Puck Aholic: A Bad Motherpuckers Novel

by Lili Valente

  “No! Bad pig.” I leap out of the hammock to rescue the envelope before it’s destroyed. Thankfully, it’s made of thick card stock, sturdy enough to protect the card within.

  As soon as I see the image on the front of the card—a photograph of Wanda wearing the flowered bikini my sister ordered for her and an “I refuse to apologize for how cute I am” expression—I know who this is from. On impulse, I jog over to the gate and push it open, hurrying out to the sidewalk to scan the street, but there’s no sign of Diana.

  She must have dropped the card and dashed.

  Cursing under my breath for not being faster, I open the card with a mixture of hope and dread that morphs into cautious optimism as I read the simple note within—

  *

  You’re right.

  We should talk in person.

  Meet me at sunset on the beach where we first met?

  I’ve got something I need to show you.

  Sincerely,

  Diana

  *

  I read it three times, chewing my bottom lip as I debate the possible implications of such a meeting. Surely, if she intended to call us off once and for all, she wouldn’t have picked the place where we shared our first make-out session as our meeting spot. Unless, of course, she’s bringing me back there to remind me how firmly she tried to shut down any possible avenues into romance from the very start.

  But that would be cruel, and Diana isn’t the kind to rub salt in a wound.

  Rubbing salt in a wound creates an antibacterial environment that helps it heal faster, my inner voice helpfully supplies. Maybe Diana thinks swift, intense pain will be easier for you than a softer, gentler pain that drags on for months while you slowly get it through your thick head that you’re never going to wake up next to her beautiful, sexy, naked body and sunshine smile ever again.

  “Fuck that,” I mutter aloud.

  That’s not going to happen. Diana and I aren’t through, not by a long shot. I have no idea what she has planned for this evening, but I plan on making some very compelling arguments of my own for her moving back in with me.

  I spend the rest of the day arming myself for battle. I bike down to the office store a few blocks over and have my reference letters bound into a small booklet, professional presentation style. Back at home, I shower, shave, manscape, and anoint myself with the various lotions and creams I know Diana likes best and dress in jeans and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It’s still hot in the city, but on the coast, it will be cool and get cooler after the sun goes down.

  I spend the drive west listening to the Pandora channel Diana got me hooked on—the Shins mixed with the Beatles—and going over what I plan to say.

  Tonight, I don’t struggle to keep my mind on the matter at hand. My focus is laser sharp and every cell in my body is humming with a single, united purpose—to get her back.

  I have to get her back. We’re only a few weeks into being together, but it’s already clear that this is different than anything that’s come before. Diana is different, special, the kind of person who sweeps into your life and makes you wonder how you ever thought you were complete without her.

  My head fills with feelings, wishes, and memories of Diana’s smile, and by the time I find a parking spot and swing out into the cool coastal air, I’m carrying more than a booklet full of references. I’m carrying every choice I’ve made while figuring out how to be in love, and every lesson I’ve learned on my way to becoming a person I’m proud of. I make mistakes and fuck up my fair share, but I’m not my father or the assholes who broke my mom’s heart when I was little and she was on her own with three kids and no one to help her hold our family together.

  And I’m not the liars who made Diana afraid to trust something that feels this right, either.

  I’m carrying a big load, but it doesn’t feel heavy. I’ve never felt lighter or more certain that I’m where I’m supposed to be, fighting for what’s right.

  I’m so ready to see Diana—and dive right into the battle for us—that when I arrive at the sheltered corner of the beach to find nothing but a folding table with a small black piece of electronic equipment sitting on it, I can’t help feeling deflated.

  I turn, scanning the coast and the cliff rising above me on the right, but there’s no sign of Dee. The only other out of the ordinary thing about this sleepy summer beach scene is a white sheet someone has secured to the face of the cliff, which I hadn’t noticed at first. Brow furrowing, I move closer to the folding table and see a note taped to the top of a small, portable projector.

  “Please press play,” it reads.

