When she speaks, it’s quiet and too calm. “I know flipping numbers is a thing for you, but it’s Sunny, for Christ’s sake. You should be on top of this.” She takes off the sunglasses.
Her eyes have that watery thing going on. It makes me nervous. I can deal with Violet’s sarcasm and anger, but when she gets emotional, I don’t know how to manage her other than to give her ice cream.
“You know, if you’re not interested in that relationship, you better man up and deal with it instead of blowing her off. I won’t have you fucking up my sex life because she’s not interested in your tiny dick.”
“My dick isn’t tiny.”
She’s back to being pissed, thankfully. “Who fucking cares? That’s not the point. Why are you here anyway? Lance is a douche.”
“He’s not—”
A song about peacocks starts playing from her back pocket.
“Hold on.” She answers it. “Yes, he’s still here.” She looks me over and twirls her finger in the air. “Turn around.”
I don’t argue. I do what I’m told.
“He’s shirtless, and I don’t see any nail marks or hickeys through his matted fur.” There’s a pause. I can hear Waters muffled voice. Judging from his tone, he’s not very happy. “No. Absolutely not. That’s where I draw the line, Alex. I’m not interested in requiring therapy.” She purses her lips and glares at me. “Are you going to Hulk out? . . . Are you sure? . . . Fine.” She passes me the phone. “Alex wants to talk to you.”
My phone buzzes with new texts and messages. I need to call Sunny. More than that, I need to reschedule my flight and get my ass to the airport. But instead I put Vi’s phone to my ear.
“Butterson, if you give me one of your bullshit excuses, I’m going to break your goddamn knees.”
Violet is making hand gestures. I can’t listen to Waters’ heavy breathing and the buzz of my phone and watch her at the same time.
“If you break my knees, you’ll be out for the season,” I say.
“I’ll get Violet to do it.”
Violet’s not very strong, so that’s not much of a threat. I don’t share this with Waters, though. He’s already pissed off enough. I make a noise of disbelief instead. Turns out that’s almost as bad as saying what I’m thinking.
“You think this is funny, Butterson? My sister is bawling her eyes out over fucking media snapshots of you and all your goddamn pucksluts—”
“I was asleep. I didn’t know they drew a dick on my face until this morning. And that girl dropped into my lap and started taking pictures. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
He exhales like Darth Vader. When he speaks again, it’s much more softly. “This is your last chance, Butterson. If you don’t fix this mess, I’m going to schedule a meeting with the manager to tell him you’re a cancer to the team and you need to be traded.”
It pisses me off that Waters, of all people, drops threats like this. He knows better than anyone how the media misconstrues things. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair is you playing my sister and thinking you can get away with it.”
“Kinda like you played mine.”
“Don’t even start with me. You have no idea what it’s like to make sacrifices for someone else. Put Violet back on the phone.”
“Your boyfriend’s an asshole,” I mutter, passing the device back to her.
“Fiancé,” she corrects, flipping me off. She turns away while she has a back and forth with Waters.
I pull up my email and search for messages from Amber. She forwarded me one with my flight details last night. I open it and stare at the numbers and letters swimming together on the tiny screen. Under the flight times in her message is my entire monthly calendar. Everything is color-coded so I know what it means without having to read it. Practice is highlighted in red (there aren’t any this month because we’re off season), workouts in blue, free days in pink, travel days in purple, and time with Sunny is a red heart. I tried to get Amber to change that one, but she thought it was cute and refused.
At first I think I’m right and the flight is at nine tonight, until I read the message underneath. I’m off by three hours because I flipped the number upside down. I go back to my emails and scroll through the most recent ones. Amber sent one this morning. It’s a voice memo, thank Christ.
I hit play. “Just a reminder that you fly to Toronto this evening at six. Your tickets are attached in the email. I also picked up a few of the items on the list of things you felt might make good gifts for Sunny. Those are packed in your carry-on bag. Your luggage for the camp has been sent directly there to minimize the number of bags you have to take with you.”
