“Shitsicles.”
“What’s wrong?” She grabs my arm again. I’m starting to think she’s doing it on purpose.
“It’s in the toilet.”
“Oh. Ew. That’s so gross. You shouldn’t use your phone in public bathrooms.”
There’s no response I can give that isn’t going to make me sound like an asshole. I might have a right to be one, but I don’t get to act like one unless I’m on the ice. Otherwise, it ends up in the media, all twisted around.
I have no other option but to stick my hand in there and get it. I maneuver to face the bowl of doom. Before I shove my hand in, I try to convince myself it’s the same as sticking my finger in an ass—like during foreplay. It doesn’t work, though, I’m still on the verge of gagging. I grab some of the rough, single-ply toilet paper to minimize contact. Whatever’s been in that toilet, it can’t be worse than some of the bunnies I’ve been with.
Except I can wrap my dick and give it a wash when the dirty is over. Not quite so easy in this case.
An announcement over the PA system warns us that we need to get back to our seats. A tiny bump follows, as if to drive the point home. Nut Peeper must have the worst balance in the world. She slams into me from behind, and I bang my head on the wall. I throw out my hand to stop from face planting into the bowl. I’m about six inches away from my poor phone, lying in the toilet bowl. It better still work, or I’m screwed.
Nut Peeper is making full-body contact. “Are you okay? I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so sorry. I thought it was a good opportunity to use the bathroom with you out of your seat. You’re so big, and I wouldn’t have been able to get around you if you fell asleep again. I have a tiny bladder. I should probably have surgery.”
I shake her off and reach for my phone just as the sound of suction fills the tiny room. The little hole in the toilet opens, threatening to claim my phone.
“No!” I snatch it up before it can disappear forever.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit the button!” She’s latched onto me again, like a damn leech, peering over my shoulder.
“My phone almost got sucked down the toilet!”
There’s a knock at the door. “Sir? We’re experiencing turbulence. You must return to your seat immediately.”
“I’ll be right out!” I spin around, almost elbowing the chick in the neck, as I turn on the tap. I don’t know what I’m thinking as I hold my phone under the spray, other than I need to clean it off and that I’ll have to forever use speaker phone until I get a new one. Which I’ll be doing tomorrow.
“Won’t that ruin the phone?” asks Nut Peeper.
“Shit. Goddamn it!” I turn off the water and nab a handful of paper towels. I’d use my shirt, but it’s just as disgusting as the phone.
“You probably shouldn’t have done that.”
“Probably not, but it was covered in intestinal juice.”
“Ew. That’s gross.”
“It’s your damn fault. Why are you even still in here?”
“Because of the turbulence, remember?” She’s looking at me like I’m crazy, when it’s clear she’s the one a few bricks short of a load.
The flight attendant knocks on the door again, more insistently this time. “Sir? Only one person is allowed in the bathroom at a time. You need to come out now.”
I throw up my hands. “Great. Now we’re in trouble. Could this day get any goddamn worse?” I reach around Nut Peeper and throw open the door. The flight attendant’s concern changes to disgust when she takes in my appearance and the woman in front of me. She looks equally disheveled, although she’s not covered in blue toilet water like I am.
“It’s not what it looks like.” For once in my life it’s true, except based on our appearances, I sound like a liar.
The flight attendant rolls her eyes. “Both of you need to return to your seats now. The seatbelt sign is on.” She points to the lighted sign above the door.
Nut Peeper slinks out of the stall and wobbles down the aisle, banging into almost everyone as she goes, drawing more attention to me. People are already staring because of all the noise. Randy looks over the back of the seat and gives me a look like he disapproves of my choice. Dickhead.
“Sir, I won’t tell you again.” The flight attendant crosses her arms over her chest.
I gesture to the chick as she flops into her seat. “She fell into the bathroom when I was trying to leave, and then my phone fell in the toilet. My hands have been in that germ-infested water. I need to wash them. What if someone gets pink eye, or E.coli, or botulism?”
