“Maybe two.” I tug on the end of her ponytail and steal three before I finally leave.
CHAPTER 20
FALLING IN
POPPY
“I need details. Lots of them. All of them.” April takes a hefty swig of her margarita.
“You’re not getting all the details.”
“Oh my God, he looked like he wanted to eat you. And you’re seeing him again tonight? Sweet lord, I can’t even…” She fans her face. “Did you sleep with him? You slept with him, right?”
“Can you keep your voice down?” I look around the pub. It’s busy, and no one is paying attention, but I checked out the pictures of me and Lance on the ride over here, so now I’m paranoid.
There are a lot of them, with plenty of kissing and touching. Luckily everything is tasteful, but it’s far more attention than I’ve ever had, apart from the few images that circulated last year when I ended up back at his place. Those pictures didn’t focus on me, though, and they weren’t very clear, so I never worried about them.
These are much different. I am the central focus of every image. And I am very clearly Lance’s primary focus. It’s as flattering as it is unnerving.
“Sorry, sorry. So did you?” April leans in close.
I try to hide behind my Shirley Temple. “Yes.”
“Oh my God! I knew it!” She slaps the table.
I grimace, along with all the other people she’s scared the crap out of.
She makes one of her faces and lowers her voice. “How was he? Is he, you know, well equipped?”
“He was really sweet, and yes.”
“Come on, Poppy, you have to give me more than that.”
“What do you want me to say?” I’m not really one to talk about my sex life, although I’ve also never been with someone whose dinner date ends up being fodder for social media gossip.
“I don’t know, based on that conversation back at the clinic, you didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night. Does that mean he kept you up aaaaall niiiiiggght long?” She sings it while making thrusting motions and wags her brows.
“I didn’t get a lot of sleep, no.”
“You’re blushing so hard right now. It must’ve been amazing. I bet he can fuck like a god.”
“Can we change the subject please?”
She purses her lips, clearly annoyed that I won’t share more. “So he’s coming over again tonight? What’s that about?”
I fiddle with my straw. “He wants to see me again.”
“I got that. So are you dating? Are you, like, his girlfriend?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’re seeing each other? There’s no label on it. He wants to see where this goes.”
“So he’s not going to see other people?”
“We haven’t talked about that.”
“Doesn’t he have an away series coming up? Are you going to talk about it before he goes?” April looks concerned.
“If it comes up, I guess.”
I don’t like this turn in the conversation. I can totally understand why April is asking, though. I’ve always been a relationship kind of girl. I never did the hook-up thing, even in college. When I date someone, it’s only ever that one person.
Lance seems to be the exact opposite. As much as I’d like to believe he’s not going to be sleeping with other women while he’s away, I won’t know unless I ask. And I’m not sure exactly how to do that, because if the answer isn’t one I like it’s going to hurt.
···
It’s the middle of the week, and I should probably already be in bed, but Lance is currently stretched out on my couch—one leg on the floor, one propped up on the back of the seat—so I’m inclined to stay up. He’s wearing boxers, and only boxers. The position highlights the outline of his somewhat-hard penis. We’ve already had sex once. After I gave him a massage.
Well, I made it about halfway through the massage before he decided there were particular parts of his body that required my attention.
He was pretty excited when I offered my services in exchange for orgasms. I haven’t actually made it through a full-body massage since we struck that deal a few days ago, but he’s also far less tense, so he won’t have to see the team therapist as much, and that’s a positive.
In the ten days since he took me out for dinner, Lance has become sort of a fixture in my house. He’s spent nearly every night here. In my bed. He missed two nights while he was off on the away series, but when he’s had games here in Chicago, he shows up afterward. I’ve had a lot of orgasms and not a lot of sleep.
Tomorrow he’s leaving again for another away series. We still haven’t had a relationship-defining talk, which made those nights he was away somewhat stressful. But he messaged every day he was gone, and no party photos showed up on social media, so that helped a little. I need to address it before he leaves tomorrow though, because I don’t think I can handle that level of anxiety again, especially not for five days rather than just two.
As much as I’m not excited about the separation, my girl parts could use a few days off from all the attention. I’ve never been with someone who has such a high sex drive. Being wanted this much is as thrilling as it is overwhelming.
I approach the couch with my hands behind my back. “I have a surprise.”
“Oh yeah?” Lance tears his eyes away from the TV. He’s watching hockey, which is normal. I’ve also discovered he’s a huge fan of Sudoku. When the commercials come on, if he’s not looking to make out, he’ll have me help him with them. Not that he needs the help. He’s far more math minded than I am. But I secretly find it sexy. Or not so secretly.
I hold up a bag of Jelly Babies. They’re a British treat my grandmother used to send me every Christmas. I recently found a store close by that sells them, and I know Lance loves them almost as much as he loves gummy bears. And sex.
He grabs for the bottom of my shirt—which is really his shirt—but I jump out of reach. “You have to share.”
“What if I don’t want to share?”
“Then I guess you don’t get any.”
