Hilariously Ever After

by Box Set

  “I’m pretty sure I got you naked.”

  I pull my shirt over my head as Buck appears in the doorway. Alex wraps the towel around his waist to conceal his woody.

  Buck notes my dressed form before taking in Alex’s mostly undressed one. His fists clench, and he mumbles. It sounds like a yoga mantra or something.

  “I should beat your ass for this, Waters.”

  “You don’t need to defend my honor, Buck. It wasn’t like I was a virgin prior to Waters here.”

  Alex coughs, his expression darkening. Maybe he’s miffed by my revelation. I’ll never understand why guys, particularly those who have clearly shared their wood with a whole lot of beaver, get all territorial about the one they’re currently after. Alex has enough self-confidence without me telling him he’s by far the best.

  “Waters. Out here. Now.” Coach calls from the doorway, his phone clutched in his hand.

  “Yes, sir.” Alex kisses my temple. “Don’t worry, baby, it’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t you call her ‘baby’!” Buck points a hairy-knuckled finger at Alex.

  I slap it away. “I happen to enjoy it when Alex calls me ‘baby.’ ” I turn my face into Alex’s shoulder and say softly, “Particularly in the throes of passion.”

  Buck throws his hands up in exasperation. “Will you two stop?”

  Alex kisses the top of my head and saunters away, a slight swagger in his step. It might be attributed to the semi he’s still sporting or the comments that paint his sexual prowess in a very positive light. He does give Buck a wide berth, just in case he decides to strike. It’s a real possibility—he’s turning puce again.

  “What the hell, Violet?” he asks as soon as Alex is out of the room.

  “‘What the hell,’ what?”

  “You’re banging Waters? In the fucking locker room? How long has this been going on?” Buck’s hands are on his hips like an angry mother—an angry yeti mother.

  I shrug. “I guess since the first time I met him.”

  Buck’s eyes grow wide. He’s putting things together. I can almost see the steam coming out of his ears because his brain is in overdrive. I feel sorry for him; as much as I’ve grown to like him over the past five years, he got the short end of the intellectual fortitude stick. He’s cute fully dressed, and sometimes, when he’s not out whoring his dick, he can be awfully considerate.

  “But that was almost two months ago! You’ve been keeping this from me this entire time?” He paces, running a hand through his hair. His anger dissolves somewhere into hurt.

  “Because I knew this is how you’d react.”

  “Well, yeah, Vi. He’s even worse than me!” Buck scratches the back of his neck as if he’s truly perplexed. “I don’t understand why you’d get involved with someone who’s only out to wet his dick with you.” It’s probably one of the deepest, most heartfelt things he’s ever said to me.

  “That’s not what this is about.” What’s going on between me and Alex is more than sex. He wanted me here this weekend. It should mean something. “He’s different when we’re together.”

  “You mean he doesn’t fuck you in public places all the time? Really reassuring, Vi.”

  “Says the guy who got caught with his hand up a girl’s skirt in an open bathroom stall.” It’s a low blow.

  “I got traded for that, Vi. Traded. Do you get what that means? I had to start all over with a new team, and now I find out you’re doing what? Dating this fool? What if he screws you over? You think I can let it go?”

  I hadn’t considered how vast the ramifications could be should things go sour with Alex. Buck has a good point. He’s the new guy on the team, and my involvement with their captain could make things difficult for Buck more than anyone. I suddenly feel guilty for not being honest with him in the first place. Buck might have been upset about the situation, but it would’ve been better than him walking in on us having sex, along with all his teammates.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Buck. I thought it was going to be a fling, and it turned into something more.”

  He sighs. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. I know I can be a fuckwit and a huge man-slut most of the time, but I do have a heart. I haven’t forgotten about the turdburger from the minors who messed with you.”

  I’m stunned. Buck laid off the asshole comments after the turdburger and I broke up. I assumed it was because I had what would probably be considered a complete emotional breakdown.