Damn, she’s good. And she’s not even finished.
“An SUV has been rented for you,” her message continues. “All you have to do is pick it up at the airport in Toronto once you arrive. Sunny’s address and the directions to the camp will be pre-programmed into the GPS system. I hope you’re managing without me. Call if you need anything. I should have phone reception between today and tomorrow, but I’m unsure after that. You can always call Violet; she has all the information. So does your dad, but remember he and Skye are on a cruise for the next two weeks.
“This message will self-destruct in thirty seconds. Kidding! You’ll be fine, Miller. Good luck with Sunny.”
I should’ve known I’d mess this up. Things can’t ever be easy for me when it comes to dates and times.
I check the time on my phone. Vi’s right; it’s after five.
Even with my bags already packed, there’s no way I can make this flight.
“Come on, let’s go.” Violet grabs my wrist and pulls me toward an old-school Torino. It’s Waters’ car. I’ve only seen him drive it a couple times.
“I have my car, and I need my wallet.”
“Leave your car here. You need to rebook your flight, and you don’t need to be distracted with driving. It’s too much for your yeti mind to handle.”
“Can you give the damn yeti jokes a rest, please? I feel shitty enough without the insults, today, thanks.”
As I turn to go back into the house, the door opens. “Hey, man! There you are! I thought you’d taken off already.” Randy glances behind me at Violet. “Hey, how’s it going, Vi?”
“Hi, Randy.” She makes this sound, like she’s choking on something. Here we go. It happens every time she seems him. She can’t get past his name. And she thinks I’m immature.
I look over my shoulder; her whole body is shaking. She balls her hands into fists and pulls them up like she’s getting into a fighting stance. Then she thrusts her hips, not once or twice, but three times. When she’s done, her face is blotchy, and she pretends to be mortified.
“Get your wallet. I’ll be in the car.” She spins around and almost trips on her way down the front steps.
“Bye, Violet,” Randy calls after her.
She waves over her shoulder. “Bye, Ran—”
She stops, turns again, and gets back into a half squat. Her face is all pinched and weird looking. She cups her hands like she’s holding a pair of melons. “Balls! Randy Balls!” she yells.
“You do know my last name is Ballistic, right?” He’s smiling.
“You’ll always be horny nut sac to me!”
Then she runs the rest of the way to the car and slinks down in the front the seat like she’s trying to hide. It’d be way funnier if I wasn’t in shit.
“She’s a little crazy, huh?”
“Uh yeah. You get used to it. Eventually. I gotta go; I missed my flight,” I tell Randy as I brush past him, back into the house.
“You said it wasn’t until nine.”
“I got it wrong.”
“I’m sorry, Miller.”
“Yeah. Me, too. I’ll check in with you when I get to Toronto. You’ll have to send me your flight details so I know when to pick you up from the airport for camp.”
“You got it. Don’t worry about it now. We’ll get it handled.” H
e pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll tell Lance you had to bail.”
“Thanks.” Randy is good people, even if he is a dickwhore.
I run up to the spare room and grab my clothes from last night, along with my wallet. I can get anything else I’ve forgotten when I get back from the trip. Lance won’t care.
Once I’m in the car, Violet revs the engine and books it back to my house. If Waters knew how she was driving his ride, I bet he’d shit a brick. Not that I care to tell him. That would mean talking to him.
While Violet drives like a maniac on crack, I call the airline and rebook my flight to the tune of two thousand dollars. This flight doesn’t leave until nine thirty-eight. I buy a seat in first class so I can have priority everything, including check-in and boarding, to make things easier. It should leave me plenty of time to make sure I have all my crap organized.
I call Sunny, but her phone goes directly to voice mail. I leave a message explaining that Amber’s on vacation, and I mixed up the flight times, but that I’ll be in Toronto by about eleven and at her house around midnight. Hopefully she’ll let me in.