He considers this for a few seconds. “Fine, I’ll share. Now come here.” He pats his chest, and I climb up on the couch and stretch out on top of him. His half-hard-on twitches against my stomach.
I expect him to steal the bag from me, but he doesn’t. Instead he folds one arm behind his head, thick bicep flexing. He traces the contour of my face with the fingers of his free hand and tugs the end of my ponytail while I tear the bag open. I pop a jelly in my mouth before I offer one to him. He bites it out of my fingers and mmmmmms his candy enjoyment.
“I have nae had these in years.” The hint of Scot creeps in.
“They were always my favorite. My nana used to send me a package every year at Christmas and my birthday. What’s your favorite flavor?”
“The blackberry ones.”
I dig around in the bag, searching for one. If I let him have the bag, he’ll snarf them all down, like he does with gummy bears.
I find one and hold it up. He takes it carefully in his teeth and watches me while he chews.
Things have been intense. We haven’t gone out at all. It’s just been Lance showing up at my house after work and staying the night. On the plus side, I haven’t had to cook since Lance always brings takeout. He also likes to bring me flowers, and sometimes treats. There are bouquets strategically placed all over the main floor.
We talk, we have sex, we watch a lot of hockey on TV, but I haven’t been invited to his games. Not that I’d expect an invitation to the away games, but maybe a home one would be nice. He hasn’t asked to take me out on another date, either. Technically he owes me a coffee.
“What’s your favorite flavor?” He tries to stick his hand in the bag, but I clutch it in my fist. “You know I can take that from you if I really want to.”
I give him a look. “I like the orange ones.”
“Of course you do.”
The next time I try to feed him one,
he grabs the bag.
“Hey!”
He holds it over his head, far enough away that I have to sit up. He winds an arm around my waist and flips us over so he’s on top. “You’ll never win, precious.”
He proceeds to dump a hefty portion of the bag into his mouth, as predicted. Then he digs for an orange one. He doesn’t offer it to me directly, though. Instead he finishes chewing his massive mouthful and puts the orange one between his lips.
I try to take it with my fingers, but he pulls back and shakes his head. “Take it wif yer teef.”
I roll my eyes but lean up as he leans down. Before I can take it, he flips it into his mouth, then sticks his tongue out. “Geb it now,” he urges.
“Ew! No. It’s covered in your spit.”
He removes it from his tongue. “That spit thing again? I have my tongue in your mouth all the time and you don’t seem to mind at all.”
“Your tongue in my mouth is different than eating candy you’ve slobbered all over.”
“Suit yourself, but that was the last orange one.” He chomps down on it, groaning his fake pleasure.
“What? Come on! I didn’t even get one!” I try to get the bag back from him, but he won’t let me have it.
He pulls out a blackberry one and presses it against my lips. I suck the whole thing in and chew furiously, putting my hand over my mouth when he makes a move. Lance tries to pry my hand away, but I swallow before he overpowers me. Then his mouth is on mine. His tongue strokes, aggressive and searching, and when he comes up empty, he pulls back and frowns.
“You ate it.”
“You put it in my mouth. Isn’t that what I was supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to share.”
He pops another one into his mouth and chews thoughtfully, then sits back on his heels between my legs. He’s fully hard now, the head pushing against the elastic waist of his boxers. He digs through the bag and produces another orange one, eyes lit up with mischief.
“Want it?”
“Not if you expect me to share it, no.”
“What if I hide it?”
“Your mouth is not a hiding spot,” I shoot back.
He grins and pushes down the waistband of his boxers so the head of his erection peeks out. He places the candy on the tip.
“You know, if you want a blow job, you can just ask for one.”
“I’m not asking for a blow job. Just a kiss for a candy.”
Minutes later I’m naked and under Lance on the couch again.
Afterward I lie on his chest again, half asleep, and his phone starts buzzing on the table. The arm around me tightens as we look at the glowing screen. DO NOT FUCKING REPLY has messaged him once while he’s been with me since our dinner date. And just like at dinner, he shuts off his phone.
Mum comes up this time, but that doesn’t ease his tension at all.
“Do you want to get that?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
“I don’t want to talk to her. We don’t get along that well.”
“Oh.” He said his mother wasn’t a good person before, but I never pushed. I’ve always gotten along well with my parents, even during my teen years when hormones made rational thought difficult. I think no matter how much attitude I copped, it didn’t come close to what my sister dished out, so I was still the angel.
Lance watches the phone until it stops ringing.
“Can I ask why you don’t get along?” Conversations about his family have been relatively limited, and his reaction to that phone call makes me question even more all the things he hides.
Lance regards me for a long while before he finally replies. “She has a mean streak.”
I cock my head to the side. “What kind of mean streak?”
He fingers a lock of my hair. “Before we moved to the States, she and my dad used to get into it a lot. Well—” Derision darkens his features. “My mum used to get into it with my dad. She’d get all pissed off and go at him, just fucking lose her shit. He used to laugh. I mean, she was a little thing. Not much taller than you, but she would just blow her lid. He never hit her back, though. Not once. Not that I saw, anyway.”
