Pucked Over (Pucked #3)

by Helena Hunting

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Do you think she’ll be home?” Now he’s running a single finger back and forth along the collar of my shirt. That he bought for me. So I didn’t have to deal with wearing dirty clothes. I’m also not wearing a bra since all I had was my ugly, ancient sports one.

  My nipples are hard and obvious through my shirt. He’s noticed. He touches the scar on his lip with the tip of his tongue. I can almost hear his thoughts. And he’s got an obvious rod in his pants. It’s angled toward my vagina like a directional arrow. That helps with the mind reading.

  “I don’t know. Sometimes she works odd hours.” It’s not a total lie. My mom’s job isn’t always predictable, and some days she works from home. Plus it’s a Sunday, so who knows what she could be up to.

  “Well, she won’t mind if we come back and use your room, right?” He leans in and puts his mouth to my ear. “You can always bite a pillow if you’re worried about being loud.”

  I picture the scene that might require me to do that. Any one of the many positions from last night would definitely qualify.

  “Why don’t I pay the bill and we can get outta here?” Randy nuzzles my neck, and my clit lights up like it’s the Jumbotron flashing a winning score. I’d like to jump him right now. At this table. Regardless of the audience.

  I have to tell him the truth. I can’t risk bringing him back to my apartment on the off chance my mom is there.

  “Unless you’re not interested.” It’s meant to come off as sarcastic, or cocky, but there’s a waver in his smile, and what might be a little insecurity.

  I’m experiencing a high level of embarrassment. It’s almost as bad as the first time I met him—naked, with my fur burger on display—or worse, the limbo period of time after I defaced his underwear and before he ate me out in the bathroom. “It’s not that I’m not interested; it’s just that—” I try not to make a scrunchy face, but I can tell I’m unsuccessful.

  “Last night too much for you?” Again with the humor/sarcasm.

  There’s no way to say this that isn’t going to be horrifying, so I blurt, “My mom is my roommate.”

  Randy cocks his head to the side. I say a little prayer. It goes something like this: Dear God, It’s me, Lily. I’ve probably done this three times total in my life, and you never seem to be online when I am, but it’d be super awesome if you clubbed Randy over the head so he doesn’t remember this whole episode. Thanks.

  It doesn’t work. Instead Randy gets the look I’m used to by this point: half cocky asshole, half hot bastard. “You live with your mom?”

  “I’m saving for an apartment.” It doesn’t matter how good the reason is, I still feel losery.

  I’m highly aware that this generation, us twenty-somethings, sometimes stay at home longer than what was normal in the past, thanks to the cost of education and the fact that jobs aren’t as easy to get. There’s also that sense of entitlement thing some people have going on—like Benji, who’s more than happy to ride the free train as long as possible. That’s not why I stay. Mostly I’m there to keep an eye on my mom when her relationships inevitably fail. And anyway, Sunny and I had a plan, which isn’t going to happen now that she’s seriously considering Chicago. Unless I go with her. That’s looking more and more appealing all the time.

  “So it’s you and your mom, then? No other roommates?”

  It’s a roundabout way of asking a personal question. We haven’t had many conversations about family, apart from what he’s said about his dad. But then, we’ve been too busy getting our sex on for much talking.

  “Nope. No other roommates.”

  He nods, pensive, but doesn’t push for more information. If we start talking about serious stuff, a last round of ride-the-dick won’t happen.

  “There’s a bathroom here.”

  I’ve already considered it. I won’t tell him that, though. “So classy.”

  “We could always find one of those by-the-hour hotel rooms.”

  “That’s the worst idea ever in the history of ideas, Randy. I’d rather do it in the back of the Jeep than a hotel room that looks like a Rorschach test under a black light.”

  Randy laughs. “Backseat it is then.”

  I’m not sure if he’s kidding, but he gets the check, and we walk out to the Jeep. I still have an hour and a half before my shift, and he doesn’t seem to be a in a rush to leave, so I suggest we go for a drive. We park in the middle of nowhere on a trail that leads to who knows what. Apparently Randy is totally serious about the backseat, because I end up with my pants off and my shirt pushed up with him inside me again.

