PUCKED

by Helena Hunting

  “What about you? How was your weekend?”

  “My weekend was good.”

  “‘Good’? You spent the weekend with Alex and that’s all you have to say? What’s this I hear about you staying at his parents’? How was that?” She sucks in a huge breath. “Did you see childhood photos? Was he always super-hot? What’s the deal with his mom’s hair? It’s huge.”

  This is more the line of questioning I expect. “It definitely has its own zip code. The childhood photos were epic. He was nerdy hot in high school.”

  I expected things to be uncomfortable with Daisy after she caught Alex with his hand in my pants—and they were—but she was a lot nicer to me the next day. Much like my mom, Daisy’s into oversharing. I got to see Alex’s awkwardness up close in all his skating photos.

  He was skinny and dorky and completely adorable. The spandex skating outfits were something else; Alex grew into his junk, not the other way around. I can see why the girls in high school would have been afraid of his trouser anaconda.

  The following evening, I rush home from work so I can shower and pack an overnight bag before Alex comes to get me. I open the door to discover Buck in my kitchen, raiding my fridge. I don’t know why he does this. It’s not as if I keep it fully stocked for hockey player style eating. I’ve got the basics covered, and that’s about it. Most of it is sugary crap, to be quite honest.

  “Did they run out of food at Poon-central, or did you just get tired of eating the same thing over and over?”

  He completely misses the barb. “I’ve never heard of that grocery store. Kind of a messed up name.”

  “What are you doing here? Other than grocery shopping in my fridge.”

  “I thought I’d stop by and see how your little holiday went. I’d like to thank you for scarring me for life with the locker room fuck-a-thon.” He finds the one healthy food item in my fridge—an overly large cucumber—and takes a massive bite.

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “No shit. Imagine how you’d feel if you walked in on me boning some chick.” He jabs the cucumber in my direction.

  “I’m talking about the phallic vegetable you’re eating.”

  “So you’d be fine walking in on me boning some chick?”

  A chunk of chewed food flies out of his mouth and lands in his beard when he snorts. It looks like snot. He wipes it away and it lands on the floor.

  “I don’t think that’s something you should joke about, considering the chick you’re currently boning is Alex’s little sister. I won’t stand in the way if Alex decides to kick the shit out of you.”

  “I’m not boning Sunny.”

  “Call it whatever you want. Fornicating is still fornicating no matter what slang term you use.”

  “I haven’t slept with her.” He has the decency to look horrified for lying.

  I give him my best bitch face. “I’m not an idiot, Buck.”

  “You can’t tell anyone.” He’s gripping the cucumber so hard it starts leaking out the top, juice dripping down his fingers.

  I process his stance and his expression. He’s legit terrified. “You’re seriously serious?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe, but I haven’t even tried to bone her.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m telling the truth! We’ve made out and I touched her tits, and I may have tried to . . . never mind.” His face contorts as he thinks. “I love talking to her. She gets me.”

  This is so not the Buck I know. His eyes are wide, and he keeps swallowing. It’s so loud I can hear it from where I’m standing. Buck is freaked out. I feel bad for him. He has no idea what it’s like to want more than sex and maybe the occasional snuggle.

  “I mean it, Vi. You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Is it such a bad thing if people know you’re not trying to get into Alex’s sister’s pants? It might help resolve some of the tension between you two.”

  “I will try to get into her pants, just not right away because . . .” He scratches his beard. “Well, I don’t know why exactly. The guys can’t know, though. They already think I’ve slept with her.”

  “Did you tell them you slept with her?”

  I’ll be pissed at him for making Alex’s sister look slutty. I’m lucky Alex isn’t the bragging type. Even when the only things he knew about me were how loud I am in bed and my love for his monster cock, he still didn’t soil my reputation. I’m well-equipped to do that on my own—see locker room for details.

  “Not really.” He takes another bite of his cucumber.

  “Care to explain?”

