from where I am, but based on the cars, they’ve gotta be significant.
One of the models saunters up to the hood of our car, a wet, soapy sponge in one hand, a half-full bucket of water in the other.
Randy and I look at each other. “Dude.”
I look anywhere but the hood of the car. “Is she topless?”
He glances back at the model. “It sure looks that way.” She dips her sponge into the bucket, then rubs it over her already soapy chest.
“We’re so fucked.”
Randy holds a fake smile as he gives the girl a thumbs up. “Maybe we should write a check and leave.”
I know things are bad if Randy’s making that suggestion. A photographer chases around after the model, snapping pictures. She rounds the passenger side, then stretches out over the hood. Holding the sponge above her chest, she squeezes, releasing a white, foamy spray that bounces off her boobs and lands on the hood and windshield. Then she rubs her chest all over the eagle. It’s a scene right out of a B-rated movie.
“I’m not so sure your bunny repellent is going to work,” Randy s
ays as she comes around to my side of the car. She drops the sponge in the bucket and takes a towel from one of the men lining the driveway. Then she picks up a clipboard and a pen and struts over to my window.
I try not to look below her neck. It’s impossible. I’m relieved to find her bikini top is flesh-colored and blends in with her skin. Even after our talk yesterday and all the making up we’ve done, I don’t think Sunny would be cool with pictures of me and a topless model, despite it being a charity event.
The model leans on the side of the car. “Fun ride, boys! You can pull into that spot right there. Fill out this form with your donation amount, and we’ll get you set up so the girls can start washing. You’ve already signed the photo release form?”
“Yup. We’re all set.” I make sure I hold eye contact and don’t look down again.
She guides my car into a spot like she’s getting ready for a drag race. Her hair’s in a swishy ponytail.
“Did you know it was gonna be models?”
“Well, yeah, but I didn’t think it was gonna be like this.” Randy runs an anxious hand through his hair, messing with his dumb ponytail stub.
“What are you all worried about?”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot of girls.”
“This is usually your thing! No one said you had to fuck any of them.”
“Screw you, Miller. That’s not what I mean. It’s not gonna look good.”
“No shit.”
Now that we’re in, there doesn’t seem to be any way to get out, based on the insane line up of cars filtering in behind us. I assumed because it was a cause I could get behind, the event would be all civilized. I should’ve known better.
It’s like the set of a fucked up porno. The topless-looking models rub down the cars with soapy sponges, then rub their girls on the car so their boobs are covered in foam while professional photographers take their pictures. Apparently, a magazine is shooting their annual bikini model edition as part of the event. That would’ve been good to know. I scribble my way through another release and the donation form, while Randy does the same. I’m distracted by the way girls are hanging off the other donors while photographers snap pictures.
Randy leans over and checks out my papers while I flip to make sure I’ve signed in all the right places. “Miller, that’s—”
Another model sticks her head in the window. “All set?”
“Good to go.” I hand over my forms and pass her his as well.
“It’s good; don’t worry about it,” I tell Randy, who looks seriously stressed.
The model checks our information and gives us a megawatt smile. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.” I want to text Sunny and let her know I’m stuck and it’s not what it looks like, but I don’t have a chance. Models swarm the car. They hold open the doors; Randy and I have no choice but to get out. One of the girls passes us fake checks with our donation amounts on them. They prod Randy into a picture with me.
“Dude,” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth. “I would’ve bumped my donation amount if I’d known you were throwing in five grand.”
I meant to donate two. “Sorry, man. I flipped the numbers,” I whisper back.
Two other models—these ones are actually wearing normal bikini tops and daisy dukes—flank us, and two more drop into odd, contortion-y poses in front of us. The girls on either side put their hands on our shoulders and lean in, making kissy lips. I turn toward the model with the intention of protesting. Her lips are hot pink and half an inch away from mine—thanks to her monster heels—which is the exact moment the flash goes off. I’ve been here for less than five minutes, and already I’m screwed.
As soon as they’re done, I try to get my phone out of my pocket so I can warn Sunny, but the girls take our arms and usher us toward the house. I want to shake the bikini-model entourage, but I don’t want to be rude or attract any more attention. I let them guide me around the back of the mansion and up stone steps to a massive deck. It drops in tiers to a stone surround and an Olympic-sized pool. I’m not sure what the deal with the pool is since there’s a lake below us. It’s seems wasteful and excessive. Sunny wouldn’t approve.
Music blasts from the speakers, and more bikini-clad models with trays of drinks and appetizers strut around, posing every time they stop to offer a snack. I decline the booze. The whole scenario is exactly what I promised Sunny I would avoid. Unintentionally, Randy has screwed me again.
But I’m here, so I don’t mess around. I seek out the host, Gene. My intention is to chat with him about the business side of setting up a fundraiser—with less partial nudity—and make a plan to talk more at a later date, when he’s not hosting a party with hundreds of people. Then I need to find Randy, who’s nowhere to be seen, so we can get back to the cottage, and I can get back to Sunny.
