Puck Aholic: A Bad Motherpuckers Novel

by Lili Valente

  *

  Diana: You’re out of your mind.

  *

  Amanda: Have we met, pot? I’m kettle…

  *

  Diana: Whatever. There’s still no reason for a grown man to insult my chest. He’s the worst. After Wonderdick. Please don’t take him back, okay?

  *

  Amanda: This guy certainly picked a touchy subject, didn’t he? He couldn’t have aimed a better arrow if he’d known you for years.

  *

  Diana: Ugh. I’m a cliché, aren’t I?

  The short, flat-chested girl who is easily enraged by mention of my shortness and flat-chestedness…

  *

  Amanda: No, you’re too weird to be a cliché.

  *

  Diana: Thanks.

  *

  Amanda: You’re welcome.

  So what’s next? Are you moving out?

  *

  Diana: I can’t. There isn’t a single room in Portland for rent in my price range. I’m going to stick it out here for now and pray I find a job so I can start looking in the “better than the ghetto” section of Craigslist. I’ve got an interview at a trendy online clothing company tomorrow. They’re opening their first brick and mortar store in Portland this fall and looking for someone savvy with a camera to make them look amazing on social media.

  *

  Amanda: You’ll be perfect for that! You make mushrooms and empty bird nests look like works of art. Think what you can do with actual people and cute clothes?!

  *

  Diana: Thanks. I’m so nervous.

  Nature is easy to shoot beautifully. Nature cooperates, you know?

  *

  Amanda: I do not know. I prefer nature carefully contained, preferably surrounding a pool where I am lounging with an umbrella drink.

  *

  Diana: How have we stayed friends for over twenty years?

  *

  Amanda: Because I’m the only person who didn’t make fun of you for being a runt in kindergarten. And because you’re smart enough to recognize a keeper when you see one.

  *

  Diana: You are a keeper, Esposito.

  I wish we were gay so we could get gay-married and live happily ever after.

  *

  Amanda: Me, too.

  Even though you’re a freak who likes to talk on the phone.

  *

  Diana: I’ll be calling you later, by the way. I need to hear your melodious voice telling me everything is going to be okay while I drift back and forth in my yoga swing. I think I’ve got it installed well enough that it won’t fall out of the support beam and dump me on my ass.

  *

  Amanda: I look forward to a text from your swing.

  *

  Diana: Phone call.

  *

  Amanda: Text, you monster!

  Seriously, what is wrong with you?

  *

  Diana: Love you, too. Talk later.

  Chapter Five

  Diana

  I hum Sisters are Doing it for Themselves beneath my breath as I crawl into my hot-pink yoga swing, which I have managed to install without destroying property or myself in the process.

  Go, me!

  I lie down and stretch into an extended corpse pose, wiggling my fingers in the air as I drift gently back and forth. In this position, the swing is like a cocoon cradling my body from head to toe. The lovely weightless yet still supported feeling is why I got hooked on aerial yoga. I’m not nearly as acrobatic as the rest of the ladies in my class, but the last ten minutes floating in corpse pose make up for the humiliation of being the runt with no upper body strength. And now I can enjoy a float in my own home whenever I want.

  I smile like a happy worm snuggled in the dirt.

  Or a happy pig burrowed deep in her nest of blankies.

  Wanda really is ridiculously cute, but I’m still not on her “Acceptable Humans” list. I sweet-talked her while I dragged the ladder from the garage into the living room and drilled holes in her father’s (or boyfriend’s; I’m not sure how Wanda thinks of Tanner) ceiling. But Her Swineship proved immune to my usually irresistible animal-banter.

  I’ve talked snarling pit bulls and feral cats down to the ground for a belly rub, but this pig wants no part of me.

  She grunted disapprovingly the entire time I was texting with Amanda, and when I reached over to soothe her with a back rub, she started squealing like I was pulling her teeth out with a pair of needle-nosed pliers.

  I quickly backed off, but she continued to whine and wail for a good fifteen minutes, making my last adjustments to the swing less than pleasant. But finally, after a few laps of her pen and some additional grumbling, Wanda got tired of complaining, rooted into her blankets, and shut her snout.

