Puck Buddies

by Valente, Lili

  He lashes flutter. “I like that promise,” she whispers, the heat in her eyes making me want to stay and to assure her with another orgasm or two that we’re going to be perfect together.

  Instead, I kiss her forehead, tell her not to eat too many tacos because I want leftovers for lunch, and slip out of the apartment and down to the parking garage.

  I hate to leave her, but I take comfort in knowing we’re in the home stretch now.

  Soon, I won’t have to imagine what it’s like to make love to this woman who’s had me in the palm of her hand since the moment we met.

  Soon, I’ll know, and nothing will ever be the same again.

  Chapter 9

  Bree

  Something’s happening to me.

  Something wild and unexpected, but completely brilliant.

  I’m not sure who this bright-eyed-and-bushy tailed girl bounding out of her apartment before sunrise is, but I like the way it feels to spend some time in her skin. I’ve been a night owl for as long as I can remember and reconciled myself long ago to the fact that mornings are painful. Most days, waking before six a.m. would leave me feeling like road kill that’s been scraped off the street, hosed down, and propped up with stakes stabbed into my spine.

  But today, the early hour doesn’t fuss my head or creak through my bones. Today, I am light and free, sharp and clear, sailing through the doors to the lobby with a spring in my step and out to where Shane’s van is idling on the sidewalk.

  “Onward ho!” I declare as I hop into the passenger’s seat, my duffle bag and purse on my lap.

  Shane grins. “I’m not a ho. I give it away for free, woman.”

  I lean over to steal a kiss, moaning in soft appreciation as Shane kisses me deeply, sending tingles zipping across my skin and the nutty, smoky taste of high-class coffee flooding my mouth. “Did you bring some of that black magic in your cup for me?” I mumble against his lips.

  “Does a Yoda hide out in the woods?” he asks in a husky voice that brings back memories from last night. Memories of his hands on my skin and his powerful body rocking against mine through our clothes and how incredible it felt to be that close to him, to this man who brings me nothing but pleasure and happiness.

  “I’m not sure, but I’m excited to find out.” I gratefully accept the ceramic travel mug he offers—the Darth Vader hugging a unicorn one he knows is my favorite—with one hand as I hoist my bags into the back with the other. What I see behind me makes my jaw drop.

  “What is all this?” I ask.

  “That’s my camping van modification kit.” Shane pulls out onto the empty street, heading east through the sleeping city. “I’m telling you. Van life is downright glamorous these days, woman.”

  “Apparently.” My gaze roams over the pallet bed at the back of the van, the kitchenette complete with sink and microwave, a miniature couch, and a tiny box-like room I’m guessing is a closet?

  Or maybe—

  “Is that a bathroom?” I gasp, slapping Shane’s arm. “Is there a toilet in there?”

  He nods. “There is. I heard my camping buddy had a tiny bladder and couldn’t make it through the night without getting up to use the facilities. So I figured I would bring the facilities to her. I borrowed it from my friend Tony. If we like it, I’ll put in an order for a kit of my own before I leave. The place that makes them turns orders around pretty fast.”

  “Wow,” I murmur. “A toilet. Just for me.”

  “Just for you, doc.”

  I sniff dramatically. “I want to try it out right now. Show it how much I appreciate it being part of our adventure.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to use the facilities while the vehicle is in motion.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m a rebel who will pee when I want, where I want,” I reply, reaching for my seat belt buckle.

  “And we will have to empty it periodically,” Shane says, clearing his throat. “So we might want to keep use to a minimum and take advantage of gas station facilities during daylight hours. You need me to stop somewhere?”

  “No. I’m good. And that makes sense.” I relax back into my chair, seat belt still in place as I whisper over my shoulder, “We’ll get to know each other later, Doris.”

  “Doris?” Shane snorts. “You’re naming the toilet?”

  “I am. I know I haven’t seen her yet, but I’m getting a strong Doris vibe.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell Tony she’s been christened.” He winks as he takes a sip of his coffee. “How did you sleep last night?”

