Hot as Puck: A Bad Motherpuckers Novel

by Lili Valente

  When I extend my hand, I keep my tone light and friendly. “Libby.”

  “Tanner,” the man says, his big hand enfolding mine. There is no sizzle or spark, but I’m not surprised. I can’t remember the last time anyone but Roger made me tingle.

  Since the morning I sprained my ankle in the slippery grass while leading my kids outside during a fire drill, and Asher Elementary’s handsome, smart, sweet as homemade strawberry pie vice principal swooped me into his arms to carry me to the nurse’s office, there has been no one but him. Roger is the object of my complete and utter fascination, and he has no idea I exist. At least, not in that way.

  He doesn’t know that I adore him. Or lust after him.

  Like I said, he brought the tingles. Awareness was so thick in the air between us as he carried me through the school that I’d felt like the heroine at the end of An Officer and a Gentleman, when Richard Gere comes charging into the factory and carries Debra Winger out into the light, away from all the massive rolls of paper and frustrating boxes that need stacking. My kindergarten students are much more adorable than boxes that need stacking, and I love my job, but on that day, if Roger had kept walking past the nurse’s office, out into the parking lot, and insisted on driving me back to his place in his Jeep Patriot for a steaming cup of hot tea and a steamier make-out session in his library, I wouldn’t have put up a fight.

  I know that movie is problematic for a lot of reasons—Laura is quick to let me know when I’m loving things that aren’t the most pro-woman-power things to love—but I adore it. I love the way both characters just…know. In that moment it’s so clear on their faces that they’ve found their forever person, the one they’re going to be with for the rest of their lives.

  Tanner is not going to be my forever person. But he seems nice, and he’s certainly attractive. So maybe tonight doesn’t have to be a total bust. Justin isn’t interested in helping me—even though he’s the one who’s always insisting that he’s there for me any time I need him—but maybe there’s still a chance to learn a thing or two.

  “So, why was your night off to a rocky start?” I shift toward Tanner, giving him a better view of the cleavage Laura assured me was going to draw men to me like helpless mosquitoes lured into a bug zapper, and try not to feel self-conscious.

  “Work trouble.” His gaze shifts to my chest and back up again so quickly I’m not sure it happened. It’s even subtler than Justin’s peek, but at least Tanner doesn’t look horrified by the amount of skin I’m showing, so that’s a plus. “A couple of the guys I work with live to give me shit.”

  I nod sympathetically. “I know the feeling. I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

  He laughs. “The kids give you a lot of shit?”

  “No, not really,” I say, returning his grin. “But there’s always a couple troublemakers. You know, the kid who won’t stop eating Play Dough or the little boy who crawls under the desks trying to look up the girl’s skirts.”

  “Well, I can’t really blame them.” His eyes twinkle as he leans closer. “Play Dough smells good, and looking up a girl’s skirt is just about the most fun there is.”

  I shake my head, nerves spiking as my heart starts to beat faster.

  This is it! That was a signal to escalate flirting, one so clear not even I could misunderstand it.

  But what do I say in response? Should I keep it coy? Maybe a shy giggle before guiding the conversation back to his work? Should I go the more direct route and ask if there’s a significant skirt in his life at the moment? Or should I take the flirting bull by the horns, touch his arm, and say something sexy like “now I’m regretting wearing pants?”

  Or is that too completely raunchy? Would that send signals I don’t really want to send, even if I try to make it obvious I’m teasing?

  Holy mother of cannoli, just say something!

  Speak! Move your mouth before he realizes that you’re weird and goes looking for another woman to hit on!

  My lips are parting and something is on the way out of my mouth—in moments like these, when my anxiety is running high, I’m never sure what I’m going to say until the words emerge and I’ve either pulled off communication or offered the conversational equivalent of a turd dropped in the middle of the dinner table—when a large, muscled arm wraps around my waist and the strangest thing happens.

  Heat shoots through my midsection, rushing up to flush my cheeks and down to warm much more intimate places. Places I’ve assumed would only sizzle for Roger from now until the day I convince him we’re meant to be, or my eventual death as an old cat lady—whichever comes first.

