by Brown, Tara
Rich lifts an eyebrow at him.
“I mean, not that sexy,” Carson corrects himself.
“Here you are,” the server interrupts and starts placing our drinks down. “This is my favorite.”
The beer is a pale ale called Yallarhammer served with a thick head and a bitter hoppy finish. It’s not my favorite, but pale ale isn’t my kind of beer. I like a stout or porter, but when in Rome.
We lift our glasses. “To Brimstone,” Brady says.
“And Lori’s small dick!” Carson adds.
“Inside that redhead’s back nine!” Brady finishes.
I nod, realizing how this weekend is going to go.
7
Growers
Jenny
The casual dining room is the kind of nightmare I expected from the moment we were told what we would be attending. The rich and powerful on one side and hockey players on the other. And as luck would have it, Lawrence Eckelston is staring right at us. I want to crawl under a rock and die.
“Where do you want to sit?” Sukii asks, sounding as nervous as I am.
“I don’t know, maybe at that smaller table.” I motion my head in the direction of a two-person table in the corner.
“Okay.” She walks to it, sitting carefully. “So this day has been awesome. We got those killer bags filled with the best of Sami’s favorites. And you saw Lawrence Eckelston naked.”
My cheeks are likely the same color as my hair. “Why is this my life?” I whisper.
“How was it? I imagine he is a smokeshow naked. You’re all like, ‘Sukii, I don’t think we should have fun this weekend,’ and then you go for the cock right out of the gates. Well, game on, sister.”
“I never should have told you. You’re going to fixate on this.” I cover my eyes and try to take deep breaths.
“The hockey player table is staring at us again. I bet he told them and they’re all ‘shipping’ you guys.” Sukii is tormenting me.
“Hockey players don’t ship people, weirdo.”
“They totally do. I need details. Like abs and dick size, small, medium, large?” She’ll never let go of this. I have to give her something.
“He just got out of the shower—” I keep my eyes closed and relive it, shaking my head in embarrassment. “It was—he was visibly cold.” I open my eyes and cringe. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“A grower not a show—er.” She wrinkles her nose and ignores me. “I’ve been on that date. You feel so let down at first because the guy’s always got big-penis cockiness, and you see it’s a raspberry in the bushes. But then something happens and it just shoots out of his body, coming from nowhere. Like magic. So weird.”
The best part of this moment is her miming the penis growing from the body so not a single person in the room has to guess what she’s talking about. If she makes a jerking-off motion, I’m leaving.
“And what can I get you ladies?” a bubbly server asks, saving me from Sukii and the growers.
“A charcuterie board to share and two beers.” I glance at Sukii who nods.
“We like stouts, apparently.” She remembers what Sam said too.
“We have a great stout from Belgium. Sounds good.” She turns and leaves as more people pour in.
The small restaurant is becoming packed and noisy and the hockey player table is still watching us. Lawrence’s gaze constantly finds its way back to me, bringing with it the realization that I have to apologize. He was right, it was his room. I walked in on him naked and shouted at him like an asshole. I need to be the bigger person here and apologize so it’s not completely weird all weekend. And the weekend after at the fundraiser we’re planning.
“I don’t understand why they didn’t put us in adjoining rooms,” I mention to Sukii. “Why they gave me Lawrence.”
“Maybe they know you’re both Canadian and thought you might feel better together.” Her eyes widen. “Or it’s a setup.”
“Oh my God,” I groan. “I’ve heard that about Sami. Meddlesome in relationships.” I lean in. “That’s how Brady and his fiancée met.”
“Natalie Banks?”
“Yeah, supposedly Sami set them up as roommates, and they hooked up and now they’re getting married.” My tone is hateful and filled with disgust. I hate Brady Coldwell.
Sukii’s answer is the opposite, “Oh my God, what if that happens to you? What if Sami matchmakes you and you end up marrying Lawrence? Two Canadian success stories, and you both play hockey—”
“Uhh, can we keep that between us this weekend?” I ask quietly. “I don’t want them to know we are anything beyond Stan’s assistants.”