  “Good. A full six hours. Why?”

  He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen you this alive before six a.m. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you up before six, have I?”

  “Nope, I don’t do this hellish hour of the day,” I say cheerfully. “But it’s not bothering me this morning. Must be the promise of adventure in the air.”

  “And here I thought it was the company.”

  I shift in my seat, kissing his scruffy cheek again before whispering, “The company is part of the adventure, baby.”

  Shane squeezes my thigh, letting his hand linger as he says, “The company is the best part of the adventure. I can’t wait to get you in that bed tonight, doc.”

  “Me, either.” A rush of anticipation makes my voice breathy as I ask, “So I’m assuming the delivery was a success?”

  He nods. “Picked up the box this morning on my way. Our mission is a go.”

  “Yes! I’m going to lose my V card like a boss.”

  “Like a fucking boss,” he echoes, making me laugh. “Now, get out your phone and find the fastest route north. First mates around this van have to earn their keep.”

  “Aye-aye, captain.” I give a sharp salute and then dig my phone out of the pocket of my traveling dress, the green linen tent I wear on road trips owing to its breezy comfort and abundance of snack, phone, and ear-bud-holding pockets.

  For the next hour, as we head north before cutting west to follow a narrow strip of blacktop toward the sea, we discuss van life, how long it would take a person to go crazy living on the road with an empty-as-you-go toilet, and whether or not an Internet connection is necessary to life.

  I say it is—as much as I hate to admit it, our modern world runs on cyber functionality—and Shane says it isn’t.

  “It would be an adjustment, but it could be done,” he insists.

  “But what about banking and paying bills? Almost all of that is online only.”

  He shrugs. “Then I’d make sure I didn’t have any bills. I’d barter for what I needed as often as I could, and work for it when I didn’t have anything to trade. Cut money and bills out of my life and live free and clear.”

  I lean back against the door, crossing my arms as I pin him with a hard look. “This from the guy with a giant storage unit full of tchotchkes?”

  “Those are antiques, not tchotchkes. And yes, that guy. That guy likes buying and selling old things. He doesn’t like filling his personal space with them. I’m in the collector game for the experience, not the stuff.”

  “Except for salt and pepper shakers.”

  He inclines his head. “Except for those. Which are small, portable, and can be traded for things like gas, cheeseburgers, and beer.”

  “You think?” I ask, grinning. “You think your average Fuel Express attendant is going to take one of your creepy collectibles and give you gas in return?”

  “I’m counting on it,” he says calmly. “Since that’s how I intend to pay for this trip.”

  My jaw drops. “You’re not serious.”

  “No, I’m not serious,” he says, making me sag with relief. “But it sounds like a cool thing to try. Maybe I’ll give it a go on my drive to Kansas City.”

  “As long as you don’t drive through any deserts on your way,” I say, with a disapproving humpf. “That would be a lame way to go out. Stranded in the heat, dying of dehydration because you overestimated the value of your creepy salt and pepper shaker col
lection.”

  “Solid advice, doc. Solid advice.” His hand returns to my thigh, and my body returns to singing that zippy tune it hums whenever Shane touches me.

  Or looks like he’s about to touch me.

  Or looks at me, period.

  I am flying so high on the wings of anticipation that a terrible thud is all but assured. Deep down, I know I’ve built this up so much that there’s no way it can live up to my own mental hype, but I don’t care. The flight is worth the thud. The tangy rush of expectation tingling across my tongue is the best taste, the sweetest taste, and I relish it with everything in me.

  Every minute of our drive to Cape Lookout’s new primitive campgrounds, the hike up to the ranger’s station to secure a permit and a bundle of firewood, and our walk down to the beach, I’m soaring inside, light and free but laser-focused on memorizing every detail of this day.

  The last day I’ll ever spend as a virgin.

  The thought makes me grin like a fool as I strip off my shoes and socks, tossing them onto a piece of driftwood as I race down to the waves.