  By the time we’ve finished round eight million of our sex marathon, I’ve got twenty-seven minutes to get to the coffee shop. I change into my uniform in the backseat with Randy’s help—which mostly consists of fondling and some gropes—and he drives me to work.

  I’m nervous about goodbye. I don’t know what to expect. This isn’t like any of our previous sexual encounters. He parks the Jeep in the lot and turns to me. My hands are clammy. I’m not going to see him again for at least a month. It’s probably a good thing, preventing me from getting attached, or too comfortable.

  “I had a lot of fun with you, Lily. Definitely ten-out-of-ten fun.”

  I’m still nervous, but his joking makes the tension dissipate a little. “Me, too.”

  His answering smile makes my panties want to climb into his pocket. “We’ll do it again next time I have a Toronto game? I’ll hold on to the other box of condoms until then.”

  I bite back a laugh. “As long as I can get the time off, sure.”

  “Great. I’ll send you a message with the date so I can get in you again.”

  I roll my eyes. “I better go. My shift starts in ten, and I plan to make out with you for at least five minutes before I leave this car.” I don’t wait for him to lean in. I unbuckle my seatbelt and plaster my mouth to his.

  He holds on to the back of my neck while we kiss. It’s not frantic, because we both know it’s not leading to anything more, but it still makes my toes curl and points below light up. We break apart after a few minutes, both of us panting.

  He exhales a long, slow breath. “I’ll walk you in and get a coffee for the road.”

  “Sure. Okay.”

  Randy gets out of the Jeep and comes around to help me with my knapsack full of clothes that smell like sex. The Jeep also smells like sex, and I’m positive I do, too. He opens the door of the café like he’s being all chivalrous. Except he pats my ass.

  I stop inside the door. What in the serious shit? Sitting at one of the tables is my mother.

  Here’s the thing, my mom almost never comes to visit me at work. Most of the time she doesn’t pay attention to my schedule. Not that she needs to. I’m an adult; I can manage my own life. Usually we try to stay out of each other’s business. So I have no idea what would bring her here, today of all days. She’s not alone either. She’s got a guy with her. His back is to me, so I have no clue who he is, or why in the world she’d have a coffee date at my work.

  My first instinct is to push Randy back out the door. But the damn bell has chimed, alerting everyone in the shop to our arrival. My mother looks up before I make any kind of pre-emptive move in one direction or another.

  She smiles and waves.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Some crazy customer?” Randy runs his fingers through the back of my hair, catching a few knots along the way. I didn’t even think to check it before I got out of the Jeep.

  “That’s my mother. I don’t know what she’s doing here.”

  “Oh. Shit is right. Is that your dad?”

  “Nope. My dad’s a dick. I haven’t seen him since never.” I don’t mean to impart that massive boulder of baggage truth.

  “Huh. Well, my dad’s a dick, too. So we have that in common.” He pushes me forward. “We should go say hi.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s cool. Just don’t moan my name or anythi
ng when you introduce me.”

  “Your ego is its own country.” I take a couple of halting steps forward, figuring out what I’m going to say.

  “Lily bird!” my mom gets up, her eyes darting behind me to Randy and then back, clearly wanting some kind of introduction.

  I’m pretty sure telling her he’s the guy I’m casually boning who provides the best orgasms I’ve ever had isn’t going to fly. “Hey, Mom, so weird that you’re here right now. This is my friend Randy.” I motion between them. “Randy, this is my mom, Iris.”

  “Randy. Hi! So nice to meet you.” She sticks her hand out.

  He shakes it with the one that’s been inside me in the past hour. “Hi, Iris. Looks like I’m surrounded by all the most beautiful flowers.”

  It’s a super cheesy line—like, poutine with double cheese and extra gravy—but my mom giggles like she’s fifteen. I roll my eyes, and Randy flashes me a grin.