“But you’re not Stan’s, you’re in charge of the NHL contract.”
“No, Victor is,” I correct her. “I’m his assistant.”
“Yeah, but he rarely comes home from Europe.” She rolls her eyes. “We both know the NHL is yours. What if they recognize you? Loads of people do.”
“No, hockey players are narcissistic, and they don’t know who anyone is beyond the models they want to bang. Their world is everything to them.” My eyes dart to the players who continue to glance this way. “And I don’t want them to know I play hockey. It always gets weird. Girl hockey players are a joke to them.” The admission makes my face steam more. “It’s hard to do your job and be serious when everyone is laughing at you.”
“Mum’s the word.” She zips her lips. “But I still think you should have sex with him.”
“That’s not a good idea.” I steal a glimpse at the hockey players again as Lawrence gets up from his table and peers around, visibly confused about direction.
The server points him toward us. He smiles and walks by.
“But I should apologize.” I wait a minute, trying to summon bravery. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Sukii as I stand and follow him. We can’t spend five days with that as our introduction, and it’s better the conversation is had straightaway and in private. I don’t need one more thing looming over me right now.
When I reach the hallway where the bathrooms are, he’s gone. Did he sprint for the bathrooms? I stare at the doors for men and women and decide to wait and go over what I should say.
But standing in the dimly lit hall outside the bathroom begins to make me uncomfortable. Realizing how this must look gives me a bit of anxiety.
I’m already tense so it only takes a second of discomfort for my face to be blazing hot and I’m sweating again. God, why do I keep sweating? I lift my arms and ruffle my blouse to air it out. At least I still smell like deodorant.
The thought of him coming out of the bathroom to find me here sweating causes the sweat to pour more. This is a terrible idea. Why did I think I should follow him to the bathroom and wait for him after peeking at him naked?
This is my worst idea ever.
Deciding to abort but hearing footsteps coming from the restaurant, I push into the ladies’ room to hide, gasping when I find Lawrence standing and peeing in the toilet.
My mouth drops, again.
My heart races, faster.
My villainous eyes drift to the reflection of his penis and I’m staring at his cock, again.
And I’m frozen.
And sweaty.
“You again?” he says with a bitter chuckle. “You’re a stalker, aren’t you? A puck bunny who snuck into the wedding?” He’s staring at me in the mirror and for some reason my lips won’t work. “I’ll tell you a secret, I don’t normally go for the puck buddies. But I could do this. Just let me finish up here.”
I manage to tear my eyes away from him, pointing to the woman on the door. “This is the ladies’!” I shriek.
“The men’s was busy.” He shrugs and finishes with a few spurts of pee. He tucks himself back into his pants, and I’m stuck watching the entire act.
“Why don’t you ever lock the doors?” My voice is shrill and I’m humiliated.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ever knock?” He calmly washes his hands. “Look, it’s cool that you wanted t
o watch me pee, but fair’s fair. It’s my turn now. So come on in and close the door. Unless you want to leave it open like you did for me.” He dries his hands and folds his arms, leaning on the counter with that smug grin.
Realizing I did just hold the door open and watch him pee, I gasp.
Fuck!
Finally able to move, I run for the exit at the side of the building.
My mind is racing and my body is pins and needles.
Instead of going back to Sukii, I run to the boathouse and stare at the small lake, pacing and panicking and wiping my face.
How can I be this unlucky?
Or even better, how can I get a car to come get us so we can go home?
But there are no cars. No phones. No internet. No escaping. And I don’t even have an apartment right now. Or a boyfriend to cry on the shoulder of.
“Red!” a voice shouts after me.
For a second I’m certain I’m hallucinating. This is all a bad dream, like when you’re naked at school and then you wake up. I pinch my arm hard but when I glance back, he’s there. Lawrence Eckelston is running after me. And he doesn’t appear happy. Unfortunately, I can’t blame him for that. Had it been him walking in on me naked and watching me pee, I would have murdered him already.
