PUCKED

by Helena Hunting

  “These are beautiful. Thank you.” Alex beams like a spotlight at the compliment.

  “Can you put these in some water, please?” I ask my mom.

  “Don’t you want to invite Alex in for a drink? Sidney’s making me a Manhattan. It’s cocktail hour!”

  His warm reply negates my snide response. “Thank you for the invitation, but we have dinner reservations. Maybe another time.”

  “Oh! Of course! You kids have fun. I’m sure Sidney will be more than happy to have me all to himself tonight!”

  “Okay, well, we don’t want to be late!” I tug on Alex’s sleeve, praying my mother doesn’t say anything else to further my humiliation. This is exactly why I need to move into an apartment far away from her.

  Alex helps me into my coat and my mother waves us off.

  “Sorry about her,” I say as we walk down the path to the driveway. It’s icy, so I hold his arm. “Parent introductions aren’t supposed to happen until the fifty-seventh date or something.”

  “No worries. I think she likes me.”

  “She’s embarrassing.”

  “Aren’t all parents?”

  He opens the passenger door and helps me in. I feel like an idiot. Here I am, a grown woman, still living in my parent’s pool house. Yet another reason I should’ve suggested meeting him at the restaurant. He puts the car in gear and we’re on our way downtown.

  “Are you okay? That fall looked like it hurt.” His palm comes to rest on the back of my neck.

  “My giant booty broke my fall.”

  “I happen to like your booty . . . almost as much as I like your other assets.”

  “Speaking of which, the Victoria’s Secret gift certificate is excessive.”

  “You used it?”

  “Maybe, b—”

  “What’d you get?” His eyes move to my chest. It’s covered by my jacket. “Did you spend it all?”

  “You want to know if I bought something for my boobs?”

  “Maybe. Did you?” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Maybe.”

  Alex hums and nods, his attention on the road once again.

  It doesn’t take long to reach our destination, which is a good thing because discussing lingerie purchases makes me nervous about what could happen later. Alex turns into the parking lot of a swanky restaurant and pulls into a spot near the door. “If you did happen to buy something for your boobs, I don’t expect to see it tonight.”

  “You don’t want to see it?”

  He caresses my nape with his thumb. “I didn’t say that. I don’t have any expectations beyond dinner. I realize the gift card may make it come across like I do.”

  This is why I like him. Well, one of the reasons. I lean in. Alex mirrors the movement until our lips are less than an inch apart.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  He bridges the gap. I’m not interested in chaste kisses. I have to sit across from him during dinner. We could be in the restaurant for hours. It doesn’t look like the kind of place where we can sneak into the bathroom for a quickie. Not that I’m considering it as an option. Since sex isn’t an expectation, I suddenly want it to be. I grab the front of his jacket and strain to get closer. Maybe this is how reverse psychology is supposed to work.

  With a low groan, he releases me. “As much as I’d like this to continue, we’re going to be late for our reservation if we keep it up much longer.”

  He goes in for one last kiss. I’m into this wooing business. If dinner goes well, we can always pick up where we left off.

  Alex is very much a gentleman. He opens doors and helps me out of my coat once we’re inside the restaurant. “You look gorgeous. I love this dress.”

  It’s red and clingy with a low neckline. Charlene made me buy it last summer. I never had a reason to wear it until now.

  Alex takes off his jacket. He looks sophisticated and sexy in his black button-down dress shirt and charcoal gray pants. His tie matches my dress. Almost like we planned it.

  The hostess takes us to a private table in a small room, away from the other guests. Alex passes me the wine list once we’re seated.

  “There aren’t any prices,” I whisper after the waiter fills our water glasses.

  “Just pick what you like.” His smile makes the fountain of beave turn on. I better not soak through my damn panties.

  I go with red. I don’t like it as much as I like white, so I’ll drink slower. Wine tends to hit me hard and fast, and I don’t want to make a fool out of myself in a nice restaurant. Bars and hockey games are a totally different story.