  Tucking my booklet beneath my arm, I hit the play button and lift my gaze to the white sheet. The sun is still barely visible above the waves, but it’s dark enough for me to see the old-fashioned countdown that flickers onto the sheet, followed by a title sequence that reads:

  *

  Confessions of a Love-A-Holic

  A Daniels and Daniels film

  Produced in Portland

  Starring Chloe Daniels as Tanner Nowicki

  And Prickly Pants the hedgehog as Diana Daniels

  *

  I grin as Chloe appears on the screen dressed in a Badgers jersey with her hair tucked up in a ball cap and fake whiskers drawn on her face. She props her hands on her hips and talks earnestly to someone off screen. There’s no sound, but subtitles have been helpfully provided, so I know “Tanner” is saying, “Talk to me, Diana. All I’m asking is that we have an adult discussion about why you ended this via email. Is that too much to ask?”

  The next shot is of a hedgehog dressed in a tiny white sundress, rolling a roll of toilet paper across what looks like the top of a bookcase. “I’m sorry,” the Diana hedgehog says via subtitles. “Hedgehogs are naturally shy, timid, defensive creatures.”

  Chloe rolls her eyes with an eloquence that makes subtitling unnecessary.

  “Fine!” The hedgehog stands on its hind legs, nose wiggling. “So I’m not shy or timid, but I am defensive. I’ve spent a decade rolling from one bad relationship into an even worse one, like an addict headed for rock bottom. And sure, I can blame some of it on bad luck, but I have to take my share of the blame, too.” The hedgehog’s tongue slips out, delicately probing her own nostrils in a way that’s funny, gross, and heart-wrenching at the same time. Though it’s the words on the bottom of the screen, not the hedgehog’s antics, that are making my pulse race. “I’ve always seen what I wanted to see in someone new, instead of what’s actually there. I think I’m finally seeing someone clearly, but how can I trust myself? And why should I believe this is the moment when things turn around?”

  “Why shouldn’t you believe it?” Chloe asks, folding her arms at her chest. “Slavery ended. Women got the vote. Eventually Vin Diesel will be too old to make action flicks, and we’ll all be spared another Fast and the Furious movie. Justice does occasionally win out in the end. More than occasionally, if people are willing to give it a hand.”

  Hedgehog Diana waddles in a circle, looking spiny and uncomfortable in her dress. “But what if it’s a long time before I’m ready to relax my quills and trust in justice, Tanner? How can I ask you to put up with me being a stress case when you’re obviously an emotionally healthy human ready to give and receive healthy human feelings, and I’m a nervous, prickly insectivore?”

  My grin fades.

  I’m totally willing to wait for Dee to be ready for a healthy human relationship, a truth I’m relieved to see echoed by my on-screen self when Chloe rests her fake-whiskered chin on her fist and says, “And what if I say I’m happy to wait? Is that going to be the end of the running and excuses?”

  The camera cuts to a shot of hedgehog-Diana running in figure eights on the carpet, her white dress flapping, which is cute, but not reassuring to real life me. Or to on-screen me, apparently, since the next shot is a close-up of Chloe narrowing her eyes and slowly lifting a thin red brow.

  Cut to the hedgehog running some more.


  Cut back to Chloe wiggling her eyebrows in a way that reminds me more of Diana than myself, but is even cuter than the hedgehog.

  Cut to the hedgehog falling over and rolling into a ball, the white dress trapped beneath it like the cape of a fallen superhero.

  Cut to a heavy sigh from Chloe as she lies down on the carpet next to the hedgehog, her face slowly coming into focus as the rolled up ball in the foreground goes blurry. “It’s not a hard question,” Chloe says in what I can tell is a gentle voice. The kid has a future in acting. I hardly need to glance at the subtitles to know exactly what Chloe-Tanner is feeling. “And I don’t think I deserve to be cast as the bad guy because I dared to ask it. Do you?”

