Lily laughs. “I’m all about making it more convenient for you. I’ll get right on packing.”
“Seriously, though, how hard is it to get a work visa?”
“I have dual citizenship, so that’s not really an issue.”
“For real?”
“Yeah. My dad didn’t give me much, but he gave me that.”
“So it’s perfect, then; you move out here with Sunny, and we can get naked all the damn time. It’ll be awesome.”
“Except for the fact that I won’t have a job.”
“You teach skating. This is Chicago. People are insane about hockey here. Everyone wants to be pro, and most take a year of figure skating to build ice skills. I bet I could make a call and get something lined up just like that.” I snap my fingers. Then I consider the idea of Lily in one of those little skating skirts with prepubescent boys drooling all over her. They won’t be the problem. It’ll be the dads.
“Alex has already offered to do that.”
I get that feeling in the back of my neck again. “Then you should do it.”
Lily laughs. “I don’t know.”
“What isn’t there to know?” I have no idea why I’m pushing this so hard. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had sex in three weeks and I was totally banking on having lots of it next Friday. With Lily. I think I might be developing a slight problem—not that it matters since I won’t be getting what I want.
“It’s not like Sunny’s going to stay in that house forever. I give her six months tops. Or maybe Miller will move in, and I’ll have to find my own place. Besides, I don’t really know anyone in Chicago.”
“That’s not true. You know Alex and Violet and her friend—the one who’s with Westinghouse—and most importantly, you know me.” My voice goes low as I stick my hand inside my pants and adjust my hard-on. “Think about all the fun we could have, Lily.”
“Oh, I’m very familiar with all the fun we could have.”
“Then you should definitely consider it. I mean, how awesome would it be if we could have bathroom sex in houses, as well as hotels and arenas.”
“We could’ve had bathroom sex at Alex’s.”
“True, but the bed was so much better. Fuck. We need to stop talking about sex in bathrooms.”
“Why? Is it stressing you out?”
“It’s making me hard.”
“You should send me a picture.”
“I’m hanging up and calling you back.” I seriously have no idea what’s wrong with me. It’s not like I can’t take care of this shit on my own. Or I could hook up with some random and get relief, but then I’d have to deal with Miller and possibly Waters getting on my case.
“What? Why?”
“I want to video call you.”
“Video call me?”
“Yeah. You cool with that?”
“Yeah. Yup. Uh-huh.”
She hangs up before I can.
Chapter 17
Hands in the Pants
LILY
I throw my phone on the bed and run to the mirror to check my reflection. I’m wearing a camisole and a pair of shorts. Sexier would be better, but there’s no time. I drop my pants and check out my panties. They’re horrible. My phone’s already ringing. I accept the call, then rush back over to my dresser and yank open the top drawer with all my underwear.
“Hey. Gimme a second.” I’m not sure what exactly Randy has in mind, but if we’re going to have video-phone, mutual-masturbation sex, I need to be wearing nicer panties. I also make sure my door is locked and find my headphones.
“Why am I looking at a ceiling?” Randy asks.
“Just hold on.”
“Oh, I’m already holding on.”
A rush of warmth floods my body, settling low in my stomach. All Randy has to do is speak, and I feel it right in my magic marble. He’s a human aphrodisiac. I root through my undies until I find the pair he bought me. I check my girl parts. I took care of business yesterday, so everything’s a thumbs up there. So are my legs. After Randy-bathroom incident number four, I’ve been way more regular about shaving them.
I smooth out my hair, turn on the lamp on my nightstand, and turn off the light over my bed to help set the mood. Then I get an idea.
I was Jason for Halloween this year. It’s an easy, inexpensive costume: a mask and a blue jumpsuit. It’s also not slutty, which is one of the things that bugs me about that particular holiday. It’s like a license to dress like a hobag and then get all militant about guys who do the ass-dickrub in bars. I don’t go out on Halloween if I can avoid it, especially not in a university town like Guelph.