  But now, there’s no doubt about it. I’m sizzling. Burning. Longing for more possessive touches from a total stranger.

  And then the stranger says in a familiar voice, “Tell me you’re not scamming on my little sister right now, Nowicki. Please, tell me I’m seeing things,” and I realize this is something much more disturbing than attraction to a man I don’t know.

  This is attraction to Justin. This is enjoying the way it feels to have Justin’s arm wrapped around me, and the warmth of his front warming my back as he pulls me close. This is full-body tingles inspired by a man who is so firmly in the friend zone that I’ve never even considered what it might feel like to kiss him.

  But I’m considering it now, and this night just got a hell of a lot more confusing.

  Chapter Four

  Justin

  I finally spot Libby inside the restaurant at the bar—and Nowicki next to her, drooling into her cleavage with his big dumb nose so close to hers it looks like he’s about two seconds away from moving in for a kiss—and I see red. I see bright, shining no way are you sticking your tongue in my sweet Libby’s mouth and giving her herpes or foot-and-mouth disease or swine flu or whatever else a knuckle-dragger like Nowicki might have floating around in that mouth-breather mouth of his, and lose it.

  I bolt across the bar, wrapping my arm around Libby’s waist and pulling her out of harm’s way.

  I draw her tight against me and bark something at Nowicki over her head. I honestly have no idea what I’m saying, just that I’m pissed and that he needs to go. Now. So I can talk to Libby and straighten this out before she makes a serious mistake. She’s way too good for Tanner. Head and shoulders out of his league, even if she is barely five three.

  “Relax, man.” Nowicki lifts his hands at his sides. “I had no idea she was your sister. Seriously.”

  “She’s not my sister.” I scowl at him as I hug Libby closer. Damn, she feels good. Warm and soft and curvy, she fits right beneath my chin like she was made to press against me while I yell at people over her head.

  “You just said she was your sister,” Nowicki says, doing that “making no sense” thing he does so well.

  “I did not.”

  “You did.” Libby’s fingers curl around the arm I’ve got wrapped around her waist. “You said I was your little sister.”

  “Like a little sister,” I amend, figuring that’s probably what I said.

  “No, you didn’t,” Libby and Tanner say at the same time. And then they have the gall to laugh together, as if they’ve had time to establish the kind of private jokes Libby and I have shared since we were kids.

  “Well, that’s what I meant.” My gaze drills into Tanner’s. “And that means she’s off-limits, Nowicki. So take your sniffing somewhere else.”

  “I’m tired, anyway.” He tosses a twenty on the bar and nods at Libby before adding in a softer voice, “Nice meeting you, Libby. Good luck with the Play Dough eaters. I hope your night gets better.”

  “Good luck to you, too,” Libby says. “Sorry about this.”

  “Not your fault,” Nowicki assures her, casting a frustrated glance in my direction before turning and walking away.

  “It’s nothing personal, rookie,” I call after him. “Family is off-limits. Everyone knows that.”

  But Nowicki doesn’t turn around, and a second later I realize Libby is tugging at my sleev
e. I release her and she turns to me with a huff. “That was rude,” she snaps, but all I can think about is how pretty she looks with her cheeks pink and her eyes glittering up at me.

  Which brings me to why I was chasing her down in the first place. I need to assure her that all she needs is a little confidence and she’ll be swimming in dudes. I’ll get myself back in her good, friendly graces and put this weird night behind us.

  “I’m sorry.” I claim the now-empty stool beside her. “I just lost it for a second. You can do so much better than Nowicki, Libs.”

  Her eyes go wide even as her brow furrows. “What in the world are you talking about? Tanner is gorgeous, and as far as I could tell, very nice. Funny, too.”

  I scowl. “Are you sure you haven’t had too much to drink?”

  “No, I haven’t.” She lifts her wine glass. “This is my third drink, and unlike Laura, I can handle my liquor just fine. Tanner was nice, which is more than I can say for you. You practically bit the man’s head off for absolutely no reason.”