My stomach dips, thinking about how that would look to the child version of the man in front of me.
“But she wasn’t always like that. She had pills she’d take sometimes, and then she was a lot better, not so angry all the time—nicer but just kind of vacant. It was hard. I don’t know why my dad put up with it, or let her go off the meds or whatever, but he did. She had a lot of issues. Bad childhood and all that shit. Anyway, eventually she turned that mean streak on me.”
I put my fingers to my mouth. “She hit you?”
His eyes are sad. “It wasn’t like she could really hurt me, you know? Not after I got a little older. The words are the things that stick, though.”
When I put my hand on his chest, he picks it up and plays with my fingers.
“I had a younger brother. His name was Quinn.”
I frown at the past tense.
“He was eight when he died.”
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head, eyes still on my fingers. “I think it broke her mind. She kind of snapped and was never the same. That’s when she really started to go at me, after Quinn died.”
I want to ask what happened, but I don’t dare interrupt him.
“We came to the States to get away from the memories for her. Or at least that’s what my dad made it seem like we were doing. I think he’d had enough. He left us here, but she didn’t want to go back to the UK. My playing hockey was a good enough reason for her to stay in Chicago.”
He’s silent for a while, maybe lost in a memory.
“I thought it might stop when we moved in with my aunt, and it did for a little while, but she’d get so pissed when I fucked up at practice. After a while it was expected. It didn’t matter how hard I tried, something would set her off.”
My heart aches for him. “Did you tell anyone?”
“What was I gonna say? My mum beats the shit out of me? It was my fault—” He chokes on the words.
“What was your fault?”
He shakes his head taps his temple. “She messed with my head all the time, my mum did. That night I met you for the first time, I wasn’t supposed to be at that party. I’d snuck out of the house through my bedroom window, like teenagers do. Or like I did, anyway. There was some big tryout the next morning for the top league in the city—on my birthday, right? My mum kept telling me she knew I was going to fail, and then we’d have to go back to Scotland. She said I better not dare do that to her.
“I figured what was the point? I was going to screw it up anyway, like I did everything else, so I went out, got drunk, and ended up in that closet with you.” He smiles a little and brushes my fingertips over his lips.
“When I got home, my mum was waiting for me in the garage. She was so pissed. And she was wasted, or high—or both maybe. Like, so fucked up. That was the night my aunt found out what was going on. She walked into the garage right when my mom was in the middle of her smackdown. She had boxing gloves on so she didn’t mess up her nails. Usually she’d keep to areas that weren’t visible, but not that night.”
He pauses, lost within himself for a moment. “Things got real messy after that for a while. And I shut out every single memory I could. All the good ones, all the bad ones. Everything. I buried it all.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It is what it is. I can’t change it now, so I try not to think about it too much. But stuff like that, it doesn’t ever really go away. Even when you try to put it in a box, it finds a way out.” He releases a long, slow breath, his expression pained as he touches my face with shaky fingertips. “I probably shouldn’t have told you any of that.”
I cover his hand with mine and turn my face into his palm to kiss it. “I’m glad you felt safe enough to share that with me.”
&
nbsp; “I’m fucked up, Poppy.”
“We all have demons. It makes us human, not fucked up.”
“I tried to have a girlfriend my sophomore year of high school. It didn’t go so well.”
“Why not?”
“I discovered how much I don’t like being touched.”
His aversion makes more sense now. “I touch you.”
“It’s different with you. I don’t know if it’s ’cause of our history or what, but this…closeness, how I am with you, this isn’t how it usually is.”
“And how is it usually?” My stomach knots. The things I want to hide from are too close.
Lance closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches. When he looks back at me, he seems as scared as I feel right now. “I don’t really wanna answer that question.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause then you’ll know exactly how fucked up I am.”
I reach up and touch his cheek. He gathers both of my hands in his and clasps them together, bowing his head and pressing his lips to my exposed knuckles, almost like a prayer. “I don’t deserve this. You. I don’t deserve this kind of goodness. I shouldn’t be here, taking all these things from you when they shouldn’t be mine.”
“Lance.”
He looks up at me through narrowed eyes, and his fear vibrates through him.
“You’re not taking. I’m giving. Our pasts are part of who we are. They may shape us, but they don’t govern our future paths if we don’t want them to.”
“What we’re doing here is different than what I know.”
“Do you want it to be different than it is?”
“No, I want this, but the last time I tried it backfired really bad.”
We’re talking in a circle, skirting the parts of this that could hurt us both. “Because of something you did?”
“Yeah. No. Sort of.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Remember how I told you about that girl I was seeing last year and how it didn’t end well?”
I nod.
“It was a complicated situation. I wanted something she didn’t.”
“Which was what?”
“For it just to be us. Her and me. But she wasn’t interested in that.”
“What did she want?”
Pucked Off (The Pucked Series) Page 24