Текст книги "Pucked Up "

Автор книги: Helena Hunting

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CHAPTER TWO

DICKFACE

My head hurts, and my mouth tastes like ass. I try not to move, but I can hear horrible music coming from somewhere outside my room, and it’s ruining my sleep. I crack a lid and cringe at the brightness coming through the curtains. The first thing I notice is that I’m not in my own bed. It takes me a while to remember I’m at Lance’s. I have a very vague recollection of a limo ride and lying on the floor in the living room. I remember a condom and a bare beaver and panic sets in.

The other side of the queen bed is empty, so I’m taking that as a good sign. My raging case of morning wood and my aching balls are also solid indicators that I didn’t put my dick anywhere I shouldn’t have.

A few months ago the unused pillow would have been occupied by a very satisfied, very well-used puck bunny. I used to be a dog. I probably still qualify as one, but I’m working on becoming reformed. It’s not that easy. Women want to ride my dick all the time. Not bringing honeys home is like passing by McDonald’s during training camp: you know you can’t have it because it’s not part of the meal plan, so you want it even more.

Instead of sex, Sunny and I text or have video chats. I like those best, especially when it’s late at night. She hangs out in her bed, and I can ogle her while we talk.

Eventually I’m hoping we’ll graduate past conversation to Skype sex. We haven’t even had real sex yet, so there’s no damn way I’m asking her to have not-real sex with me over video chat. I need to get past third base and all the way to home first. Until then, I’ll keep up with the post-Skype-ogle whack-off sessions. It’s frustrating, even though I like that she’s not slutty like the puck bunnies I’m used to.

All this means my dick has gone unused for the last few months. We’ve done some groping and making out, and she’s had her hand down my pants and vice versa, but that’s it. It’s weird. I’ve never not had sex on the first “date.”

Before Sunny, if I needed company, all I had to do was pull up my contact list, go to my honeys, call one, and wait. Usually said honey would arrive within half an hour; the ones who wear too much makeup take longer. It’s almost like ordering pizza.

It wouldn’t matter if I’d just come home from a workout or practice. I didn’t even have to shower. I could be sweaty and gross, or eat a goddamn head of garlic raw, and they’d still come and bounce on my dick.

Now that I’m trying to get Sunny to be my girlfriend, that’s not an option, so I’m stuck with my hand. In theory, if I can go without eating wings for a few months, I should be able to go without sex. It’s a lot harder in practice.

I lie in the bed that’s not mine, trying to remember the end of my night. I have a feeling I might have drunk-dialed Sunny. I hope she didn’t answer the phone. From the little I remember, I wasn’t in very good shape.

Off season is like this—late nights, lots of partying, drinking, and eating shitty food, then regretting it all when hardcore training starts again. I reposition my pillow over my head to drown out the bad music.

I’m drifting off when there’s a knock at the door. “Natasha’s gonna be here in twenty. Get your ass out of bed, Butterson,” Randy yells.

I peek out from under the pillow and stare at the numbers on the clock, willing them to stop moving around so I can read them. It’s after nine. My phone alarm should’ve gone off half an hour ago. Usually I hit the snooze button a minimum of four times every morning. I hate waking up almost as much as I hate asparagus pee. And pop music.

A few minutes later there’s another knock at my door. “Buck?”

It’s a female voice this time. It’s vaguely familiar. I ignore it.

Another knock. “Randy told me you need to get up.”

I still don’t answer. There’s whispering and giggling on the other side, followed by the sound of the doorknob turning. It’s unlocked. I’m out of bed in a flash, slamming my shoulder into the door to hold it closed. I’m naked. With morning wood. And my head hurts like hell.

I slide to the floor, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “I’m up. I’ll be down in, like, ten.”

More giggling follows and then the patter of feet as they move on down the hall, yelling, “He says he’s up!”

I’m still sitting on the floor with my head in my hands several minutes later when Randy comes knocking. “If you’re not down there in eight minutes, Natasha’s gonna make you do suicides.”

“I’d like to see her try.”

Natasha’s been my trainer since I was traded from Miami to Chicago. She’s tough, but awesome. Sometimes I hate her for it. The threats are enough to make me pick my ass up off the floor. I flip the lock, though, in case someone else decides they want to barge into my room.