  I must have been way more emo about it than I thought if Buck is bringing it up now. At the time, he attempted to be as sensitive as his male brain would allow. He set aside his bunny time to watch horror movies with me and let me beat him at video games.

  “I know you’re coming from a good place. I promise I won’t make the same mistake twice. Alex is a decent guy. I see a different side of him than you do. One that isn’t completely testosterone and semen fueled.”

  “I don’t know, Vi—”

  “I promise if I need you to mess Alex up over something, I’ll let you know.”

  His eyes light up like he’s in a nudie bar.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” I nod, knowing I will never in a million years sic Buck on Alex if things don’t work out. I have knees. I know how to use them.

  He nods, his relief evident. “I’m gonna shower. Wanna hug it out?” He opens his arms wide.

  I make a face and back away. “I think I’ll wait until after the shower for that, thanks.”

  “Okay.” He lumbers awkwardly to the door, still wearing his skates.

  Our bonding session over, I find a mirror and work on fixing my hair, which is very much the product of a sex tornado. If anything, I look like an expensive escort, which is not nearly as bad as a hooker. While performing emergency hair surgery with my fingers, I get caught in memories of the turdburger, Steve.

  He exemplified the term asshole. Not at first, though. Initially, he was charming. I met him in my last year of college at a campus coffee shop over a latte mix-up. His major was undefined, and he was in his second year. He was a little younger than me, but he was cute. On our third date, I found out he was in the minors, looking to get drafted. Lots of red flags, right? I should’ve called it off right there. I didn’t because sometimes I’m blinded by hotness and nice teeth.

  We’d been seeing each other for only a few weeks when he suggested meeting my parents. I was floored. Most guys avoid that business like the plague. So I introduced him to Sidney, who offered to watch him play. I went, too, just to be a supportive girlfriend, and discovered Steve was never going to be a good enough player to make it to a farm team, let alone the NHL. Sid took him aside and let him down easy. Still, a bruised ego is a bruised ego.

  A few days later I stopped by the coffee shop to pick up a latte between classes. I wasn’t surprised to see him. What did surprise me was the brunette cozied up on his junk. She was one of those skanky types, dressed in a super-short skirt with cleavage spilling out of her low-cut blouse. Her boobs were way bigger than mine.

  Now, let me be clear—I knew this relationship wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, I wasn’t really interested in seeing him anymore. Sex with him was, as mentioned previously, lackluster at best. His orgasms sounded like a hyena in heat and he was lacking below the waist. It was the ultimate in disappointing sex. At the time I was tired of being alone, and the unpleasant, high-pitched sex seemed better than nothing. It was quite the funk.

  Steve and the skank were snuggling on the couch. I was as annoyed as I was relieved until he pulled the shittiest kind of move in the history of dating. It will stick with me for the rest of my life—beyond the dog-whistle moaning sex.

  He looked at me as if he didn’t know who I was. He even asked if he could help me. Before I made an enormous fool out of myself, I told him he looked like some douche-whore with a small dick I used to know, and left.

  That was more than eight months ago. Since then I’ve been on a dating hiatus. Hockey pl
ayers of any kind have been strictly off the table. Until Alex.

  The irony that I’m involved with a would-be manwhore-who-was-never-a-manwhore is not lost on me. In my defense I thought I knew what I was getting myself into. It’s not my fault all the rumors turned out to be false and Alex is a nice guy.

  Several members of Alex’s team wander into the lounge. Most sit on the couches and watch TV while they wait for the rest of the guys to finish cleaning up. They’re all wearing suits, looking refined. A guy named Spencer sets a brush and a ponytail holder in front of me. His hair is long and pulled back into one of those man bun things I’ve seen a lot of lately.

  “You look like you might need this.” His cheeks pinken as his eyes lift to my hair. I’d appreciate it more if I wasn’t so embarrassed.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  By the time I’ve brushed my hair into a semismooth ponytail, Alex returns to the lounge, freshly showered and dressed in a black pinstripe suit.

  “Leaving the locker room should be interesting, hey, Waters?” one of the guys says, nodding in my direction.