  “I didn’t tell them I did. I also didn’t tell them I didn’t.” He has the good sense not to look me in the eye.

  “So you lied to them.”

  “No.”

  “Yes you did.”

  He still looks confused.

  “Alex’s sister isn’t some random chick you’re sticking your wang in. She’s one of your teammates’ sister, kind of like I’m your sister.”

  The lightbulb appears to be flickering, so I figure it’s safe to continue.

  “There are hundreds of pictures of Sunny and Alex together. It’s no secret they’re close. She spends a lot of time under the scrutiny—” Buck frowns; maybe I’m using words he doesn’t understand. “The watchful eye of the media. If you make it seem like you’re all up in that, how do you think it will look?”

  “I know what scrutiny means. I don’t want people to think Sunny is a puck bunny.”

  He continues to stroke his beard as he ponders what I’ve said.

  “I’m sure you don’t. Just like you don’t want people to think I’m one for sleeping with Alex, even though I’ve done a good job making myself look like one, anyway.”

  “I thought we agreed not to talk about that. It was bad enough catching the end of it. I don’t like that you’re with him. Just because Waters isn’t taking puck bunnies home right now doesn’t mean he’s a changed man.”

  “That’s like the yeti calling the Sasquatch hairy.”

  He runs a hand self-consciously over his forearm. “What?”

  “You do realize Alex thinks you’re after his sister to get back at him for me, right? Imagine how he feels believing you’re doing his sister, knowing the number of girls you’ve put your doodle into.”

  “Yeah, ’cause Waters’ rep is so much better.”

  I roll my eyes. “He’s not really a manwhore. It’s all just public misconception.”

  Oh God. I don’t think I should’ve said that. Alex’s non-whoriness is probably something we should discuss, which is absolutely insane.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” It’s the wrong thing to say because it evokes curiosity.

  “What kind of bullshit is Waters feeding you?”

  Buck’s face starts to get red as unnecessary anger sets in. He reminds me of The Hulk, which reminds me of my underwear, which reminds me of Alex’s mother walking into his room while his hand was in the flap. Stupid, humiliating unlocked door.

  “It’s not important. Besides, this isn’t about Alex and me. It’s about you and Sunny, and you telling your boys you banged her so you can be the man. It’s immature. You’re making her look bad. Is that what you want?”

  He hangs his head in shame. “No. Definitely not.”

  “Then stop being an asshole. Now get out of my pool house. I have a date, and I don’t want you here when Alex picks me up.”

  He points the cucumber at me. “I still don’t like that you’re dating him.”

  “And I still don’t care.” I open the door and shoo him out.

  Maybe Sunny can do the impossible and tame Buck. If he screws this up, it’s going to make things hella awkward for Alex and me.

  Alex and I spend as much time together as we can over the weeks following his return, although constant practice, away games, and preparation for playoffs keep him busy. We don’t go out apart from picking up the occasio
nal takeout; Alex is trying to keeps things low key after the fight and the locker room sex.

  During his interviews to dispel the rumors, Alex is as evasive as ever, neither confirming nor denying anything. It reminds me of the Hat Trick interview. I understand the reasons for his non-answers and the omission, but it makes me nervous. While the pictures of him and I leaving the stadium after the locker sex are unclear, there are plenty more from later in the evening with us together.

  When our relationship is brought up in one interview, he dodges the question altogether, as if it wasn’t even asked. I’ve gone from being no one important to the topic of speculation in the gossip rags. The attention is foreign. I don’t want to be seen as Alex’s puck bunny. Beyond that, I worry about how I’ll be perceived at work by my colleagues.

  I can’t decide whether I’m being paranoid or if my fears have legitimate basis. He’s so considerate when we’re together; it’s hard to know how much is a result of my own insecurities.

  Our weeks blend together, and the April thaw brings wet weather followed by the promise of May sunshine and warmth. Tonight is a rare evening without obligations, so we’re making use of his back porch. Not having sex. Yet.