I check the nightstand for my cell, but it’s not there. It’s not on the floor either, so I sweep my hand across the comforter to see if I accidentally brought it to bed with me. I find it under the pillow. I take it to the bathroom with me, pushing the button so I can key in my password and check my messages, but the screen stays blank. My battery must have died. I set it on the back of the toilet and flip up the seat. I’m hard, so it’s almost impossible to pee.

If my phone wasn’t dead, I’d pull up a picture of Sunny and take care of my problem like that. Instead, I have to use my imagination. This morning sucks worse than usual. Since I haven’t seen her naked yet, I have to cobble together images of her mostly naked in her bikini and imagine what her bare tits would look like. Eventually I give up and grab one of the trashy magazines from the rack on the floor and flip it open. It lands on a hot blonde with fake boobs. It’ll do.

When I’m about to blow, I brace my hand on the wall and let my shins rest against the toilet seat. My knees buckle at the end, and my aim is off, so I hit the back of the toilet lid. The whole unit shakes with my weight, and my phone shifts forward.

I’m too slow to catch it. It bounces off the seat, and instead of landing on the floor, it falls straight into the bowl.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I reach in and grab it, not caring that I’m sticking my hand in toilet water and my own jizz. Shaking it off, I grab the closest towel and wipe it clean. The battery’s already dead, so I have no idea if I’ve ruined it or not.

And of course, that’s when there’s another goddamn knock on my door. I stalk my way across the room, holding the potentially ruined phone in a hand towel. I throw open the door.

“Dude, are you—” Randy stops mid-sentence.

There’s a girl behind him. She looks vaguely familiar. She’s sporting last night’s makeup and wearing Randy’s too-big shirt, and possibly nothing else. Her eyes drop below my waist.

“Oh my God!”

I’m naked and still half-hard after the whack-off session. I cover my junk with the hand towel. Randy puts a hand up to cover her eyes. She tries to pry it away, but Randy has huge hands, and he’s way stronger than she is, even if he is hungover as shit.

She points in my direction even though she can’t see me. “You have something on your—”

“Baby, why don’t you go downstairs and see what the girls are doing?”

“But—”

“I got it covered.” He whispers something in her ear. One of his hands slips under the shirt. I look away, because I don’t want to see as much of her as she’s seen of me.

She laughs and takes off down the hall, yelling, “I saw Buck’s dick, and it’s huge!”

“Seriously, man?” Like I need this shit.

“You’re the one answering your door like this.” He motions to my lack of clothing. “The world isn’t your locker room, Miller.”

“My fucking phone fell in the toilet!” I hold out the hand towel with my phone still wrapped in it.

“Facebooking on the shitter again?”

“Laugh it up, asshole. All my contacts are in there.”

“Does it work?”

“The battery died, so I have no idea.” He throws me a pair of swim shorts.

“Put these on and bring it downstairs. I’ll get a bag of rice.”

“What the hell’s rice gonna do for my phone?”

“Calm your tits, dude. It’s supposed to dry it out or something. We’ll charge it and put it in rice. Hopefully it’ll be working in a couple of hours.”

I pull the suit on, tuck my deflated junk away, and follow him downstairs. Randy doesn’t look nearly as rough as I feel this morning.

Two girls—the one who announced the size of my junk to the entire house, we’ll call her Dick Yeller, and another one I vaguely recognize from last night—are sitting at the breakfast bar with coffees. Another one lounges on the couch in the living room, clicking away on her phone. The girls at the breakfast bar stare at me, then drop their gazes to their cups, shoulders shaking.

“Showing off your jewels again, huh, Miller?” Natasha, our trainer, says from the other side of the kitchen, focused on the fruit she’s throwing in the blender. She seems like she’s in a mood, which means our workout is going to be extra painful today.

“Not on purpose.”

She’s got one hand on top of the blender and a finger poised over the button. She looks up as she hits the switch. I don’t have time to cover my ears before she lets it rip. It’s like a bomb going off in my head.

Natasha’s eyes bug out, and she barks out a laugh, dropping to the floor. I’m grateful the blender stops grinding.