  Now, the house is quiet, with nothing but the sound of the summer breeze rustling the leaves outside and the tinkle of wind chimes from the house across the street to disturb the silence. The smell of roses and lilies blooming in the front yard sweetens the air, and warm, yellow sunlight filters through gauzy, white curtains to dance on the silky fabric of my swing, making me feel like I’m wrapped in a magical pink cocoon.

  It’s so nice…

  So very, very nice…

  This bungalow is a sweet place to pass an afternoon when the man of the manor isn’t in residence. With any luck, Tanner will stay at the gym pumping iron, or at the ice rink skating in circles or whatever hockey-player types do on their summer break, and we’ll see very little of each other before I make my move. Surely I’ll be able to find another acceptable, affordable living situation before the end of the month.

  “Your dad is a dick, Wanda,” I mutter, grinning when the pig oinks in response. “Sorry, but he is. You could do so much better.”

  A snuffle and a grunt make it clear she’s not buying what I’m selling.

  “Just because he’s pretty to look at doesn’t mean he’s pretty on the inside. Trust me. I’ve been around the block enough to know ninety percent of men aren’t worth the heartache. And even if you find one of the decent ones, he’s still going to annoy the shit out of you sometimes. And when he does, you’re going to want a girlfriend to bitch to, sister. I could be there for you, if you give me a chance. I’m a good listener.”

  Wanda doesn’t respond—which I choose to believe means she’s taking my counsel under advisement—and slowly the peaceful, lazy vibe of the afternoon works its magic. My tense muscles relax into the steady support of the fabric cradling my move-ravaged body, which still hasn’t recovered from three weeks on Carly’s lumpy couch.

  I’m on the verge of drifting off into a catnap, in fact, when it happens.

  One moment, I’m floating on a sea of calm; the next, my right butt cheek explodes in a supernova of pain as something sharp and merciless digs into my innocently relaxed backside with enough force to send me bolting into a seated position with a wail of agony.

  “Oh my God! What the fuck?” I cry out, fighting to breathe through the waves of pain radiating from my wounded bottom flesh.

  I half slide, half fall out of the swing, whimpering and hissing in distress, to discover that Wanda has escaped her enclosure.

  “What did you do, pig?” I shout, but she’s already scampering out of the living room, into the kitchen, and out to the backyard through a pig door I hadn’t realized was there until just now.

  By the time I twist my spine into the knots required to see the torn fabric and bloodstains on my shorts that confirm that, YES, the little monster bitch pig has BITTEN ME, the beastie is cavorting in the backyard, romping and galloping through the clover to celebrate her assassination of my ass.

  “No way, Wanda,” I shout, voice breaking as the backs of my eyes begin to sting. “This is so not okay!”

  It’s not. And damn it, it hurts!

  I grew up on a small hobby farm on Vancouver Island. At one time or another, my dad raised every kind of critter allowed by the Canadian government, and as the oldest sibling not bus
y playing hockey twenty-four seven, I helped out with them all. I’ve had horses step on my feet, been kicked in the gut by an angry sheep, and suffered many a nipped finger while feeding the baby goats.

  But none of that hurt as bad as this.

  Because my horse adored me, the sheep was scared of our neighbor’s big brown dog that jumped the fence, and the baby goats were just babies. They all still loved me. Those injuries were accidents.

  But this…

  This is treachery I’ve done nothing to deserve, and after the stress of yesterday, I’m beginning to feel like there’s a target painted on my back.

  Or my ass.

  Tears slip down my cheeks, and I’m gearing up for a major blubber fest when the front door opens and Tanner steps in, somehow managing to look gorgeous in a green tank top with sweat stains and a pair of slippery-looking black running shorts.

  I suck in a breath, willing the tears back into my eye sockets, but it’s too late. Tanner’s brow is already creased with concern, and he’s hurrying across the room. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

  He frowns, cutting a quick glance toward the hot pink swing in the middle of his otherwise very manly, very leather-and-muted-earth-tones living room before his focus returns to my no-doubt blotchy face. “Are you sure? You don’t look fine.”