She just stares. She obviously doesn’t believe me.
“Why would I lie? Honestly. Come on. The only thing I’m responsible for is polluting the toilet.” She makes a TMI face, which I ignore. I don’t know why I want her to believe me so badly. I guess it’s just that for once I’m not being a dog, and I want some acknowledgement.
“None of this would have happened if she hadn’t gotten trapped in the bathroom with me. Just ask her. I wasn’t trying to mile-high it. Look at the size of me. I barely fit in one of these bathrooms. Take a whiff. It doesn’t smell like sex in there.”
I move to the side, and in doing this, I give her a full view of the damage. There’s water all over the place. But that’s not what puts a look of disgust on her face.
“Not trying to join the Club, huh?” She pulls a pen out of her pocket and lifts the spent condom out of the sink, holding it up for me to see.
“It’s not mine. I swear.”
Her eyes narrow, and she lowers her voice to a whisper. “I know who you are. I think what you’re doing is repulsive. I hope Waters sticks you in the throat for what you’re doing to his sister. You’re a disgrace to hockey.”
It’s the most demeaning insult a person can give me. What’s worse is that it’s centered on a misunderstanding. But I know how it all looks, and based on my reputation, I can see why she won’t believe what I have to say.
A few months ago, I probably would’ve gotten busy with that chick just to make the flight go by faster, but that was the old me. The new me keeps my hands to myself and keeps other people’s hands off me. The second part seems to be the most difficult. I only have control over my body parts, not anyone else’s.
I go to rub my face with my hand until I remember it’s got pee and chemicals on it.
In my peripheral vision, I spot a crack in the curtain they pull across to separate the first class passengers from the economy class. A teenage boy in the second row holds his phone above the seat. As soon as he sees me looking he lowers the phone a few inches and makes like he’s typing. I know better. After years of being caught doing things I shouldn’t, it’s not a surprise that someone’s recording this whole stupid episode.
I point at the kid. “Stop that!”
He hits a button, and then his phone flashes a number of times. At least he’s stopped filming, but the pictures aren’t going to be any better since I’m pissed off.
“Aren’t you going to stop him?” I ask the flight attendant. She doesn’t seem to see the issue. I poke my head through the curtain like the guy in that old Stephen King movie. “If you post that I’ll have my lawyers sue you for defamation of character.” I pretend to take a picture of him with my phone. “I have facial recognition software. I’ll be able to find out what your name is and where you live.”
“Sir!”
The flight attendant tries to get around me. I’m too broad, though. I take up most of the aisle, and she definitely doesn’t want to touch me.
The kid’s eyes bug out, and he finally puts his phone away. I can’t relax, though, because I doubt he’s going to delete the video. I don’t know how much he heard or what exactly he recorded, but I don’t want this leaked to the media. Especially if he caught the used dome hanging off the flight attendant’s pen.
I’d take refuge in the fact that it’s probably a grainy video, but I’m wearing a team hat, and if enough people see it
, someone will recognize me, and I’ll get tagged. It’ll be a shitshow. I’ll have to run interference with Vi, since Alex will shit a brick and threaten to kick my ass, again. If he thinks I banged someone in a public bathroom, on a plane, he’ll probably break my nose, just like I broke his earlier in the year. That was at least justifiable. The dickhead denied being with my sister on public television. And she still moved in with him.
Beyond that, I’ll have to explain it to Sunny and dig myself out of a hole that doesn’t exist. I really hate those chicken wings, Nut Peeper, Randy, cell phones, and social media right now. This is officially the shittiest flight I’ve ever been on.
I realize all the people in economy are looking at me, including the guys I went on the trip with. The plane does that shuddery thing again. I back out and pull the curtains closed.
The flight attendant braces her hand on the door. “If you don’t return to your seat immediately, I’m going to have you banned from this airline.”
I’m still covered in toilet water. It’s all down my shirt and still all over my hands. It’s probably on my ass, as well. My head hurts from more than the hit on the bathroom wall.