  It takes a few seconds for this information to process. I have to leave through the same door I came in. There are always camera crews waiting, even after the interviews are done. How the hell am I going to get out of here without the world finding out I’ve become Alex’s puck bunny?

  Chapter 18

  HERE I THOUGHT I COULD FIT IN A HOCKEY BAG

  Violet

  Closing my eyes, I pray for the ability to beam myself out of the locker room. Unfortunately, when I open them I’m still standing here staring at Alex. He’s nice to look at, so that’s a consolation.

  “I can’t leave the locker room.”

  Someone starts to speak. I shush them with a karate chop through the air. This is unreasonable. I’m aware I’ll have to leave this room eventually. I’m so freaked out. I must look like those weird greeting cards with the animals whose eyes are half the size of their head. I don’t want pictures taken of me like this. Unable to contain myself, I pace around the room, continuing my mini-tirade, explaining why I can’t leave should Alex or any of his teammates within earshot be interested.

  “People are going to think I’m your hockey hooker. Or I’m gangbanging the team. Then you know what will happen?” Alex opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Some porn producer will try and put me in a movie. It’ll be called Hockey Hooker does the Team.”

  I suck in a deep breath. It’s not enough; I can’t get sufficient air into my lungs. I’m sweaty and clammy. If this is what a panic attack is, I never want another one. The room is dead silent, except for Kirk.

  “I’d totally buy a porno with you in it,” he says.

  I laser-beam holes through him with my eyes. I guess he means it as a compliment. I look over at Alex, ashamed for enjoying the murderous glint in his eye. Primal yet sophisticated in his suit, he bares his teeth at Kirk.

  “I’m not going to be in a porno.” I try for indignant, but my voice is shrill and choked.

  I’m full-on panicking. Alex better fuck me into oblivion later tonight so I can forget about this fiasco.

  It doesn’t matter if I look like a hooker or not, I’ll be tarred as one if I leave the locker room with the team.

  Buck’s hockey bag has to be in here somewhere. I’ve seen it enough times to recognize it. Better yet, maybe I can find Alex’s bag. Those bags are huge, and I’m small. If his crap isn’t in there, I can most certainly fit inside. Buck can wheel me out and no one will be the wiser.

  I stride into the other room, ignoring the eyes on me. I have a goal: avoid the walk of shame from the locker room into the paws and jaws of the media slores. I unzip Buck’s bag and I’m almost knocked over by the smell.

  “Holy hell, Buck. I think something died in here.” I lift his sweaty jersey, searching for a rodent corpse, or human remains.

  “Those are my lucky socks. I won’t wash them until we lose a game.” As if luck is going to stop them from smelling like a carcass.

  “How do you not have trench foot from wearing these things? Have you checked to make sure you have all your toes?”

  He crosses his arms over his chest. “Really? You wanna get on my case right now?”

  I shove the offending sock back in the bag and zip it up. The smell is so putrid my eyes water. Even my nose hairs feel singed. I look around the room and spot Alex’s bag. I know it’s his because it says “WATERS” in huge red letters. Rushing over, I open it up. Everything smells sweaty but not vile, so I’m willing to make a temporary home of it. I start unloading the contents, surprised by how much stuff fits in there.

  Alex kneels beside me. “Violet, baby, what are you doing?”

  I pull out his skates and a couple of the bigger items, making room to climb in. It doesn’t smell bad at all; hanging out in his hockey bag should be manageable for a few minutes.

  “This is how you’re going to get me out of here.” I mean, isn’t it obvious?

  “No one’s going to think you’re a prostitute.”

  “Really, Alex? You’re being awfully naive if you believe people aren’t going to think I’m a super slut when I walk out of this locker room with the entire team behind me. Or in front of me. Or surrounding me.”

  He flashes a dimple. “You’ll be with me.”

  I lower my voice to a whisper. “And that’s better how? People already believe you’re a player. How will I avoid the puck bunny label if I saunter out of here looking like an expensive prostitute hanging off your arm?” I add the expensive part to make myself feel minutely better about this whole situation.