I want to fall into the lake and sink but it’s shallow and weedy, and I don’t like when things touch me in the water.
“We didn’t finish our conversation!” he shouts. “I need to ask you something.”
“Oh God,” I whisper and spin back to the water, focusing on the reflection of the clouds and wish I could run away, but I’m trapped at the end of the dock. Coming this way was a bad idea. “Look, I’m sorry. I followed you—”
“I knew it! You’re a hockey fan and you thought you could crash the wedd—”
“What? No!” I shout back but pause.
This is not how I want to behave here. I need my Zen.
Closing my eyes and trying to regain my self-control, I lower my voice to sound rational, “I followed you to the bathroom to apologize for walking into your room. I didn’t realize it wasn’t my room or that they were adjoining.” I open my eyes, feeling stupid but forcing the words out, “When I got to the hallway just now, I realized that standing outside the bathroom while you were peeing after coming into your room when you were naked wouldn’t improve things. So I chickened out and tried to duck into the ladies’ to hide from you.”
“Okay—well that makes sense. So you’re not a stalker groupie? Who the hell are you then?” he asks, losing some civility.
“Are you kidding me right now? Can you focus? I’m trying to apologize.” I also lose my patience as his accusations begin to land in my head. “And no, I’m not some puck bunny, you asshole! Not every girl prays for the day one of you perverts will grace us with your penis—”
“And yet you’ve seen mine twice in one day.” He laughs bitterly.
“I work for a PR company—”
“How did you find out about the wedding?” He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. He’s menacing this close up. The boyish good looks are gone and fury is left.
“Find out about the wedding? What is your problem? I was invited, you dick.” I blow past him, hurrying for the restaurant.
“Who invited you?” He isn’t letting it go. He grabs my arm and spins me to face him again. “Who?” His face is bright red, but I’m sure mine matches in anger and color.
“Sami Ford!” I tear my arm free, glaring and praying looks can kill.
“Why would Sami invite some fucking PR firm to her wedding?” He scoffs and there is almost no humor in the sound.
“Really?” I lift an eyebrow, ready with both barrels. “Can you think of no reason for PR to be at the wedding of the decade? How about the wet tee shirt contest in London?” I step into his face, snarling up at him. “What about the Clinton escapades? How about the time you got so drunk you let someone post a ten-minute video of you dancing in your underwear in a fountain in Spain? Even better, what about the time Matt Brimley got a blow job in the locker room while someone filmed it, only to be caught by TMZ at Sami’s later that night?” I tap my lip furiously. “Hmmm, such a mystery.”
His red face pales and he steps back but offers no apology.
“I don’t know why my firm was invited. My boss didn’t discuss it with me at length. If I had to guess, it’s in case one of you decides to shit the bed again, as you always do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my beer’s getting warm.” I turn to stride away, my heart beating wildly.
But it doesn’t end there, of course it doesn’t.
I’m fired up and ready to go, over being called a stalker and a puck bunny, and the red rage is taking over. I spin around and offer my angry version of an apology, “And just so you know, Lawrence, I am really sorry I walked in on you naked, twice. Couldn’t be sorrier if I tried.” I flip him a middle finger and turn back toward the main house before he can respond. “Puck bunny,” I seethe and storm inside, finding my seat while ignoring all the staring faces of the hockey players.
“What was that?” Sukii asks, her voice is high-pitched.
“He called me a puck bunny and I saw his dick again. This time I watched him pee.” My voice cracks and I realize I’m close to angry crying but also laughing absurdly. The combination will be deadly if I don’t get it under control. I lift my beer and take a massive swig. The cool liquid slides down my throat, tasting like heaven and helping me calm down after the horrible encounter. It’s refreshing and exactly what I need to put the fire out. I drink the entire mug in one go.
“No,” Sukii whispers and shakes her head, her eyes wide. “Why? Why would you do that?”