“Okay. I’m going. I’m just gonna wash my hands. I don’t want to contaminate the plane. I pretty much landed in the toilet when that lady crashed into the bathroom on me.” I reach for the bathroom door but she blocks the way.
“I can’t sit through the rest of the flight smelling like this. It’s not fair to the other people on the plane. Everyone’ll be using their barf bags.”
The flight attendant huffs, but she opens the door. She watches as I pump half the contents of the dispenser into my hands and soap my forearms up to my elbow, again. I can’t tell if it’s the bathroom or me that smells like pee at this point.
I move on to my face after I finish my arms. She clears her throat, an indication that I’m pushing it now. I’ve got three more hours on this plane, though. If I’m going to be banned from the bathroom, I want to smell less like a toilet and more like cheap airline soap.
Once I’m as clean as I’m going to get, I head down the aisle. I stop at Randy’s seat.“I need your phone charger.”
“Fuck that, you’re not getting it.”
“Why not?”
Randy gives me this look that tells me he thinks I should know. He nods in the direction of my seat where Nut Peeper is reapplying lipstick and fluffing her hair. “Not cool, man.”
“Dude. I didn’t—”
The flight attendant clears her throat from behind me. I shake my head, annoyed that he could think I’d do something like that, and return to my seat. I want to grab my backpack from the overhead compartment. I have a spare shirt in there, but I have a feeling the flight attendant might junk-punch me if I do.
Nut Peeper apologizes seventy-five times. I can’t even pretend to listen to music because she thinks she broke my phone.
I shove the device in my pocket, close my eyes, and pretend to sleep until they turn off the seatbelt sign. I don’t know how long the reprieve is going to last, so I grab my bag from the overhead bin. My spare shirt is dirty, but it doesn’t smell like poop, so it’s a step up. I’m not risking another trip to the bathroom so I sit down to change my shirt.
I don’t hear the click of the camera, but the flash indicates Nut Peeper is taking pictures of me shirtless. I get my toilet shirt over my head. My hat pops off and ends up in the aisle where the flight attendant runs it over with her drink cart. Shoving my hands through the sleeves I pull the cleaner shirt over my abs.
“Really?” I ask as the clicking continues.
She doesn’t even look embarrassed as she shrugs. “Can you blame me? I didn’t realize who you were until some kid in economy got excited about you being in the bathroom. Do you think I can get your autograph?”
I don’t say any of the things I want to. “I don’t have a pen.”
“I do!” She pulls out her purse and hands me a sparkly pink one.
“What do you want me to sign?”
“How about this?” She motions to her chest.
I keep my eyes on her face. “I can’t sign that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have a girlfriend, and I want it to stay that way.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.” She rummages around in her purse and finds a crumpled piece of paper. “Can you make it out to Guinevere?”
Of course she has to have one of those long, difficult names. At least it’s reasonable for me to ask how to spell it so I don’t mess it up. She practically sits on top of me while I scribble a message and sign my name.
“Thanks, Buck! Can I get a picture, too?” She doesn’t wait for my response. She snuggles in real close and snaps half a dozen selfies before I can even think to smile.
If that kid’s video doesn’t end up on the internet, these pictures will, or the ones of me shirtless on a plane. All I can do is hope I can talk to Sunny before they go viral, along with whatever ridiculous and inaccurate story gets posted along with them.
The Outtakes
THERE ARE THREE Pucked Over outtakes so far, all from Randy’s POV, because, well, he’s the man. I honestly fell so in love with writing this couple. The first outtake is an alternate POV of the Laundry Room scene and the second I wrote for Valentine’s Day. I’ve also added the Valentine’s Day letter Randy wrote for Lily, expressing his feelings in words, not just actions. The final outtake comes from a pivotal scene in Pucked Over, because it signified a lot of trust on Randy’s part, and it really was the moment where these two truly started to recognize that this wasn’t just about the hook up anymore.