“I’m coming up with you.” Violet shoulders her purse and gets out of the car.
“I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Like hell. Plus there’s no air in that stupid car, and it’s hotter than a nut sac in a cup.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I know. You’re welcome.”
We leave the car parked in front of my building. Violet stops at the front desk to ask about the bag Amber apparently sent. They’ve had it since yesterday morning. She asks Travis, the front desk guy, to throw it in the back of the Torino.
I thank him and follow Vi to the elevators. She checks her messages as we head for the penthouse floor. “Great. Now Sunny isn’t answering my texts. I hope you haven’t screwed this up permanently.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. She’s pissed. Really pissed. Probably the angriest she’s ever been with me. I send Sunny a message, but I get nothing back.
My condo is spotless. I don’t keep it that way; I pay someone else to do it for me. I head straight for my bedroom. The bag I packed two days ago at Amber’s insistence is in my closet. Inside the front pocket are my passport and travel documents, including printed directions from the airport to Sunny’s parents’ house in Guelph. There are also directions to the camp, which is farther north.
Since it’s an international flight, I can’t mess around. It’s already six. I’m not taking any chances. With my luck, there’ll be a fifty-car pileup on the freeway.
When I come out of my bedroom, Violet’s standing in the middle of my living room, frowning at her phone.
“I’m ready.”
She looks up and arches a brow. “Oh, really?”
“I told you it would only take a minute.”
“You don’t think you should clean yourself up? Maybe take a quick shower? Put a shirt on? Or does that covering of fur count as clothing in your mind?”
I drop the bag on the floor. “Look, I get you’re pissed at me. No one is more pissed than I am, but seriously, I already know I’m a fucking idiot. Okay?” I stomp back in the direction of the bathroom.
“Buck.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I know you’re not an idiot. I wouldn’t say things like that if I believed it was true.”
I run a hand through my hair. It feels gross. “I know I fucked up. It’s clearly what I do best. I need your help right now, and that includes not making me feel worse than I already do, ’kay?”
“Sure. Got it. Do your thing.”
Fifteen minutes later I’m showered. If I had enough time I’d do a full-body trim, but it’s a lengthy process. I throw my trimmer and a couple of razors in a bag so I can handle that situation later—when I’m not at risk of being late for another flight.
I check out the bag of gifts for Sunny on our way to the airport. It’s half an hour from my condo without traffic, and the roads are clear, so we make good time. Amber did a great job picking things out from the list I gave her. Everything is holistic and organic cotton, and no animals were harmed in their making.
Violet pulls up to the curb and gets out to give me a hug. “I’m always on your side, Buck. You know that right?”
“I know.”
“Just remember that Alex is always going to be on Sunny’s, so if you can’t figure out what you want, you need to stop chasing her like she’s some bunny you want to catch.”
“She’s not a bunny.”
“Exactly.”
I must wear a blank expression, because she sighs and looks up at the sky. Actually, she looks up at the roof of the overhang.
“If you want to have a relationship, you have to make compromises.”
“Gotcha.” I don’t really, but it’s seven, and I don’t want to be late for my flight.
“Send me a message when you get there.”
“’Kay.”
I watch her drive away in Waters’ car and wonder what compromises she’s been making for him, and what Sunny will have to give up to be with me. If she still wants to.
CHAPTER FIVE
WINGBACK CHAIR MEMORIES
Though I do manage not to miss my flight on the second attempt, it’s two-thirty in the morning by the time I finally make it to Sunny’s house. I should’ve been here more than two hours ago. There was construction on the highway, and the GPS cut out while I was on a detour. I accidently put the wrong address back into it, and I’d gone forty kilometers in the wrong direction by the time I noticed. The open field of cows was a dead giveaway I’d missed a turn somewhere.