  “No reason?” I sputter. “Did you see the way he was leering at you? He looked like the wolf about to eat Red Riding Hood’s rack for dinner.”

  “He did not,” she insists. “And even if he did, that’s no reason to stomp over here and yell at the man. I’m a grown woman, not some little girl who needs you to decide who I’m allowed to talk to.”

  I run a clawed hand through my hair, realizing she’s probably right. “Fine. I’ll apologize to him at practice on Monday.”

  “And mean it,” she says, brows lifting.

  “And mean it,” I agree, before adding in a more conciliatory tone, “But how about I apologize to you, first? I didn’t mean to be a jerk just now, or before. You took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  Her gaze drops to her lap, sending her thick lashes spreading across her cheeks. “It’s all right. Let’s just forget about it.”

  “I don’t want to forget about it. Clearly, this is something that’s bothering you. But you shouldn’t be stressed, Libs. You’re a beautiful, sweet, funny person who’s lethal with a crochet hook. The right guy is going to see that.”

  “No, Jus, he isn’t,” she says, shaking her head. “I am the worst at boy-girl stuff. Ask Laura. I’m completely hopeless. Half the time I’m too shy to say anything to a man I like, and the other half I say something completely insane.”

  “You were doing fine with Tanner.” Irritation flashes through me again as I remember how close Tanner’s face was to Libby’s.

  “No, I wasn’t. I was second and third guessing myself, and probably on the verge of saying something crazy. And then Tanner would have realized that I was a weirdo and run away as fast as his big, muscly legs could carry him.” She pushes on before I can remark that Nowicki is actually one of the smaller guys on the offensive line. “And I didn’t even like him. I mean, he seemed nice, but there was no spark, you know. No sizzle. You should see how ridiculous I am when I’m actually attracted to someone. I’m a hot mess. I mean, usually, anyway…”

  She shakes her head hard, sending her silky hair skimming over her shoulders, making me wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. How have I been her friend for so long without finding out if her hair feels like silk? Friends should know those things about each other, right? Maybe?

  “Whatever.” She claims her wine from the bar and takes a big gulp, her throat working as she swallows. “Like I said, let’s just forget it. I shouldn’t have asked, but I trust you, and you’ve dated so many different kinds of women that I thought you would be able to help. Even someone like me.”

  “Someone like you,” I repeat, the words making me sad. And a little angry. I don’t like hearing people talk shit about my friends. Not even if it’s them doing the shit-talking. “What’s that even mean, Libs?”

  “Someone who’s socially awkward,” she mumbles, studying her fingers as they skim up and down the stem of her glass. “I know I have a few nice things going for me, but I have no idea what I’m doing, Jus. Even if I manage to bluff my way through a first date, I have no idea how to act during the second one. And I’m even more clueless about all the other stuff.” She bites her lip as she spins the glass in a slow circle. “And men my age don’t want to deal with a woman whose knowledge of how to rock a guy’s world plateaued her junior year of college in the back of Brett Baxter’s station wagon.”

  I frown. “Didn’t Brett end up becoming a priest?”

  She nods sadly, her soft brown eyes shifting back to meet mine, sending that strange, God-Libby-is-a-beautiful-woman sensation rushing through me again. “Yes, he did. That’s how good I am at the other stuff. So good that men can be with me and easily decide to give up sex forever.”

  My lips curve. “It was a holy calling, Libs.”

  “For. Ev. Ver.” She hits each syllable hard enough to make me wince.

  “Okay, I get it.” I know I’m going to regret my next words, but hell, this is Libby, my friend, and a good person who deserves to be happy. And if she believes a little sex ed is all she needs to get her headed down the road to happily ever after, who am I to deny her? Sure, it’s going to be awkward to give her tips on how to rock a guy’s world, but good friends are worth stepping out of your comfort zone for.