  “Yeah, well, this is just what I look like.” Getting blotchy in the face if I even think about crying is one of my many unattractive superpowers, in addition to talking too much and too loudly and making dumb jokes when I’m nervous.

  Tanner’s lips part, but before he can form words, I hold up my hands and back toward the stairs, determined not to let him see what his rabid pig did to me. “It’s fine, I was taking a nap in the swing and something woke me up. I’ll go finish my nap in my bed and wake up looking normal in thirty or forty minutes.”

  “This is a swing?”

  I sniff as I nod. “Yoga swing. For aerial yoga.”

  He scowls at the pink fabric like he expects it might be made of the skins of baby elephants. “What’s it doing in the middle of the living room?”

  “It’s the only place it would fit. I can tie it up later so it won’t be in the way.” I wince as I take the first step up, the flexing of my gluteus sending a fresh wave of agony through my increasingly hot, stinging butt cheek. “I’ll just have to grab the ladder out of the garage again.”

  “Why don’t I grab it now, and we—” He breaks off, his brow smoothing as his eyes widen. “Um, uh… I think something’s…happening, Diana.”

  Now it’s my turn to frown. “What?”

  He motions toward the lower half of my body, clearly doing his best not to meet my gaze. “There’s, um… On your leg. I think maybe you, um…”

  I glance down to see blood rolling down my thigh to drip onto my calf, and sigh heavily, bringing my fingers to rub my eyes.

  “It’s not a big deal,” Tanner jumps in, clearly mistaking the reason for my distress. “I mean, it’s natural. Part of life. Happens to everybody. I mean, obviously not everybody, but it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “I’m not embarrassed.” My hand falls to my side with a huff.

  “Seriously, I grew up the only guy in a house full of girls. I know—”

  “It’s not my period,” I say, torn between the urge to laugh and to scream. “It’s your pig. She bit me on the ass.” I turn to present the evidence and Tanner curses.

  “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.” He turns, glancing down at Wanda’s enclosure. “I’m going to have to get a better gate on the pen.”

  “Or you could teach the pig not to bite people,” I offer dryly.

  “You’re right,” he says, making my brows arch in surprise. “I’ll call Cheyenne and tell her I’m going to have to get tough with Wanda. This is unacceptable. Chey’s gone for six more months, and that’s too long to live with an aggressive animal. I’ll talk to the vet and do some reading, and I’ll fix this. I promise.”

  I nod, soothed by his words. They haven’t done anything to ease the pain in my rear, but it’s nice that he’s on my side and didn’t hesitate to apologize.

  “Where is she now?” he asks, scanning the room.

  “She went outside to celebrate.” I jab a thumb toward the kitchen. “Last time I saw her she was having a victory dance in the clover.”

  “A victory dance, huh?” His lips quirk as he props his hands low on his hips. “Sorry, I know it’s not funny.”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s not. But yeah…”

  Our eyes meet, we smile, and for a moment I feel as connected to him as I did on the beach, when I wandered down to the water and ran into a big, sexy sweetheart who seemed to have magically appeared just when I needed him to make me forget how sad and alone I was. Tanner never felt like a stranger. He felt like someone I’d been waiting to meet, someone so familiar my brain kept insisting that we must have run into each other somewhere before.

  Maybe we were friends in another life.

  Sometimes I want to believe in those, on days when I think I could get this being human thing right if I had a couple hundred years and a few extra bodies to burn through while I learn from my mistakes.

  “You want to head up to my bathroom?” Tanner asks softly. “I’ve got alcohol and gauze in the medicine cabinet. I can help patch you up.”

  “Patch up my butt?” I ask, lifting a brow.

  His smile widens, but his gaze is still soft, vulnerable. “I figure it’s the least I can do. And maybe I can treat you to ice cream after? Two scoops—one from Wanda to apologize for biting you, and one from me to apologize for being an asshole yesterday? I’m sorry for what I said by the pool. I was out of line.”