I rummage around inside my closet for the mask.
“What’s going on over in Canada?” Randy asks from his spot on my bed. If only he was here. And my mother wasn’t in the living room watching some stupid TV show with Tim-Tom. He seems to have become a new permanent fixture.
“I’m just getting ready for you!” I call back.
“I seriously hope that means you’re going to be naked.”
I slip the mask over my face, take a deep breath and pick up my phone.
“Hey.” I can see my own image in the small video box on the right side of the screen. All Randy can currently see is my horror-movie-inspired face.
“Fucking shit, Lily. Are you kidding me with this?” He sounds distressed.
I smash the phone against my chest to muffle his voice and burst into a fit of giggles.
“Seriously, Lily. That is not a sexy look.”
“What about this?” I hold the phone out farther so he can see the rest of my outfit. I lost the shorts when I changed undies.
Randy groans. The sound makes my nipples hard and all my sensitive places tingle. “You need to take that mask off. It’s seriously freaking me out.”
I toss it on the floor, then drop down on the mattress, holding the phone back up to my face. “Better?”
He’s lying on his bed, shirtless, his tattooed arm tucked behind his head. God, he’s built. There’s so much arm and chest and sexy going on, it’s hard not to sigh. His hair isn’t pulled back and it’s shorter, reaching his cheekbones instead of his chin. He’s trimmed the beard. I remember how that felt between my thighs the first time he ever went down on me. He’s gorgeous.
“You need to show me that whole outfit you’ve got going without the mask,” he says in that gravelly voice that makes my girl parts light up like a Christmas tree.
I scan my body with the phone, then bring it back up to my face. “That’s all you’re getting.”
“If you lived in Chicago, I’d be at your place in a hot minute.”
“Would you now?”
“Definitely. So you should give serious consideration to moving here.” He lifts his head and runs his hand down his chest, following the action with his phone. He’s wearing one of the pairs of defaced underwear. He has a serious hard-on. I can see the ridge of the head through the blue cotton. “Just imagine, Lily, all this could be yours, as often as you want it.”
He slides his hand into the waistband of his underwear, and I moan. I can’t help it. I know what he’s hiding under there and how it feels to have it inside me. Repeatedly.
He moves the phone back up to his face before I get a glimpse of anything good. Well, apart from his seriously hot body. “You like that?”
“I like it better when your cock isn’t confined by stupid things like underwear. I also like it better when it’s inside me, rather than hundreds of miles away in a bedroom I can’t get to.”
“You see how solid my argument is, then?”
“I saw how solid something was. At least it looked solid. Unless you stuck a dick-shaped rod in your underwear. You should show me again.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” He grins and his tongue peeks out to touch the scar on his lip.
“I already showed you mine.”
“Not without something covering it. You want more of me, you need to give me more of you.” He’s
got that damn smile going. It drives me crazy.
“I’m not getting naked on video. How do I know you won’t screenshot it?” I ask.
“How’m I gonna do that with my hand in my boxers?”
I stare at his hot face and notice his arm is moving. In a very rhythmic way.
“Are you jerking off?” It’s comes out all low and breathy.
“Wanna help me out if I am?”
Now here’s an interesting fact: I’ve never had phone sex, let alone video phone sex. Based on Randy’s comfort level, I’m guessing he’s done this before. So as hot as this is, I’m feeling a little out of my element.
“I’m messing with you, Lily girl. I just wanted to see that gorgeous face of yours so it’s fresh in my mind for later.”
“Later as in after you hang up?” I squeeze my thighs together. Pressure builds as I imagine him stroking himself with the same aggression he uses when he gets me off, over and over again.
“Yeah. That’s the plan, anyway.”
I have a feeling that wasn’t his plan at all, but I’m obviously nervous enough that he’s backtracking. I wish I had the balls to follow through right now. I bite my lip, considering it.
“I’m gonna let you go so I can take care of things. ’Kay, Lily?”