  “Holy shit!” the guy with my mom yells.

  I’d almost forgotten he was here, thanks to the shitting of my pants over introducing Randy to my mom. At least she hasn’t recognized him as anyone important yet.

  “Randy Ballistic?” Dude shoots up out of his chair and thrusts out his hand.

  “Hey.” Randy takes it, and the guy—who I now realize is Tom, or Tim, or whatever his name is, all I know is I’m glad he’s wearing more than underwear this time—gives him one of those over-enthusiastic handshakes.

  He continues to pump Randy’s hand so much that I almost expect Randy’s mouth to open and water to come splashing out. “Iris, do you know who this is?”

  My mom lifts her shoulders in an apologetic shrug.

  “This is Randy Ballistic. He’s a new forward for Chicago. He used to play for New York. That game on Friday was killer. You really showed your worth to the team.”

  Her smile freezes. “You’re a hockey player?” Her tone makes it sound more like he’s committed a heinous crime.

  “Uh, yeah. It’s cool if you root for Toronto. I won’t hold it against you. I used to play for them, too.”

  “Um, I’d love to chat, but I have to start my shift.” I wave behind me to the counter, where no customers are currently waiting.

  “I need to use the ladies’ room,” my mom says through gritted teeth. She threads her arm through mine, gripping hard as she steers me toward the back of the shop.

  “A hockey player, Lily? What is wrong with you?”

  I can’t deal with her now, so I need a cover story—one that’s plausible and no one can refute. “Relax yourself, Mom. He’s a friend of Alex’s. I stayed at Sunny’s last night, and Alex was home visiting. He brought a couple friends with him. Randy was on his way out the door and offered me a ride.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he did.”

  “Mom. He drove me to work. He’s nice.”

  She stares at me hard for few seconds. “They all seem nice at first.”

  I love my mom, but sometimes her hypocrisy is frustrating. “I need to start my shift. Is this Tom guy going to be at home when I get there tonight?”

  “His name is Tim. Maybe. Probably. Why?”

  “Can you please make sure he’s wearing more than underwear outside of your bedroom?”

  She gives me a pinched look.

  “I gotta go. I’m supposed to be working already.”

  “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Mom. It was just a ride.” I mean that literally and figuratively.

  My mom goes into the bathroom, and I drop my bag in the manager’s office and rush to get my apron on so I’m out before my mom is finished in the girls’ room.

  Randy and Tim-Tom are still talking. Well, Tim-Tom is talking, and Randy is nodding. Tim-Tom follows Randy to the counter and stops yapping long enough for Randy to order a coffee, one of the specialty kinds.

  My stomach is in all kinds of knots. I need Randy to leave before my mom comes back, but based on Tim-Tom, that’s not likely to happen. I pass the coffee to Randy, along with a bag of cookies, and I try not to let him pay, but he keeps shoving the money at me.

  He covers my hand with his, blatantly ignoring Tim-Tom’s rambling. My mom shows back up at the same moment Randy kisses me on the cheek and whispers, “Thanks for all the fun.”

  My mom shoots laser beams from her eyeballs.

  At least we’re in public and she can’t make a scene.

  Chapter 16

  Trainer Troubles and Other Problems

  RANDY

  I miss a training session because I don’t get back to Chicago until late on Sunday. After dropping off Lily I stopped in to see Michael, the kid we held the exhibition game for back in September, before I caught a flight home. Miller had been to see him yesterday, like I figured he would. We can’t be this close and not visit. I talk to him on Facebook and stuff, but it’s not the same as face to face. It’s hard to see a thirteen-year-old sick like that, but his treatment is going well, and surgery is scheduled for early December.

  I’ve ignored my phone since I left Toronto for Guelph. More like I turned it off. I have seven messages when I turn it back on. Three are clearly speech-to-text-recorded from Miller because some of it doesn’t make sense. The rest of are voice mails. I only have to listen to one to know he’s stressed.