  “It’s going to be cold!” Shane shouts after me.

  “I know, I like it!” I call back, squealing as the frigid Pacific rushes over my toes and churns around my ankles, promising to make my feet go numb.

  “You like freezing cold water?” Shane asks from a safer distance up the shore.

  “I do.” I bare my teeth in a shiver-grin as a second wave attacks the chicken skin forming on my calves. “At least I like it now that I know I don’t have to get more than my feet wet if I don’t want to. Back when I was modeling, it was a different story. Sometimes the photographers would have us sitting around in soaking wet clothes for hours with nothing but a tiny towel to wrap around our shoulders in between setups. And every beach shoot I did around here was scheduled in February, so it wasn’t much warmer on the sand than in the surf.”

  Shane frowns as he takes a step back, dodging a bubbly wave. “Why February?”

  “So they could get the photos retouched in time for swimsuit season publications and ad campaigns.” I squirm my now numb toes into the coarse sand with a happy sigh. “The day I decided to quit, I wept with relief that I’d never have to prance around in a bikini pretending to be warm again. Beaches should be fun, not torture.”

  Shane’s brow wrinkles sympathetically. “Who knew modeling was so brutal?”

  “Anyone who’s ever done it,” I say with a laugh. “But I’m glad I tried it for a while. It gave me a chance to travel, see the world, and figure out that wasn’t the life for me while I was still young.”

  “A life on the road?”

  “A life on the surface.” I hold my arms out, keeping my balance as my feet sink deeper beneath the sand with each lap of the waves. “I love pretty things, but I want my life to be about more than what I look like. I want to make a difference, help people be happy. Or at least help them feel better.”

  “You make me feel better,” he says, his voice so soft I can barely hear it over the rush of the surf.

  I glance up, and something passes between us, something that feels a lot like coming downstairs to find the living room full of presents on Christmas morning.

  But not a kid Christmas, a grown-up Christmas, when you’re old enough to appreciate what every gift under the tree stands for—brightly wrapped boxes full of thoughtfulness and freely given time and love from the people who know you best.

  The way Shane looks at me makes me feel grateful in the same way.

  Grateful and warm and—

  The moment of connection is broken as the next wave crashes in with a display of attitude, slapping the backs of my knees with enough force to send me pitching forward. With my legs buried in the sand, I can’t take a step to steady myself. I pinwheel my arms, but I’ve already reconciled myself to the inevitable face-plant when Shane swoops to the rescue.

  Wrapping his arms around my waist, he lifts me free, spinning with a sharply indrawn breath. “Shit, that’s cold, Bree!”

  “Sorry,” I gasp, clinging to his shoulders as he hauls me back up the shore to dry sand. “But thank you. I’m glad I don’t have to hike back up to camp soaking wet.”

  “I would have given you my shirt, but I wouldn’t have liked it,” he says with a shudder that makes me giggle. He frowns down at me. “I don’t like being cold. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “You play ice hockey for a living.”

  “But I’m never cold on the ice because I’m always moving. Diving. Defending. Like an ice shark.”

  “An ice shark. I like it.” I cup his face in my hands, heart filling with something sweeter than laughter, something I can’t put a name to when he’s smiling down at me with the sunlight in his hair and his eyes as beautiful as the cloudless sky stretching overhead, seeming to promise that it’s going to be clear sailing from here on out.

  That it will always be sunny and summer, and we will always be this close, on the verge of being even closer.

  “I’m having a wonderful adventure so far.” I press up on tiptoe, bringing my lips a whisper away from his.

  “Me, too. Thank you for coming. You make me happy, Bree Marks.”

  “You make me happy, too.” I tip my chin back, sighing against his lips as he kisses me, softly at first, but then with increasing heat, his tongue dancing with mine, making my blood rush and my body sing.

  I arch closer to Shane’s warm, solid self, breath catching as the steely length of him presses against my belly. “But I think we could both be even happier.” I rock my hips forward, hopefully leaving no doubt about what kind of ‘happy’ I have in mind. “Want to go make sure the van mattress is a good fit for two?”