“I’ll do the same over here.” My hand is already creeping down into my panties. In my head I say, or we could do it together.
“Let me know how that goes.” His eyes are heavy and his chest rises and falls faster. “Night.”
“Maybe we—” I say, but he’s already hung up. “Fuck. Shit.” I had the chance for phone sexy times, and I ruined it by not being adventurous enough. What’s wrong with me? I could’ve watched Randy come. I could’ve said dirty things to him. Except I’ve never dirty-talked unless, oooh, fuck me harder and that’s so good count. I don’t think they do.
I decide to do something either really bold or really dumb. Probably both. I stick my hand down the front of my panties and slide two fingers inside. Then I snap a picture, but only of my hand in my panties. And I send it to Randy.
I want to take it back as soon as I’ve done it. This is how people end up famous for having their girl parts splashed all over social media. But my face isn’t in the shot. No one can actually prove it’s me. Well, Randy could prove it, and possibly Benji because he’s seen all my parts up close—although he was never much of a magic-marble licker, so maybe not. He was more of a stick-it-in-and-pump-until-it’s-done guy.
I stop thinking about Benji, because he’s an asshole and not someone I care to imagine while my hand is in my underpants. I get a message back from Randy a minute later.
I see how it is. Now ur not feeling shy.
It’s followed by an image. It’s not a dick pic, but it’s close. Randy’s wrist peeks out of the waistband of his underwear. He’s clearly fisting his cock, and the head is peeking out as well, just a little tiny bit. It’s mostly in shadow, but it’s there.
Talk about missed opportunities. I get myself off to that picture. It doesn’t take long, so I go for round two. Once I’m sated, I pull on a pair of sweats, unlock my bedroom door, and peek into the hallway to make sure it’s clear before I hit the bathroom and wash my hands.
I’m so disappointed I won’t get to see Randy next weekend. Maybe if I could get the car for the night I could drive to Toronto and meet up with him afterward. It doesn’t hurt to ask.
***
The next morning I find my mom in the kitchen with Tim-Tom. He’s wearing plaid pajama pants, and he’s shirtless. I don’t need to see his bare, hairy chest first thing in the morning. Or ever.
I make some mindless chitchat for a few minutes to appear social even though I’m not in the morning, especially with the smell of old sex in the air and Tim-Tom giving my mom the goo-goo fuck eyes.
“Do you think you’ll need the car next Friday night?” I ask, swishing the teabag around in my mug.
“I work next Saturday morning at seven.”
“What if I could have it back by then?” I’m working on being super nonchalant.
“Don’t you have some skating thing on Friday night? Aren’t your girls performing?” She glances at the calendar. It’s marked with a huge red square, as is Saturday, since that’s the day of the performance.
“Yeah, but Sunny invited me to Toronto, and I thought maybe I could go after.”
“What’s in Toronto?”
“Isn’t Chicago playing Toronto? That game’s gonna be fantastic,” Tim-Tom pipes up.
I hate him.
“Is this so you can see that boy? The one with the tattoos?”
“I already told you, he’s a friend of Alex’s, and he was dropping me off.”
She sets down her mug. “He kissed you!”
“On the cheek!”
“In front of me. I bet if I hadn’t been there his tongue would have been down your throat.”
“He’s a hockey player, not a tacky, classless asshole.”
“I’m sure that’s what he wants you to believe.”
I put my hands up to stop her. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”
I’m not in the mood for another lecture on how dirty professional hockey players are. I’ve already had more than one since the Randy introduction. My mother’s assumption is that he only wants one thing, and once he gets it he’ll toss me aside like a half-eaten taco. She didn’t use that exact analogy, I don’t think, but I stop listening almost as soon as she starts in on me.
She’s not exactly wrong. But the point is, I also only want one thing from Randy, and that’s his awesome dick inside me. But I can’t tell her that. She thinks I need a break after Benji. He’s still calling, and that worries her. He’s sent a few texts and left a couple of voice mails, but they were predictably him: the words were sweet, and the tone was not.