  I discovered his black onyx Scrabble board and challenged him to a word-off.

  “Let’s talk about the rules,” he says as he sets up the board and shakes the bag of tiles.

  “They’re right here.” I hold up the booklet that contains the rules as well as the list of two letter words I’ve memorized. Those come in handy at the end of the game.

  “I have a few new ones.”

  “New rules?”

  Alex crosses his legs, getting comfortable. “Mmm. I’d like to up the stakes a little.”

  “Is that so?” I’m just as good at Scrabble as I am at air hockey. The key to Scrabble isn’t creative words, it’s in the points.

  “All words need to be a minimum of four letters, with no less than ten points, and they need to be dirty.”

  “Or what happens?”

  He grins. “Or you take off an article of clothing.”

  “Strip Scrabble?” I crack my knuckles. “You’re so on.”

  “Says the accountant to the English major. Get ready to get beat.”

  “Pfft.” I take a dainty sip of my wine. It’s so good. Alex has an entire wine cellar. He has a particular fondness for Niagara Rieslings, and now I do, too. They’re sweet and crisp, and I could guzzle a bottle no problem. I want to win this Strip Scrabble competition, so I won’t. “Your snuffie is going to be hanging out long before my beaver.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  We pick tiles to see who goes first. I get lucky with my selection and start the board with “clit.”

  The challenge of dirty words with four letters isn’t so much the issue; it’s that so many of them contain the letter C.

  We go back and forth, me consistently making smutty four letter words, such as slut, poon, and anal. Alex comes up with a questionable Q word he wants to use on the triple letter title. I let him get away with it since I’m kicking his ass so badly.

  Alex currently has seven vowels, so he’s having trouble forming a smutty word. I think he’s stalling so I’ll drink more wine and become incapable of making good words. He drops an A between the letter V in beave and the G in gonad to make the word vag.

  “That’s only three letters. Take something off.” I lick my lips in anticipation.

  We’re only halfway through the game, and he’s already lost his socks, watch, and pants. The next logical item is his shirt.

  Of course, Alex decides he’s going to lose his boxers instead. He stands, with his eyes on me, and shimmies them down his thighs. They slide to the floor, and he kicks them off to the side with the rest of his discarded clothing.

  I prop my chin on my fist and sigh. “Strip Scrabble is my favorite.”

  “I thought my cock was your favorite.”

  “That, too.”

  Alex has a semi. It’s probably because I’m in my bra. I took off the shirt first as a distraction, so he’s getting me back. Every time I look at the board, I get an eyeful of Alex’s growing MC.

  I have an awesome word thanks to the blank tile I’ve scored, but Alex’s crappy vag has done nothing to help open the board. “I’m thinking about going apartment hunting next week,” I say as I search for a creative place to put my letters. I’m trying super hard not to focus on his hard-on. It’s a challenge since he keeps absently stroking his monster cock.

  “Oh? Why would you need to do that?”

  “So you can come to my place, and we won’t have to worry about my mom crashing our party.” Alex has only spent the night at my place once. She barged in while we were making out—mostly naked—on the couch. Since then, I’ve been coming to Alex’s and looking at apartments close to my work.

  “What’s wrong with you coming here?”

  “Nothing. I just thought it would be nice if it was equitable.” I scour the board one last time. There’s no good place to put my word, and without a double-letter score of some kind, I’ll only manage eight points.

  “You should move in here.” He says it nonchalantly, but his eyes are on his tiles and his hand is still wrapped around his mostly hard cock.

  My heart does this fluttery thing. I’m not sure whether he’s kidding.

  “We’ve been dating for what, like two months? Yeah, I think moving in with you is totally reasonable.” If we’d been dating a few months longer, I’d jump at the opportunity. Things have been so crazy lately. His evasiveness in interviews isn’t canceled out by how much time we spend together, or introducing me to his friends and family.