The Laundry Room
USUALLY TRAVEL DAYS bag me, but it doesn’t matter that I’ve been on the road since dawn, or that I smell like the inside of an airplane. Lily’s in Chicago. For multiple days. And this time I’m going to have more than twenty-four consecutive hours in which to get her naked.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucking excited to fuck, like, ever. Plus sleepovers. And pussy prison.
“Dude, I feel like I’m on a freaking amusement park ride. Relax,” Lance knocks his knee against mine.
I didn’t even realize I was bouncing my leg. I tap my fingers on my knee instead, but it’s not working. I’m keyed right up.
I figure once the girls get here, we only have to stay for max half an hour, then I’ll make up some excuse and take Lily back to my place. And then it’s a fuck free-for-all. I even bought her new panties and some fun “sleep wear,” which is really just expensive scraps of lace that aren’t going to stay on very long.
I pull out my phone and send her a message:
I can’t wait 4 pussy prison.
Her message back tells me they’ll be here in ten minutes, so I run upstairs to one of the spare bathrooms and hunt down some mouthwash and deodorant so I don’t smell like crap. When I come back down, Alex is yelling for a hand with the bags.
Which means Lily’s here.
I take the stairs two at a time.
And there she is—wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, face flushed, hair flipping out at the ends. I barely let her in the door before I pick her up and crush her against me. I know, without a doubt, that I’m way more invested than I should be in this girl, but I can’t seem to give a fuck right now.
I’m already hard. Already thinking about how soon I can get her back to my place. And maybe not give her back.
She shrieks and giggles as I bury my face against her neck and breathe her in. She smells like she’s been drinking, and her skin is warm and sweet, like it always is. I part my lips against her neck and suck, then bite my way to her ear. “I can’t wait to go to pussy prison.”
I don’t think she even realizes that she moans, or that it’s loud. I glance up to find all my friends staring at me. Lance looks like he’s trying not to shit his pants. Miller and Alex both kind of look like they want to kill me right now, and Darren is amused, which is typical. But all I want is a few minutes alone with Li
ly.
I spin around and survey the hall heading for the closest door. As long as it has a lock on it, we’re good to go.
“No way, Balls!” Miller shouts. “You and Lily aren’t allowed in bathrooms together!”
I laugh and sidestep inside. It’s not a bathroom; it’s the laundry room. Even better—there are solid surfaces.
I try to shut the door, but Miller’s leaning against it. He’s a big guy, with a good thirty pounds on me, and that’s when he’s not bulking up. But I have something I want, and she’s standing right in front of me with those luscious lips parted, looking like she wants to be devoured as much as I want to devour her.
I lean into the door, pushing hard. I still have one arm wrapped around Lily’s waist, so I set her down, giving myself the advantage.
“I need a little something right here.” I tap my lips.
Lily glances at the mostly closed door and at Miller’s shoulder pressed against it, and she smiles, coy and sweet. She steps in close and runs her fingers through my hair. Her nails scratch my scalp and skim behind my ear. I feel like I’m an addict. Her touch is the drug I crave, and right now I’m about to get my first hit.
She rises up on her toes and brushes her mouth over mine, tongue peeking out to touch my lip.
“Seriously, Balls, can’t you wait, like, five minutes?” Miller grunts.
“I’m just saying hello, and I’m looking for a little privacy to do that.” I shove with my shoulder and the door slams closed, so I turn the lock, ignoring Miller’s shouts. “And now we have some.”
Lily winds her arms around my neck as I lift her up and set her on the closest surface, which happens to be a dryer. It’s the perfect height. Lily parts her thighs for me and scoots forward, wrapping her legs around my waist. And then we start grinding on each other.
I can’t get enough of tasting her, so I kiss a path up her neck, ready for her mouth.
Pucks & Penalties: Pucked Series Deleted Scenes and Outtakes Version 2.0 (The Pucked Series) Page 6