  “Dude. You need to call me. Shit’s about to go down. Coach is pissed. I mean pissed. You have no idea. Where the hell are you? We have a team meeting at eight tomorrow. You better not miss it or you’re gonna be benched. You might be anyway for missing today.”

  That’s early for a game day. It’s already after eleven. I’ve just walked in the door after my flight back from Lily Land. Calling him to find out what’s going on will probably kill the buzz I’m still riding.

  Instead, I throw some food in the microwave and send Lily a message while it heats.

  Back in Chicago. I’d rather b in u.

  We used an entire box of condoms. All twelve, with the last time in the Jeep. That’s a record. I’ve never had that many consecutive hard-ons in a row and been able to finish every time.

  If that keeps happening, I’m going to develop some kind of addiction problem. To her. I glance down. I’m hard. Again. And everything is hypersensitive after so much action in such a short period of time. I’m almost inclined to pull a Miller and walk around naked to keep the friction at bay. If I end up having to whack it tonight, I’ll need some kind of lube to prevent it from being unpleasant.

  The microwave beeps, so I take the plate out, burning my fingertips. I search for a dishtowel or something and take my meal into the living room so I can watch sports highlights. I also call Miller on the off chance he’s still awake. I should probably know what I’m walking into in the morning.

  He answers on the third ring. “Fuck you for calling me this late, asshole.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “We have a meeting at fuck you o’clock in the morning, and a game tomorrow, night, and you’re calling to ask me what’s going on? Screw you, Balls. You’ll find out in the morning.” I get dead air.

  I’d call him back, but he sounds pissed. Miller’s usually a level guy. He wasn’t exactly happy about me swinging by Guelph to visit Lily. He didn’t so much say it as I could tell by his attitude.

  I check my messages again, even though my phone hasn’t beeped. Lily’s definitely asleep. I’m sure I wore her out this weekend. She kept up, though. It’s hard to find someone who can manage my sexual appetite. I kinda wish she lived closer.

  Since there’s so much time between seeing each other, I should be able to stretch things out a little longer than usual with her. Which is fantastic since the sex is out of this world. Plus she’s not clingy. Usually after a marathon sex-fest like the one we had, the girl is texting me nonstop, asking about the next hook-up. Lily’s not like that. I appreciate it, and I don’t. Her lack of communication makes me second-guess how well things went and how she’s feeling about it.

  I scrub my
hands over my face and vow to stop fixating on Lily and start wondering what I missed at our training session this afternoon. I’m probably in trouble for that, but I’m sure Coach’ll understand my flight delay—which didn’t actually happen, but I’m pretending did.

  I give Lance a try, but I get his voice mail. I don’t leave a message. I try one last person. I hit the call button and regret it immediately. Waters and I aren’t all that tight yet, but he seems to like me well enough. As the team captain, he might be willing to give me the information Miller isn’t.

  I’ll be lucky if I’m not waking him up. I second-guess myself and am about to end the call when someone picks up. “Horny Nut Sac, why are you calling my fiancé’s phone at this hour?” It’s Violet. I’m not sure whether I should be relieved.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve been inside a Canadian haven’t you?” she asks.

  “What?”

  “You’re apologizing, and you don’t even know for what. You’ve definitely been inside a Canadian.”

  “I don’t—”

  “If you tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m going to kick your ass.”

  I decide there isn’t any reason to lie about this situation. Also, there’s no way Violet can kick my ass. “Miller left me a message and said some shit had gone down. He’s not answering his phone right now, and I don’t want to go into tomorrow’s meeting blind.”

  “You boned Lily.”

  I have no clue why this matters to Violet. She’s not close with Lily, at least not that I know of.

  “I don’t see how that—”

  “Matters?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “You don’t see the importance of you banging your bestie’s girlfriend’s bestie? Seriously, Balls, I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “Smarter than what? How do you even have this information?”

  “Honestly? I live with Alex. Sunny’s his sister, and we’re girls. We talk. In detail. Sometimes too much.”