The room is filled with snickering. “What the shit? Is everyone high?”

“You said you were going to take care of it,” Dick Yeller says to Randy.

He shrugs.

“Take care of what?” I’m totally confused.

Dick Yeller shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Go look in the mirror.”

I drop my phone on the counter and step into the closest bathroom. On my forehead, in black marker, is a giant jizzing cock. It even has ball hairs. “Who did this?”

“It wasn’t me,” Randy yells. “I can’t even draw stickmen.”

I pump a handful of soap into my palm and rub at my forehead, but the ink stays put. I stomp out of the bathroom and yell, “Get ready for an ass kicking, Lance! If anyone took pictures I’m going to stick you in the balls, motherpucker!”

The two girls at the counter look like they’re trying to decide whether they should laugh or run. Natasha is still on the floor, and Randy has his hand over his mouth.

Lance opens the sliding door leading out to the patio and the pool. “It’ll wash off eventually.”

“I have a goddamn flight tonight. They’re not gonna let me into Canada with a dick on my forehead.”

“That’s tonight?” Lance asks.

“Yeah, man. I told you that already.” At least I assumed I did.

Natasha stops laughing long enough to ask, “Are you going to see Sunny?”

“Not if I can’t get this off!” I point to the dick on my forehead.

“Who’s Sunny?” Dick Yeller asks.

“Miller’s girlfriend,” Randy says.

“I thought his name was Buck.”

“It’s a nickname,” I reply. “What is this? Permanent marker? How do I get rid of it?”

“Makeup remover might work.” the one from the couch says.

“Do one of you girls have some of that handy?”

The two at the breakfast bar shake their heads. The quiet one on the couch perks up. “Oh! I have hand sanitizer!” She jumps up and runs off. One minute later she comes back with three little bottles and pats a stool.

I take a seat. She pours a bunch into her palm; it smells fruity.

“You’re sure this is going to work?”

“It’s worth a shot.” She grabs a napkin and dabs it in the sanitizer. “It’s got alcohol in it.” She starts working on my forehead. “Wow, this stuff is hard to get off.” She uses a bigger glob, and this time it goes in my eyes. It burns like crazy.

“Oh! Sorry! Maybe it’d be better if you lie down.”

“When you’re done with the dick removal, drink this and come outside.” Natasha sets a glass on the counter, along with two painkillers, and saunters out of the kitchen. Randy takes Dick Yeller and the other one at the breakfast bar outside with Natasha.

Natasha’s used to this bullshit, including arriving when there are still leftovers from the night before wandering around the house. Lance’s pad is a revolving door of chicks and parties.

I lie on the floor, even though the couch is less than ten feet away, and the quiet chick sits beside me, crossing her legs.

“I feel like if you’re going to rub a dick off my forehead, I should know your name.”

Her smile is muted by her pursed lips. “I’m Poppy. Lance is a real joker.”

“Yup. That’d be him. Thanks for taking care of the dick on my head.”

“No problem.” She rubs some stinky hand sanitizer into my skin. “Kristi’s been following his career ever since he got drafted.”

“Who?”

“The girl he was with last night.”

“The one without the underwear?” I’m not going to be the one to tell her Lance goes through girls like a hooker goes through johns.

“That’d be Kristi. And I didn’t sleep with Lance when she was done.”

“Uh—”

“Sorry. I don’t why I told you that.” She pours some of the sanitizer directly on my forehead. I can’t see her face, but she sounds embarrassed.

“Lance is fun. He’s not down for a relationship, you know?”

“Oh, I know. I went to grade school with him; then we moved away for a few years. He used to tease me all the time. Anyways, we were kids. He’s different now. But then, so am I, I guess.”

I’ve only known Lance since I was traded, so I don’t know what he was like before he made the NHL. He’s a cocky bastard at the best of times now. “Does he know you know each other?”

“I don’t think he even remembers me. It’d be better if you didn’t tell him. You guys are good friends, right?”

I can’t decide if she’s a stalker, a fan, or something else. She’s got this look on her face, similar to the one I get when I’m not allowed to order chicken wings.

I give her a vague nod in reply. “Now you gotta tell me why you don’t want him to know you know each other.”