  There are no prices on my dinner menu, either. I have a feeling it’s purposeful. I order the bacon wrapped filet mignon, medium-rare. There’s nothing better than a nice cut of beef hugged by a pork product. I opt for a garden salad instead of Caesar to avoid garlic breath. Alex orders seafood-something-or-other, and then we’re alone.

  Taking my hand in his, he lifts it to his lips. It’s funny how he can be so smooth sometimes and other times he blunders around like me. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I didn’t think I’d ever get you to go on a date with me.”

  “Me, either.”

  Alex laughs.

  When the waiter brings my salad and his soup, Alex moves his chair closer so he’s next to me, like at the café.

  “I wish I didn’t have to leave again tomorrow.”

  “You’ll be gone for a couple of weeks?”

  “We have a six-game series. Usually the long stretches aren’t so close together. The games are spread out, so we’re on the road longer than I like.”

  “Usually you only play a few away games at a time, right?” I’ve never really paid much attention to Buck’s schedule. He shows up on my couch a few times a month to play Xbox and eat my food. Over the last little while, I’ve become far more familiar with who he’s playing against and when.

  “Most of the time. There’s a couple of long stretches every season, and we’ve got some difficult games coming up against solid teams.”

  “Sidney’s been on the phone with Buck lately, discussing strategy.”

  “You two seem to get along pretty well.” There’s something in the way he says it—almost as if he’s jealous, which seems silly.

  “You mean Buck? I guess. He’s got a pretty busy life. Mostly he stops by if he needs a meal. He has his hockey hookers to fill his time.”

  “‘Hockey hookers’?” Alex smiles questioningly, but his eyes look troubled.

  “You know, puck bunnies.”

  His dimples stay in place, but the tic under his left eye gives away his disquiet.

  Thankfully, our meals arrive and I dig in, happy to abandon the topic. My filet cuts like butter and tastes even better. Between decadent bites, I ask Alex about Canada.

  “I grew up in a city called Guelph. It’s in Ontario.”

  “That’s an interesting name for a city.” It sounds like a character from a Tolkien novel.

  “It’s an hour outside of Toronto.”

  I nod as if the geographical location helps place the name.

  “Have you ever been to Canada?”

  I shake my head, unable to respond as I’m chewing.

  “You should come when we play Toronto next. I’ll take you to Guelph. You’d like it.”

  My stomach flip-flops. We’re only halfway through dinner and he’s inviting me to future games. I’m only able to attend out of town games because Sidney’s company pays for the flights and the accommodations, but the thought is nice.

  Conversation with Alex is easy. My life isn’t nearly as exciting as his, but he hangs on my every word as if I’m the one with the high profile life, not him.

  He shares how difficult it is to be away from home all the time and how it makes relationships hard. I’m not sure if it’s his way of telling me this is only casual. I don’t have the guts to ask, either.

  When he orders dessert, they bring two s
poons. We only use one.

  It’s late by the time we finish. Chivalrous as usual, Alex helps me into my coat at the door. He lifts my hair and brushes his lips across my neck.

  As soon as I am secure in the car, my palms start to sweat. I have the urge to bolt or throw myself at him. Either seems like a good option. The latter better than the former.

  Alex slips into the driver’s seat and turns to me. “I don’t fly out until early tomorrow afternoon. If you want, you could come to my place.”

  “Your place?”

  “Or I can take you home, if you’d prefer.”

  “I don’t want to go home.”

  “No?”

  I shake my head.

  “Good. I don’t particularly want to take you home, either.” His voice gets lower.

  I stop breathing and wait for him to kiss me as he leans in. I’m not disappointed.

  Neither one of us is buckled in, so we meet in the middle of the console and start making out. We go from kissing to mouth fucking almost instantly. I have a distinct feeling Alex may very well get to see my Victoria’s Secret purchases even without a freak windstorm.