I grab my duffle bag from the front seat, exhausted. I still have to deal with the fallout from today. The more I think about it, the more I recognize that the pictures from last night and today don’t look good, especially taken out of context. The one of me naked with Flash Beaver is the worst of them. I’m not known for being the kind of guy who sticks with one girl. It still sucks that no one believes I can manage an actual relationship.
The motion sensor kicks in as I get out of the car, flooding the driveway with light, and nearly blinding me. Sunny’s tiny, ugly eco car is parked in front of my rented SUV. She left it at an angle, and the front passenger-side tire is in the garden, crushing her mom’s flowers.
I shoulder my bag, lock up my rental, and hit the doorbell. Anxious barking accompanies the clip of nails on the stairs. Titus, a Papillion, and Andromeda—Andy for short—are Sunny’s dogs. They’re both rescues with serious anxiety issues. Titus likes to lick people’s toes, and Sunny doesn’t seem to mind. It’s weird.
Andy’s a Dane, so I can see him through the curtain covering the front window. He paces back and forth, whining. I have treats in the car for him. I run back to the SUV and grab the bag with all the gifts. Fishing out the gourmet dog biscuits, I slip one through the mail slot. Andy snarfs it down and then pokes his nose back through, looking for more.
When Sunny still hasn’t come down a minute later, I pull up her contact and hit the microphone.
“I’m at your front door.”
I must not enunciate properly because front door is autocorrected to foghorn. I hit the doorbell a second time, erase the message, wait for Andy to stop barking, and try again, speaking more slowly this time. I can’t dictate for shit when I’m tired. This time front door comes up looking mostly right. There aren’t any red lines, so I press send.
I get a message back almost instantly.
WTH? Y r U at frat dorm?
I read the text and frown, then hit the text-to-speech function so I can listen to it, because it’s half random letters instead of words. I know she’s angry, but I should be able to make things better. I’m pretty decent at cleaning up messes, except for when I was traded to Chicago. There wasn’t anything I could do to cover up that one. The pictures of me and the coach’s niece in the bathroom stall went viral in a hurry.
The sexy British chick in my phone reads
the words frat dorm back to me instead of front door. Jesus. That’s what I get for not listening before I send something.
Sory. Attocorect. Front Door. Please let me in.
I figure short and to the point works better.
I crouch down and open the mail slot. Andy stops pacing and sticks his nose through the hole. “Hey, buddy. Can you go get Sunny for me and bring her down here? Go get Sunny. Go get ’er. Go on.” He runs to the stairs and looks back at me. “Good boy. Go get her for me. I got more treats if you bring Sunny.”
He turns toward the stairs and barks a few times, then runs back to the door and sticks his nose up to the mail slot.
“Ya gotta get ’er.” It only takes a little more coaxing before he finally runs up the stairs. But he comes up and down twice more without her, so I ring the doorbell and knock.
Sunny’s light on her feet, so the only way I know she’s coming down is because she yells, “For doody’s sake! I’m coming. Stop it, Andy! I’m answering the door.”
I grin. Sunny doesn’t swear. It’s fucking adorable.
The light in the front foyer turns on, and the door swings open. Andy rushes me, jumping up so his paws are on my shoulders and his nose is level with mine. I don’t turn away when he licks my face.
“How’s my buddy?” I scratch behind his ears. “Good boy. You’re a good boy.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out a treat. He gets into position, sitting on his haunches with his nose in the air. I set the treat on the end of his nose. He adjusts his stance but waits until I give him the go ahead. Then he flips it up, catching it in his mouth.
Sunny stands at the threshold, looking unimpressed, one hand propped on her hip. Titus hides behind her ankles. There’s a good chance he’ll pee on the floor if he gets too anxious.
Sunny’s sandy blond hair is lighter than the last time I saw her, with streaks so pale they’re almost white. It’s pulled up into a messy ponytail. She’s wearing a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt with a unicorn in a forest on it. I’m nine thousand percent sure she’s not wearing a bra, but I’m smart enough not to stare at her chest.
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