  Cut to the Diana hedgehog sitting in a muffin tin, looking very muffin-like surrounded by actual muffins the same light brown as her quills.

  I laugh, wondering what the hell the muffin tin has to do with anything, then laugh harder when Chloe props her hands on her hips and says, “Quit trying to change the subject,” and Diana hedgehog sheepishly says, “Just trying to remind you that my muffin top brings all the boys to the yard. I do have some good qualities, you know.”

  Chloe nods thoughtfully.

  “But in all seriousness,” Diana hedgehog says, now sitting on Chloe’s shoulder, nuzzling her neck. “If you think you can handle taking it slow, I’ll try my best not to run, and to realize that you’re not the latest in a long line of anything. You’re you. Only you. And you have never been anything but wonderful to me.”

  Cut to a close-up of the hedgehog looking cranky in a tiny red hammock. “Except that time you threatened to take down my yoga swing.”

  I shake my head and admit, “Everyone makes mistakes,” as the camera cuts back to the hedgehog snuggling Chloe’s neck. The screen slowly fades to black, and the end credits roll:

  *

  Confessions of a Love-A-Holic was made possible by…

  A hedgehog dress made by Chloe’s grandmother…

  A roll of toilet paper stolen from the downstairs bathroom…

  A muffin tin on loan from the Daniels’ kitchen…

  A scrap of red fabric (as no hot-pink fabric was available) …

  A Badgers jersey purchased at a home game when Chloe was six…

  The acting talents of Chloe Daniels and Mr. Prickly Pants in the gender-bending roles sure to win them both Academy Award nominations, and in cooperation with The Society for Better Living through Learning to Trust People Who Seem Like They Might Want to Love You.

  *

  There’s no might about it, I think, my throat going tight as Diana slips out from behind a curve in the face of the cliff, a nervous expression on her face.

  “Hey,” she says, nibbling at her bottom lip. “Well, at least we made you laugh. That’s a good thing.”

  “A very good thing.” I stand my ground by the folding table, letting her come to me. “How are you?”

  “I’ve been better.” Her fingers tangle in front of her as she gestures down at the white sundress she’s wearing. “Editing the movie took so long I didn’t have time to iron my dress.”

  “Too bad. Because I only love you when your dresses are perfectly ironed.”

  Her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head, waving an arm toward the now-blank screen. “You don’t have to say that, Tanner. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what you meant,” I cut in. “And you’ve got me pegged. I do want to love you. All I need is the green light.”

  Diana’s eyes begin to shine. “How can you really be this great?”

  “Because you’re worth it, and you make me happy. And what other man can say his girl made him a silent movie apology starring a hedgehog in a dress?” I ask, grinning as Diana laughs.

  “Mr. Prickly Pants is packing a lot of talent in that little body.”

  “So are you.” I hold out a hand. “Now get over here so I can show you how grateful I am to be your boyfriend.”

  *

  Diana

  What woman in her right mind could resist an offer like that?

  And I am in my right mind. As Tanner pulls me in for a fiercely sweet hug that leaves no doubt how grateful he is to have me back where I belong, the last of my fear fades away. I know it won’t all be smooth sailing, and there’s a chance this roll of the dice will blow up in my face the way all the others have, but he’s worth the risk. He’s worth crawling out on that limb, because deep in my bones I sense this time it’s not going to break.

  “And you don’t mind that I’m a little older?” I tilt my head back to gaze into his clear green eyes, which are looking even dreamier than usual in the warm sunset light.

  He shoots me an “are you fucking kidding me?” look that makes me laugh.

  “And you don’t mind if I stay at Brendan’s house for a while?” I ask, nose wrinkling. “So we can take it slow and know that we’re moving in together for the right reasons? I’m still happy to watch Wanda any time you need help, I just…want to handle us with care.”

  “Sounds good. I like being handled with care,” he says, before adding in a softer voice. “Though I hope you’ll still sleep over every once in a while.”