Looks like I’m out of options where seeing Randy is concerned. I’m sure he’ll get bored of chasing me soon and end up banging a puck bunny. Not that he isn’t already doing that. I just haven’t borne witness to it through social media—yet. It’s bound to happen. I can’t be the only person he’s screwing, seeing as there’s so much time between screw sessions. And that’s part of casual fun, right? I could screw someone else, too.
I don’t want that to bother me. But it does. A lot. Maybe if Benji hadn’t been such a horrible boyfriend, I wouldn’t be at risk of getting attached to the first guy who’s remotely nice to me.
Chapter 18
Unmade Beds
RANDY
We’re in Toronto, we won the game, and I should be naked in my hotel room with Lily underneath me. Or on top of me. I checked in twice more to see if anything had changed, but she couldn’t find a way to make it work. Today I got a picture of her in her skating getup. I don’t know why, but those little skirts make me so fucking hard.
So instead of being balls deep inside that sweet, hot pussy, I’m sitting at a table in the bar with Lance. He’s past the moping phase now, or at least he’s acting like he’s past it. He’s taking bunnies home or back to hotel rooms again. And because they know that, a couple of them have found their way to our table. Lance bought them drinks, which means I feel obligated to stay and chat.
Maybe I should have gone to Guelph tonight. I could’ve cabbed it, called her, booked a hotel room for a few hours, then cabbed it back in time for my flight out in the morning. But I didn’t. So I’m here listening to these girls talk and talk about how much they love hockey.
The one sitting beside me is wearing a low-cut top and lots of eye makeup. I think her eyelashes might be fake, or they’re just insanely long. She keeps moving her chair closer until she’s almost in my lap, then she puts her hand on my arm.
“Wow! Your art is amazing! Where do you get it done?”
“I go to this place in downtown Chicago.” I’m used to handsy chicks. Normally it doesn’t bother me, but I’m in a bad mood. I wanted Lily this weekend, and I don’t get to have her. I’m bratty.
“Re
ally? I have friends in Chicago! I’ve been thinking about getting some new art, and I’m looking for someone good. What’s the place called?”
“Inked Armor. They’re booked out, like, six months to a year in advance, and they don’t do walk-ins. I see this guy Hayden. He’s a master artist. Moody as fuck, but all his work is amazing.”
“Oh. Wow. Good to know.” She nods like this means something to her. “So…” She bites her lip and gives me what I suspect is supposed to be a coy smile. “Do you have any other ink you’re hiding?”
I fight an eye roll. “I only have the sleeve right now.”
“Does it go all the way to your shoulder?” Her fingertips slide under my cuff. She’s trying to segue, and I’m too preoccupied with the fact that she’s not Lily—and why that matters—to assess what’s coming.
“Yeah. It’s a full.”
She leans in until her breasts press against my arm and her lips are at my ear. “Maybe you wanna go back to your room and I can show you my ink?”
Miller’s long gone with Sunny. Waters and Westinghouse are bromancing it up in their room since their girlfriends are back in Chicago. There’s no one here to give me any grief about hooking up. Lily and I aren’t a thing. I haven’t seen her in more than a month, and she’s not falling all over herself to see me. It shouldn’t be an issue for me to bag a random and release some of the pent-up tension I’ve been carrying around since last goddamn month.
It shouldn’t. So I don’t know why I stall instead of saying yes right away.
“It’s okay if you have a roommate. I’m not shy.” She bats her abnormally long eyelashes.
“I don’t have a roommate.”
“Great. So I can have you all to myself.” She hooks her purse over her shoulder, looking at me expectantly.
Lance has his arm around the other girl, his hand resting near her tit. He looks at me, then at her, then back at me. “You out, Ballistic?”
“Uh, I don’t—” I should feel something other than conflict, like maybe some kind of reaction in my pants, but there’s nothing. Not even a hint of hard-on happening.
Pucked Over (Pucked #3) Page 20