  ALEX

  Violet tastes like chocolate and wine. Her lips are soft, and she does this thing with her tongue—there she goes again. I remind myself we’re in my car, in a parking lot; it’s not okay to get her naked.

  Violet breaks the kiss. “Um, hi.” Her hand is on my chest, her face flushed. I’m almost all the way out of my seat, on top of her.

  “Shit. Sorry. You taste really good.” Because that’s an excuse for jumping her in my car.

  She licks her lips. “Thanks. So do you.”

  I rearrange myself, and put the car in gear. “Let me show you where I live.”

  In the past five years, I’ve been on a handful of dates where I’ve been interested enough to go on a second one. Of those, very few made it to the third date. Even fewer stepped foot through my door. While I might appear in the tabloids frequently, I prefer privacy in my personal life. I take back roads to the outskirts of the city.

  “You said you didn’t have a lair,” Violet says as I turn into my driveway. The house is almost completely obscured by a bend in the drive.

  I laugh. “I don’t. I promise.”

  “You better not. I’m not into lairs.” The house comes into view. “Oh, wow. This is definitely not lairish.”

  I pull into the four-car garage where I store my toys. There’s a Torino Fastback painted flashy orange with black stripes, a speedboat, two Sea-Doos, and a pair of four-wheelers.

  “You have a lot of things with engines.”

  “This is just the stuff I keep here. I have lakefront property an hour away and a cottage in Ontario with more water toys. It’s where I spend my time in the off-season.”

  “Sidney has a cottage. I always picture them as being kind of run-down, like a shack or something. His is more like a house on a lake.”

  “Do you ever go?” Maybe Butterson’s Facebook pictures came from a vacation there.

  “We try to make the trip once a summer. I’m not very good at water sports.”

  “Water skiing isn’t hard. I’m sure I could teach you.”

  Violet snorts. “Yeah. I can barely get the hang of yoga, and you want to strap boards to my feet and drag me across water?”

  “You make it sound dangerous.”

  “All sports are dangerous. Especially hockey.”

  Once inside, I hang up her coat. Her dress is killing me. It’s one of those wrap things with a tie at the waist. I try not to stare; it makes her tits look fantastic. I don’t want her to think the only reason I invited her here is for sex. I haven’t spent the past month trying to get her to go out with me to screw it up. However, I can appreciate her stunning cleavage.

  To avoid jumping her immediately, I give her a tour of my house. I don’t take her upstairs, seeing as my bedroom would be a bad place to end up right now. I show her the main floor, then the game room in the basement. It’s as far from my bedroom as we can get.

  “You’re such a dude.” Violet snort-laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

  Maybe the eighty-inch flat screen, movie style recliners, gaming consoles, and accompanying chairs are a bit much. “I don’t get a lot of down time, but when I do, I like to play.”

  “I’m not making fun. This is great. Buck would be in heaven here. So would Sidney.” Violet checks out my wall of trophies.

  I hope they don’t make me look like an arrogant ass. I worked hard for them; I’m proud of my accomplishments. My figure skating trophies—I have a lot of those, too—are all at my mother’s house in my childhood bedroom.

  “You don’t need to look at those.”

  I stand behind her, admiring her ass. It really is nice. Soft. Plush. Good for grabbing. I’d like to feel that curve against my dick again. Later. Maybe.

  Violet turns around, her tone teasing. “Yeah, I’m sure you have them all out here so people ignore them.”

  “They work with the room, don’t they?”

  “They’re impressive. I only ever won the participation ribbon on Track and Field Day. If I had these, I’d highlight them with a flashing neon arrow. In my personal opinion, you’re understating your awesomeness.”

  “You don’t think flashing neon is too overt?”

  “Not even a little.” She scans the room, pausing at the posters hung on the wall. “Wow! Look at all those ads. Ohhh. You’ve even done one for Tim Horton’s. I finished that tin in like a week.”

  “I must look like a narcissist, eh?” I rub the back of my neck, more uncomfortable about these than I am the trophies.