  “Hell yes, I’m sleeping over.” I huff incredulously. “How else are we going to have time to figure out how to bang in my yoga swing?”

  He grins. “How did you know I’ve been dying to bang in the yoga swing?”

  “You’re easy to read.” I press up on tiptoe, bringing my lips closer to his. “It’s one of the things I’m starting to love about you.”

  He hugs me tighter. “Starting is good.”

  “It is,” I agree, my pulse picking up as his hand cups my bottom, pulling me closer to where he’s harder, thicker than he was a moment before. “Finishing is good, too. So what do you say we take this to the hotel room I booked? It’s just on the other side of the bluff. We can be there in five minutes if we hurry.”

  He makes a husky, appreciative sound low in his throat. “Have I told you lately how brilliant you are?”

  “No. But I wasn’t very brilliant for a while there. I’m sorry.”

  “No more apologies. It’s in the past.” He kisses me with a tenderness that makes my heart melt. “And I’m only interested in the future. The very near future, in particular, when I’m going to have you out of this dress and coming on my mouth.”

  “That sounds very nice,” I whisper.

  And it is very nice.

  And lovely. And sexy. And right…

  From the moment we close the door to our room overlooking the ocean to the next morning when I wake up in Tanner’s arms, the place where I hope to keep waking up in for many, many mornings to come.

  Epilogue

  Tanner

  Three months later…

  *

  What’s that they say about the best-laid plans?

  That they’re stupid, useless, and futile? Because the moment you make a plan something—fate, karma, or simply the worst team in the NHL—starts plotting to put your plan through the shredder, making you wish you had learned your lesson about taking things for granted.

  “What the fuck?” Petrov kicks the boards in front of us, causing a few unattended water bottles to tumble to the floor. “Where the hell is this coming from? They’re the worst team in the league.”

  “And they’re kicking our collective asses,” Justin grumbles from farther down the bench, clearly itching to get back on the ice.

  What was supposed to be a shut-out has turned into a nail-biter. For years, the sweet southern bastards we’re playing have been the jokes of the NHL. Chaos is their stock in trade, and I’ve never seen a more disorganized offense or flailing defense.

  And they’re still scrambling and flailing today, but for some reason, lady luck is on their side. Shots that seem to be going wide ricochet off our own players to end up in our net, bumbling defense attempts are somehow thwarting our forwards, and the sweet southern goalie has chosen today to stop sucking and start earning his
keep.

  This is about as far as possible from the easy, breezy win I was expecting, and I’m beginning to wish Diana and I had chosen another night to spring a surprise wedding on our nearest and dearest. I don’t care if we lose—well, yes, I care, but I’m so excited to be marrying Diana in less than an hour, I know I’ll snap back from the post-game blues pretty quick—but I’m not looking forward to a wedding party full of pissed off, cranky Badgers.

  We have to win this. That’s it.

  We’ve got to get out there, break this tie, and kick ass in the third period so my friends can enjoy my wedding, damn it.

  “This is chaos, plain and simple. This isn’t anything we can’t handle,” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the groan of the Badger fans behind us as our forwards ring another shot off the goal post. “These douchebags are getting lucky, but we actually have a clean, efficient game. We just need to sharpen our focus and cut through the bullshit.”

  “Great pep talk, rookie,” Justin grumbles.

  “Thanks, but I’m not finished.” I force a smile. “Their defensemen are leaving their positions without support. If we keep things sharp and elegant out there, those fuckers won’t know what hit them.”

  “Sharp and elegant, huh?” Justin arches a brow. “When did you become such a classy bastard?”

  “He’s right,” Petrov says, motioning toward the ice. “Their forwards aren’t covering for the defense. If we chip the puck to center ice for an odd man break and keep it elegant, we’ll break the tie. Keep it up in the third, and we get to go have a beer after it’s all over and not feel like assholes for handing a game to a bunch of minor leaguers.”

  Brendan, who’s been quiet up to this point, nods. “Let’s do it. As soon as Coach calls our line.”