  Alex puts a hand on my arm, his hurt evident by the sudden slump of his shoulders. “You don’t need to do this.”

  “This is already complicated. I don’t want to create more problems for myself.” The hockey bag will be cramped, similar to how I imagine a body bag would feel except with smelly equipment.

  “There’s another exit.”

  “There is?” I haven’t seen one, but then again, I’ve been pretty preoccupied up until now.

  He nods slowly. “There is.”

  “That’s a much better option than snuggling with your jockstrap.”

  Alex tells the coach we’ll meet them at the bus. He opens the emergency door, otherwise known as the “back door.” I put my hand over my face and peek through the slits between my fingers. No one is waiting to ambush us. I take Alex’s extended hand and follow him down the deserted hall to the exit. He pushes the release bar, and we step out into the cold, Canadian winter night.

  Alex wraps his arm around my waist. “See? Much better than riding around in my hockey bag.”

  “Agreed.” I huddle into his chest as he guides me across the parking lot, staying in the shadows. He keeps me curled into his side as a few reporters appear out of nowhere to chase after us. The driver opens the door, saving me from potential additional embarrassment. Once we’re on the bus, I realize my parents and Charlene have no idea where I am. I pull my phone out, turn it on, and check my texts. There are twenty-seven. Alex sent fifteen between four in the afternoon and just prior to the start of the game. The rest are from my mom and Charlene.

  Having checked before I left for the Great White North, I discovered roaming charges were super expensive, hence the reason I shut my phone off. I quickly shoot a text to Charlene and one to my mom to let them know I haven’t been kidnapped by a serial killer. The plan is to meet up with everyone at the bar to celebrate the win.

  When I’ve finished texting, I look over at Alex. He’s staring at me.

  “Why didn’t you respond to any of my messages today?” He sounds like I kicked his pet beaver.

  “Do you have any idea how expensive the roaming charges are in Canada? It doesn’t even make sense. Canada’s kind of like a huge state in the north. I know it’s a commonwealth and all, but wouldn’t it be more convenient if we had the same money and government?” />
  Alex’s mouth hangs open. I fear I may have insulted him. “Every text I send costs seventy-five cents outside of the US, and I didn’t buy a package. I figured I’d see you soon enough, and if I sent you messages I’d tell you I was coming, and I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say any of that shit about Canada being an extension of the US, Violet. I know you don’t mean that.”

  Ooooh, I definitely offended him. I’ll bring it up again later. It would be the perfect way to get him all riled up before we get naked. He might smack my ass for it. Interestingly enough, the possibility gets me a little excited.

  The driver takes the bus around to pick up the rest of the team. Buck is busy answering questions from reporters. He’s concentrating hard. It makes his forehead scrunch up.

  “What did the guy say to you on the ice, anyway?”

  “Eh?” His expression is carefully blank. I’m sure he knows what I’m referring to.

  “What did he say to provoke you?” I recall what his violent outburst looked like, and I regret to say the question comes out a little breathy.

  “I don’t remember. He was being a dick.” It’s an evasive answer at best, and I don’t buy it for a second. He’s too tense. He’s lying; I just don’t know why. His phone rings, saving him from more questions. He digs it out of his pocket and checks the screen. “Shit. It’s Dick.”

  “Who’s Dick?”

  “My agent.” Alex silences the call and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

  “You’re not going to answer?”

  “Not tonight. I don’t need him jumping down my throat about the fight or the locker room.”

  His teammates pile onto the bus, thwarting my ability to ask more questions. Buck’s agent runs a lot of interference for the stupid things Buck does on a regular basis. I assume Alex’s agent must do the same.

  Alex’s teammates razz him about the fight on the ice the entire way to the bar. No one so much as mentions the locker room. Regardless, Alex becomes increasingly annoyed as they give him hell for being so hotheaded. While I’m a fan of an irritated Alex, I don’t want him to be in a pissy mood for the rest of the evening. Even if it might benefit me later.