  And at least I can be sure that this weird awareness of her will fade come tomorrow morning, once I get the alcohol and fresh-breakup-angst out of my system. I’ve known Libby for over a decade and never felt anything but platonic affection for her. There’s no reason for that to change now, just because she decided to wear a tank top.

  That’s not a tank top, it’s an invitation to sin, and you know it.

  Ignoring the voice in my head, and the fact that my cock has been semi-hard for the past half hour for reasons I would rather not think about, I take Libby’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  She looks up, eyes wide. “Do what?”

  “I’ll teach you about flirting and whatever else you want to know,” I say, before adding in a firm, no-nonsense tone. “But there will be rules. The first being that you never tell Laura. The second that you never tell Laura. And the third that you never—”

  “Tell Laura,” Libby finishes, nodding. “Agreed. It would be too embarrassing.”

  “I’m not worried about being embarrassed. I’m worried about her kicking my ass when she decides I’ve given you bad advice that’s going to get you in trouble.”

  Libby arches a brow. “Are you going to give me bad advice that’s going to get me in trouble?”

  “No, I’m going to get you laid,” I say, silencing the voice in my head that insists it wouldn’t mind being the one doing the laying. “On the regular, with as many men as you want to take home.”

  She blinks faster. “Oh no, I don’t want to take home a bunch of men. Just one. His name is Roger. He’s the vice principal at my school. I’ve been interested for a long time, but he only thinks of me as a friend.”

  Roger. It’s a stupid name, and I decide immediately that I hate this tool who doesn’t have the sense to see that Libby is adorable, sexy, girlfriend material, but I force a smile and assure her, “By the time we’re finished, he’s going to be begging you to be his steady date.”

  A cautious smile curves her lips. “Really? So you don’t think I’m a hopeless case?”

  “No, I don’t think you’re a hopeless case.” The usual friendly affection I feel for Libby fills my chest as her dimples pop in response to my words, making it seem okay to add, “If you weren’t like a sister to me, I would totally be trying to get into your pants.”

  “Right.” She rolls her eyes before pinning me with a hard look. “I have another condition, okay? No lying. I don’t want you to lie or flatter me, Justin. I want the truth, even if it’s hard for me to hear.”

  But it is the truth. For tonight, anyway.

  If she were a stranger with big, brown eyes, a heart-shaped mouth, and a curvy little body rocking black leather and lace, I would be doing
everything in my power to get her back to my place, into my bed, and underneath me as soon as possible. The thought of Libby—tank top off, pants unbuttoned, her breath coming faster as I let my lips play across her breasts—is enough to make that semi I’ve had all night become a raging, throbbing condition.

  And just like that, I’m suddenly hard for Libby. Rock hard. So hard that if I give her a good-bye hug, there’s no way she’ll be able to miss the effect she’s had on me.

  So instead of hugging her good-bye, I lean in, pressing a kiss to her cheek before I assure her, “No lies. I’ll swing by your place tomorrow around lunchtime. We can have our first lesson before practice.” Then I bail. I bail so fast that I’m off the stool and headed back toward the party before Libby’s “thank you,” passes her lips.

  Her sweet, full lips that I want to leave bruised and swollen because I’ve kissed her so hard and deep and well that there will be no doubt in her mind that she’s a red-hot fucking piece of ass.

  But she’s not a piece of ass, she’s Libby, and I’m clearly more wasted than I realized. Time to cut the scotch, load up on carbs and water, and hope I can sober up enough to avoid being completely hungover tomorrow for Libby’s first lesson.

  Surely I can be back to normal by then. Especially if I can find a woman willing to come home with me and finish celebrating my birthday with a large pizza and half a dozen orgasms—for her, at least. I’m a generous man, and I’m happy to spend an hour with my face buried between a woman’s legs, getting her off again and again.

  Anything to keep my mind off imaginary naked Libby.

  But an hour later, as the party begins to wind down, I’m still alone. None of the women rubbing up against me on the dance floor arouse more than the dimmest flickers of lust, and when I finally fall into bed around midnight, I have to fight the urge to fantasize about a certain brunette’s incredible breasts as I jerk off.