Putting down my empty mug, I close my eyes for a second with my lips pressed into a firm line. After a moment, the words fall out, “I followed him to apologize for breaking into his room and shouting at him, but I’m not sure what happened. He went into the ladies’ room, it’s a single room. No stalls. He was peeing. The mirror—reflection—” I’m rambling and sweating again because, apparently, this is my fresh start. My new me. A sweaty awkward mess. “Then he accused me of being a stalker”—I wince and swallow hard before the next words—“and a puck bunny.” I take her beer and drink it too, also in one shot.
“Oh God, he called you a puck bunny? Oh no, he’s coming back.” She lowers her eyes on our table, and I freeze holding her empty mug and praying to the gods of all that is holy we don’t make eye contact. “Don’t look up,” she whispers, and I’m positive I catch a hint of a grin on her face.
“Don’t laugh!” I gasp.
Her lips press into a line, fighting the giggles.
“Remember when Stan’s grandkids’ bunny died and we had that funeral,” I say softly, trying to stop her from laughing. “And you were so sad.”
“I hate you,” she mutters and manages to fight laughing in his face as he stalks past us, taking his seat. Instead of being humbled by the entire thing, he lifts his beer in my direction and smiles wide. A twinkle of hatred still burns in his eyes.
I smirk back, hoping my horns are showing.
“It’s going to be a magical weekend,” Sukii says with a bitter chuckle.
I have a bad feeling she’s right.
8
Dinner and a show
Lori
My mind is stuck on the redhead.
Seeing her flip out over being called a puck bunny makes me want to torment her more. Ladies never talk to me like that. She wasn’t impressed at all. Which gets me going.
Fortunately, Sami’s tasked Brady and me with a Princess and the Pauper job, setting up the meet and greet. I’ve used the hour we’ve been doing it to figure out things to say to the redhead to see if we can keep this banter going.
The spot where the meet and greet is taking place is not what I expected at all. It’s a wooden pavilion with heavy beam construction along the shore of the lake. There’s a massive fireplace in the middle of the one wall that’s solid. The others are op
en, overlooking the farm. Besides the elegance and huge chandeliers, it reminds me of the West Coast, the cool cedar structures built around North Vancouver Island near the beaches so people can have cookouts without getting rained on.
A camera crew takes photos as we set up the bar and hang lanterns from the trees, as if Brady and I are a decorating crew. Sami decided it was what she wanted for the setup, an Instagram photoshoot.
“Dude,” Brady interrupts my internal monologue. “Is the team really calling off paintballing tomorrow?” he asks as he struggles with hanging a lantern on the beam at the entrance. “Just ‘cause Sami vetoed all fun because she’s worried about bruising in the pictures, doesn’t mean we have to listen.”
“As far as I know it’s on. I was planning on going.”
“Good, Sami’s hired a fleet of makeup artists. If anyone takes an actual injury, it will be covered by makeup. Matt’s cousins said they’re playing no matter what, and they challenged the team, so if we don’t play, we look like little bitches.”
“That’s true.” I laugh.
“Besides, the paintball course here is sweet and I haven’t played in years. I think it’s a good idea for us guys to blow off some steam while the girls are at the spa. It’s better than creek fishing or horseback riding.” Brady makes a jerking-off motion.
“And I have zero interest in shooting clay disks. But shooting you and Carson, now that is highly enticing.”
“Don’t say enticing, it makes you sound like a rich douche,” Brady mocks me.
“I am a rich douche.” I step back to check our handiwork. Brady comes and stands next to me, holding up the picture Sami gave us. We look at it, then the tables, then the picture again. “Looks right, eh?”
“Yeah eh!” He mimics that stereotypical Canadian accent to mock me.
“Oh my God, you guys,” Nat squeaks and rushes up to us from the trail in a smoking white summer dress. “It’s perfect.”
I tear my stare from her dress and turn back to the pavilion. It’s nice.