  “It’s close to three months. You don’t want to move in with me?” He’s peeking up at me from under his pretty, long man-lashes, looking hurt.

  “It’s not that.” I pick up my tiles and lean across the board. I don’t know how to deal with this, mostly because as irrational as it is, I totally want to move into Alex’s crib and play house with him.

  Instead of giving him more of an explanation, I place the letter D on his snuffie, followed by an I, the blank tile, and a K. I smile triumphantly.

  “Nice word. Except it doesn’t count if you can’t lay it on the board. Lose the bra.” He gestures to my chest.

  I don’t follow Alex’s instructions. Instead, I drop my pants and toss them on the floor. Alex looks unimpressed. I’m wearing frilly underwear, so he shouldn’t be too upset. He stands up—totally hard now—and knocks over the board with his dick, spilling our carefully crafted smutty words all over the floor.

  “Hey! I was winning.”

  “Hardly.” Alex pushes my chair back and drops to his knees in front of me.

  “I was up by fifty points.”

  “Why don’t you want to move in with me?” He hooks his fingers behind my knees and parts my legs so he can fit between them.

  “What does that have to do with you sabotaging the Strip Scrabble game?”

  “Stop avoiding the question. Do you think you’ll get sick of me?” His hands roam up the outside of my legs.

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Then what?”

  “It’s a little premature, don’t you think?” I like the idea, but it’s too soon. We haven’t even dropped the L-bomb, although I’m starting to suspect these fluttery feelings mean that’s exactly where I’m at now.

  “Who cares? I’m gone half the time with away games and practice. It’s a big house. There’s lots of space.” He flicks the clasp on my bra. “By the time the season’s over, we’ll have been dating for the better part of four months—maybe even five, depending on how far we make it in the playoffs.”

  “I think six months should be the cut-off for moving in.”

  “Is that an arbitrary number you’re throwing around?” He traces the delicate lace ruffle on my panties with a fingertip.

  I close my eyes, absorbing the sensation for a moment before I work on forming a response. “I
read an article about it.” I won’t tell him it was from some silly girl magazine.

  “What’s the significance of six months?” He places a wet kiss below my navel.

  “By that time all the fairy dust has settled. You’ll know all my weird quirks, and maybe then you’ll decide you can’t live with the way I brush my teeth, or how my hair clogs up your shower drain, or my obsession with Swedish Fish.”

  “I like all your weird quirks.” He pulls his shirt over his head.

  “I like your naked body,” I say, running my hands over his chest.

  “Then you should move in with it.”

  “Ask me again after playoffs.”

  “I don’t think I can wait until then.”

  “They’re only weeks away.” I pull his mouth to mine. All my paranoia seems to have been for nothing. Alex wouldn’t ask me to move in with him if our relationship wasn’t important.

  We don’t even attempt to make it to his bedroom. We have sex on the floor. It’s intense and charged, and I want it to stay like this between us. I want to want him with this kind of insatiable need forever. But passion fades eventually, and the warm, soft balm of love is what keeps the fire burning.

  The Hawks keep winning games, which should be a positive. Instead of being excited, Alex gets moodier the closer they get to securing a place in the playoffs. Whenever Dick calls—which is frequently—he gets tense and leaves the room. I hate Dick. Alex is always pissy after they talk. He’s also always horny which is the only upside. After the calls, I find myself promptly carried up the stairs and loved into oblivion.

  While the orgasms are stellar as usual, I feel like I’m missing something important.

  I notice the pattern and call him on it. “What’s going on with Dick?”

  He tenses, staring up at the ceiling. “We’re not seeing eye-to-eye on how to handle some of my endorsements.”

  “Which endorsements?”

  “The ones for Bachelor of the Year.”

  He mentioned this in passing a few weeks ago and hasn’t brought it up since. “What’s the issue?” Silence stretches out so long I prop up on an elbow. “Alex?”