  She glances over her shoulder. “Are any of these hanging in your bedroom?”

  “Uh. No.”

  “Not even the milk ad?”

  I grin. “Not even the milk advertisement.”

  “Then you’re not a narcissist as far as I can tell. By the way, if you happen to have a spare copy of the milk ad lying around and you weren’t sure what do to with it, I’d be happy to take it off your hands.”

  “I might be able to get you a copy.”

  She gestures to the posters. “Do you have to do a lot of these?”

  “It depends on the season. We’re doing well this year, so there’s more demand. They’re good for exposure. I’ve had some interest from some big campaigns recently, so we’ll see what happens.”

  “What kind of campaigns?”

  “Sports companies. It’s something I’ve been working toward.”

  “I hope you get it, then.” She moves away from the posters. “You have an air hockey table! Sidney has one. Buck used to try and hustle me all the time.” She claps excitedly. “Let’s play!”

  “No one plays air hockey here without putting something at stake.”

  “You mean a bet? I’m gonna warn you, I’m good.” Violet taps her fingers on the lip of the table. “I beat Buck all the time.”

  I suppress a smirk. “Oh? In that case, if I win, I get to take you out again after this series of away games.”

  This is far from fair; there’s no way Violet will win. But I want something beyond the glory of beating a woman who reads during hockey games and refers to the penalty box as the “time-out box thingy.”

  Violet blushes. “And if I win, I get to take the cool car in your garage for a ride.”

  At first I think she’s joking. Violet has no idea what my car is worth or the time and energy spent having it painstakingly restored. I’m not worried. I’m going to wipe the floor with Violet’s ass. Well, I’d like to do something to Violet’s ass—maybe while she’s on the floor. In the context of the game, I’m going to win.

  “You’re on.” I reach across the table to shake on it.

  Violet’s smile is pure calculated innocence as she slips her hand into mine and yanks, pulling me forward unexpectedly. Her grin becomes a sneer, her eyes narrowing with something like malice.

  “Be prepared to have your balls handed to you,
Waters.”

  “You think so, eh?”

  This is going to be fun. I remove my tie and toss it on the chair in the corner. Next I unbutton my shirt and shrug out of it.

  “Is this strip air hockey?” Her eyes drop to my chest. All distractions are good distractions if they work in my favor.

  “No. I’m just getting comfortable.” My T-shirt is less constrictive than a button-down.

  Violet takes a ready stance. The deep V of her dress gapes slightly, and the luscious swell of her breasts press together to create amazing cleavage. I’d love to fuck her tits—dammit, now I’m distracted.

  My competitive nature comes out, and I practically growl, “Get ready to be spanked, sweetheart.”

  Her neck goes blotchy. “Nice try. That’s not on the table.”

  “You don’t think so? I could put you over the table.” I wag my eyebrows suggestively.

  Violet scoffs. “Check your ego, Captain.”

  At the beginning, I go easy on her and let her believe she’ll win. It quickly becomes apparent Violet is far more adept at this game than I assumed. She scores two goals within the first two minutes, punctuating each one with a Take that!

  “Best out of three.” I sneak the puck by her goalie and smile condescendingly.

  “If you feel the need to be beaten twice.”

  “You’re going down, baby.”

  “If that’s what you wanted”—the puck ricochets against the side of the table and heads toward my goalie—“you should’ve put it on the table.”

  She pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue. The image of Violet’s lips wrapped around my cock, her warm, wet tongue swirling around the head diverts my attention from the game.

  “Take that!” she yells.

  I blink, confused. Damn! She scored again. She’s thrown my game with blow job references, making it impossible for me to recover the win. Violet prances around, fist pumping the air, boobs jiggling. Though I’m irritated she’s beaten me—unfairly—she’s still entertaining to watch.

  “I. Am. Awesome!” She props a hand on her hip. “You obviously don’t want another date if you’re going to play like a girl.”