“No way.” She wipes at my forehead more aggressively. “This is on really good.”

“I’m gonna punch Lance in the dick.”

“It’s a pretty great drawing.”

“So what’s the history with him?”

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid.”

“Was he, like, your first crush or something? Did you want to hold hands and shit?”

She takes a break from scrubbing my skin, and I use the opportunity to look at her. Her entire face is red, and her lip is between her teeth. She’s pretty, maybe even beautiful under the day-old makeup. She’s exactly what Lance’s type would be if he took a time out from fucking everyone with a pussy: petite with strawberry blond hair, freckles, and soft curves.

“He was! Holy shit.” I can’t believe I’m right. “How does he not remember you?”

“It wasn’t like that. And it was ten years ago. He was two grades higher. I have an older sister. I tagged along to a high school party and there was, like, that game, you know? Seven Minutes in Heaven or whatever it’s called?” She buries her face in her hands. “Oh my God. This is so embarrassing. I’m shutting up now.”

I sit up, totally interested. This is like one of those terrible teen sitcoms, but real. I love that shit. “Did you fuck him?”

She drops her hands. “I was twelve!”

“Right. That’d be kinda slutty, huh?”

She punches me in the shoulder.

“So did he feel you up?”

“No!”

“Really? I would’ve given my right nut to feel up a chick when I was that age. I didn’t get my hands on a set of naked tits until I was sixteen.”

“Seriously?”

“Truth.” I make a fist and tap over my heart twice.

“Wow. Well, I guess you’ve made up for that, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. Probably more than I needed to.”

She pushes my shoulder, and I lie back down on the floor so she can finish rubbing the stupid dick off.

“So do they call you Buck because you walk around naked all the time?” she asks.

“Nope. I had bad teeth as a kid.”

“Oh. That’s mean.”

“Kids are assholes. The nickname stuck, and after a while I didn’t care anymore. My teeth are perfect now, but none of the ones in the front are real.”

“What happened?”

“I got a puck in the face playing street hockey.”

She sucks in a breath. “That must have hurt.”

“Lots of things hurt. They were gonna put braces on me, but then they didn’t have to. I got these titanium implants, instead. They give you good drugs when they put those fuckers in. Anyway the accident fixed my teeth in the end, so I guess the pain was worth it.”

“That’s a lot of pain for a nice smile. I hope you wear a cage now.” She wipes my forehead one last time. “Okay. It looks like you’re dick free.”

I sit up. “Thanks for taking care of that.”

“No problem.”

I stand and extend a hand to help her up.

“You’re a lot different than I thought you’d be.”

“Is that good or bad?”

She smiles. “It’s good. You’re nice.”

Lance yells for me to come outside. When Poppy doesn’t make a move to follow me, I pause. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I need to use the bathroom, wash all this stuff off my hands. I smell like a fruit salad.”

“Okay. See you in a few.” I grab the shake Natasha made, the bag of rice with my phone, and the charger and go outside, where Lance and Randy are already in the pool. I plug in the phone near the barbeque, check to see if it’s working—it isn’t—and down my shake.

Lance looks like he’s having trouble keeping up. Randy seems to be doing okay, though. I jump in, dunking my head and rubbing my hands over my face to wash off the residual hand sanitizer and the artificial-fruit smell.

“Took you long enough,” Lance says through heavy breaths.

“No thanks to you, dickface.”

“Shut up, both of you.” Natasha blows her whistle. I hate that thing. “Miller, suicides in the shallow end. I want twenty.”

Lance grins and gives me a thumbs up.

Natasha points to him. “You too, Lance Romance.”

At least I’m not alone in hell this morning.

CHAPTER THREE

ALL THE HONEYS IN THE HOUSE

After half an hour, I notice that Poppy, the girl who rubbed the dick off my forehead, hasn’t come outside. Maybe she went back to sleep. I don’t have time to ask questions; Natasha is on a rampage. She’s definitely annoyed with Lance, who’s the least motivated of the three of us.

He keeps getting distracted by Flash Beaver, the chick he boned last night. He must have had a few bikinis lying around his house, because she’s dressed in a tiny white one that barely covers anything. Dick Yeller is wearing a pink bra and yellow panties. I try not to look at either of them and stay focused on the exercises.