I manage to find Gene and secure an introduction. He’s a big hockey fan, so we end up talking about the coming season and training for a bit. Then I get sucked into an hour-long conversation about endorsements, career longevity, and philanthropic pursuits. He’s business savvy. Apparently he knows all about my involvement with the summer camps, including the one I left yesterday. The interview I gave has already been printed in the local paper. It’s sitting on the coffee table in his living room, open to a picture of me with Michael and his family.
My phone buzzes in my pocket more than once while we’re talking. I can’t excuse myself, knowing this is an opportunity I’m not going to get again. After a while, Gene and I exchange contact information, which is exactly what I’d hoped would happen.
I’m searching for a way to end the conversation—dude is seriously chatty—when Randy finally shows up. He’s wearing a strange, fake-looking smile. Gene gives him one of those back-pat hugs and invites us to stay for dinner.
“We’d love to, but we’ve got to get back. Butterson’s girlfriend’s sick.” Randy’s still wearing that messed-up smile.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
I take the cue and stand. “She’ll be okay. I just don’t want to be gone too long.”
Gene nods and Randy ushers me out of the house, but it’s another half hour before we get back to the car with all the handshakes and conversations we’re forced into on the way.
“We gotta get back to the cottage now,” Randy says as he slides into the passenger seat.
I check my messages. I have tons of texts from Sunny and several from Violet. Reading them all is going to take forever. Based on Randy’s panicked expression, I shouldn’t be wasting time. I toss him my phone. “What’s going on? I need you to read those to me.”
“Waters and your sister showed up at the cottage a while ago. According to Lily, Waters is raging. Lily is pretty pissed too. She called me a ball-licking anus pimple.”
“She’s creative. Is Waters upset about us taking his car?”
“Probably? It’s hard to tell from Violet’s messages. She mentions something about the poison ivy and veggie man. There’s a lot of autocorrect going on.” Randy scrolls through my messages. Some of it is probably personal, but he knows most of my business anyway. He flips back and forth between his phone and mine.
“Fuck.”
“What?”
“The exes came back to the cottage.”
He hits a button and brings the phone to his ear, tapping the dash with anxious fingers. Whatever’s going on can’t be good. “Hey. Shit. I’m glad you finally answered. I was getting wor—”
He stops abruptly, his eyebrows pulling down. “Whoa. Hold up a second. What do you mean you’re leaving? He can’t do that—Can you stall? We’re on our way back now.”
I can hear Lily through the phone, her voice high. Randy bangs his head against the back of the seat. “Come on, Lily. It’s not like that.” After a brief pause he holds the phone away from his ear and checks the screen. “Fuck.”
“What now?”
“She hung up.”
“On purpose?”
“Ma
ybe? I don’t know. I could hear Waters in the background. I think he might have been fighting with Sunny, but there was too much yelling to tell. We need to get back. I think there’s a lot of misinformation happening, and it’s making us both look like assholes.”
I rub my forehead and take a bend in the road too fast, almost fishtailing around the corner. Waters will have my balls if I ruin his car. Randy checks my messages every few minutes, but the ones from Sunny stopped about an hour ago. The last one I received from her was about Waters being at the cottage and how he wasn’t happy.
I almost ram Waters’ car into the back of the camping trailer when I pull into the driveway. They’re backing out as I’m pulling in. The unsettled feeling from earlier slaps me in the face as I park the car, blocking them.
Bushman sticks his fuzzy, patchy face out the open window. I shift the car into park. I can see Sunny in the back window, twisting her hair around her finger.
“Get your car out of the way, asshole, before I back over it!” Bushman yells.
“Go ahead and run it over, Tiny Dick!” I jump out of the car, leaving the door wide open, and head for the trailer. Bushman backs up, almost hitting me. Before I can get to Sunny, the door of the cottage slams open.
Waters takes up almost the entire frame. “I’m gonna fuck you up, Butterson!”
We’re close to the same size. I’m a little broader and I might have a few pounds on him. He’s a center; I’m defense, so being lighter works in his favor on the ice. I don’t think the slight size difference is going to mean much if we get into it. He looks pissed.
For a split second I consider running back to the car and locking myself inside. He’s not going to beat on his own car. At least I don’t think he will. He probably has a spare set of keys, though, so he’ll get in eventually. It’ll also make me look like a pussy, which I’m not.
“Alex!” Violet grabs his arm and hangs off it.
He stops with the stalking business and gives her his attention. “I just want to talk to him, baby.”
“You said you were going to fuck him up!”
“With my words.” He pries her off his arm and goes back to stalking toward me. He’s wearing flip-flops. They slap against the ground and kick up stones with each step. He doesn’t acknowledge Randy when he gets out of the car. His rage is all for me.
PUCKED Up Page 26