  “Are you sure?” Shane asks, his voice husky. “No doubts?”

  “No doubts,” I promise, shivering as his fingers dig into my hips.

  “Then yes, the van mattress will be ready for you tonight, Ms. Marks.” He pulls back, a smug grin on his lips. “But first, I’ve got some fromancing to do. Starting with making your fancy ass a fancy-ass dinner.”

  I smile. “Is my ass fancy?”

  “So fancy,” he assures me, taking my hand as he leads the way across the sand. “So fancy that I stopped by Providore last night and got lamb sausage and mint jelly couscous to warm up for dinner tonight. Along with fancy-ass zucchini salad and even fancier bread with olives and capers cooked in the dough.”

  I gasp. “No! In the dough? That does sound fancy.”

  He nods seriously. “Crazy fancy.”

  “Thank you,” I say, squeezing his hand. “You’re the best fromancer ever.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet, doc,” he says, pulling me into his arms. “I’m going to leave you breathless.”

  And then he kisses me, a kiss that goes on and on as the waves crash behind us and the seagulls shriek in the air above, and Shane keeps his promise, taking my breath away.

  Every single bit.

  Chapter 10

  Shane

  I don’t know how to describe this feeling—this anxious, excited, terrified-but-in-the-good-way feeling that hums through my veins as I warm up our perfectly pre-cooked supper and Bree sets the picnic table with plastic plates and wine glasses from the van’s tiny kitchen.

  All I know is that I’m so fucking happy to be here. To be in this beautiful place with this beautiful woman who kisses like a hurricane making landfall and smiles at me with a warmth that leaves no doubt she feels it, too.

  This heat.

  This longing.

  This joy that bubbles up from some previously undiscovered well inside of me when I’m with her.

  I’ve had my share of lovers—probably more than my share, thanks to my chick-magnet career and boy-band-worthy hair—but none of my previous experience has prepared me for Bree. For her fearlessness, her fire, and the passionate sweetness she tries so hard to hide, but which touches me in ways that are hard to explain.

  I don’t know if I have the vocabulary
for her yet, this incredible person who is mine, at least for a little while.

  “Pinot, I’m assuming? To pair with the lamb?” She holds aloft a bottle of wine as she steps out the back of the van. We’ve folded up the bed to make room to move freely back and forth from our campsite to the kitchen as we prep dinner, but that mattress looms large in my mental landscape.

  I desperately want everything to be perfect and safe and sexy and safe and amazing and safe and safe and, God, I just pray I’ve thought of everything, left no bedsheet-corner untucked in my plans for tonight.

  “That’s what the guy at the liquor store said.” I turn the sausages on the grill, aiming for an even heat. “You both know better than I do.”

  Bree tugs a corkscrew from the back pocket of her jeans. “I don’t know wine like this. My budget taps out at ten dollars per bottle. Twelve if I’d had a good tip night.” She holds up the wine, appraising it in the fading light reflected off the glittering ocean. “I’m guessing this is a fifty-dollar Pinot? Judging from the heft of the bottle and the edgy artwork?”

  It was closer to eighty, but I nod. “You’re in the ballpark.”

  She glances over her shoulder as she flicks open the blade at the end of the wine key and expertly disposes of the seal. “You know I’m a sure thing, right?” she teases. “You don’t have to ply me with fancy wine.”

  “You know I’m committed to fromance,” I counter, earning another sunshine smile. God, I love her smile. I could live on it. Like a plant on sunlight, converting her smile into all the fuel I’ll ever need to keep me going.

  “You’re killing it on that front,” she says, pouring the wine. When she’s finished, she places the bottle on the table and turns back to me, hands propped on her hips. “So what next? Table is set with salads and silverware, and the wine is poured. How else can I help?”

  “No help needed.” I load the serving tray with sausages and the pot of bubbling couscous. “Dinner is served.”