  I cross my arms and then immediately uncross them, not wanting him to realize I’m self-conscious, or that his sweet side makes me fluttery in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. “Well, thank you. I accept your apology.”

  “I’m glad.” He cocks his head and a damp lock of hair slips onto his forehead, making it impossible not to notice how sexy he looks all sweaty. “And what about ice cream? There’s a place a few blocks over, close enough to ride bikes if you want. I can lower the seat on Chey’s for you. I was going to offer it to you, anyway, since it doesn’t seem like you have a car.”

  “No, I don’t have a car.” I bristle, even though everything he’s said is very nice and completely generous. “But I think riding a bike would be painful at the moment.”

  He winces. “Right. Sorry. Let’s get your bite cleaned and dressed and I can drive us over. Though I should probably take a quick shower first so I don’t stink up the joint.” He grins gamely as he ambles across the room. The hair on the back of my neck lifts in protest, insisting we want no part of that grin or fluttery feelings or anything else this dangerous person is offering.

  Dangerous and manipulative, I realize, eyes narrowing.

  “Are you using your devil pig’s bad behavior to trick me into going out with you?” I ask, holding my ground on the second step as he stops at the bottom of the stairs.

  He blinks, some of the warmth fading from his eyes. “No, I’m trying to be friendly and apologize.”

  “Because I was serious,” I say firmly. “I’m not going to date you, Tanner. Niceness and ice cream won’t change that.”

  “I get it,” he says, jaw muscles flexing as he nods.

  “And I’m not up for meaningless sex, either,” I add, unable to stop my stupid mouth from running. “So if you think that bandaging my butt is going to turn into something more, you can put that idea away right now. In fact, it’s probably better if I do it myself. ”

  “Why? Because if I get one look at your bare ass cheek, I’ll turn into a wild animal incapable of controlling myself?” He snorts. “You have a pretty high opinion of yourself, don’t you, Squirt?”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snap. “And no, I don’t. I just happen to live in the real world where I know letting a gu
y who’s got a hard-on for me fondle my bare ass is probably a bad idea.”

  “A hard-on for you?” He laughs, a rough sound wrenched from his throat. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. That hard-on lasted about as long as it took for me to realize you’re a lot less fun when you’re sober.”

  My jaw drops, but I force an angry laugh of my own. “Ditto, buddy. And nice to know my gut take on you yesterday wasn’t wrong.” I cross my arms, cocking my head in mock curiosity. “Was it hard for you? Keeping your asshole side under wraps for five minutes?”

  “You’re the one who’s acting like I’m about to sexually assault you when all I’m trying to do is help and apologize!”

  My glare intensifies. “No, I am not acting like you’re about to assault me. If I were, you would be on the floor right now, Muscle Boy. I might be small, but I know how to defend myself.”

  “Jesus Christ, Diana.” He lifts his eyes and his clawed hands toward the ceiling, as if praying for divine intervention. “How did asking to buy you ice cream turn into you threatening to beat me up?”

  “I’m going to my room.” I stand up straighter, refusing to show weakness. I’m not sure how we got here, either, only that Muscle Boy and I are like ingredients in an unpredictable science experiment—throw us together and dramatic things tend to happen. “I will borrow some first aid supplies from your medicine cabinet on the way, if that’s acceptable.”

  He sighs heavily as his eyes slide closed. “Yes. It’s acceptable. Knock yourself out.”

  “Thank you,” I offer primly as I turn to climb the steps.

  “You’re welcome. And I’ll take this swing down for you, too.”

  “Fine. And I’ll put it back up tomorrow. And drill another hole in your support beam while I’m at it.”

  He curses again.

  For a moment, I consider telling him that before I move out I plan to patch the hole so perfectly he’ll never know it was there, but then I decide that since I’m the one bleeding from my ass because of his stupid pig, I’ll let him be pissed off. He can sit and spin for all I care. I can’t believe I thought he had a sweet side, or that I let it make me fluttery.