Plyometric workouts are intense on dry land, in water and hungover, they’re pretty much torture. We’re on round three of cardio break when the doorbell rings.

I look to Lance, who’s sitting on the edge of the pool, not doing what he’s supposed to. “Who’s that?”

“I invited a few people over.” He nudges Flash Beaver and asks her to let whoever it is in.

Lance doesn’t invite “a few” people over. It’s not how he works unless it’s to get his fuck on with some bunny, like last night. That these girls are even still here is surprising. Usually he calls them a cab first thing in the morning and ships them off. Flash Beaver must’ve been a lot of fun.

“Where’s your friend?” I ask Dick Yeller.

She looks up from her phone and gives me a funny look. “She went to answer the door.”

“No. The other one.” I motion to my forehead. “The dick remover.”

“Oh! Poppy? She wasn’t feeling well. She took a cab home.” She goes back to staring at her phone.

This chick seems like a seriously shitty friend.

Natasha’s already out of the pool, packing up her stuff. I’m sure we weren’t finished, but it’s clear she’s given up. Flash Beaver comes back with a couple of guys from my team and some girls I’ve never seen before, which is a good thing. I lift a hand in greeting, then grab the weights and bands we didn’t get to use. Lance gets off his ass, not to help, but to greet his company.

“Sorry about today.” I fold everything up the way Natasha likes it and pass it over so she can pack it in her duffle bag.

“You were fine; the other two were the problem. I don’t think these home sessions work very well.”

“It woulda been fine if Lance had gotten rid of the bunnies.”

Lance lives outside of the city on a massive piece of property in a gigantic house. He has a complete weight room and a track in his backyard. His pool kicks ass. And the hot tub is great after a serious workout. I won’t be using it today, since I don’t know what happened in it last night. We started scheduling training sessions here when the weather got warm. That way I wouldn’t have to deal with all the bunnies at the gym. Unfortunately, Lance started bringing them here instead.

“Yeah, well, he didn’t, so I’m done.” Natasha grabs her bag.

“Sorry about him. You know how he gets.”

She shakes her head. For some odd reason, I get the feeling there’s more going on between her and Lance than I realized. She’s been his trainer for two years, so she knows what a dick he can be. Hitting on girls is a compulsion for him, and I know Natasha isn’t exempt. It’s understandable. She’s super fit—even I can admit it’s hot that she could kick my ass. There’s gotta be a line of guys wanting to tap that, Lance included. I don’t think she’s the kind of chick who would fall for his crap. You never know, though. People do a lot of stupid things when sex is involved.

“You’re gone for a couple of weeks after this, right?” she asks me.

“Yeah. I fly to Toronto tonight. I think my flight’s at nine or something.” I should check that when my phone works again.

Her eyes light up. “You excited to see Sunny?”

“Why are you so interested in my sex life?”

Natasha laughs. “It’s your lack of sex life I’m interested in. Is she still holding out?”

Natasha knows a lot more about my personal life than most people. She’s watched me blow through bunnies since I moved here and then struggle to deal without any outlet for the past three months while I wait for Sunny to come around.

When I don’t answer, she gives me a knowing smile. “So after you visit Sunny, you do that camp thing, right?”

“Yeah. Randy’s meeting me in Toronto, and we’re road tripping together.”

“You’ll have fun. It’s not the usual hockey camp deal, is it?”

“I wanted to change it up this year, and it’s close to Sunny.” That I managed to get Randy to agree to come was a serious feat. I sold the whole “camping experience” like we used to have back when we were kids. He’s also got a few friends up that way, having played for Toronto during his first year.

“Smart. You coming back after that? Or do you have more stuff planned?”

“I have ideas for another project, but it’s local, and I’mma need Vi’s help.”

“How is Violet, anyway?”

“Annoying.” Being the team trainer, Natasha’s met her a few times.

“It’s amazing she deals with you at all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m awesome.” I give her a cheeky grin. “Vi’s good. She and Waters got engaged.”

“I heard. You don’t sound very happy about that.”

“It’s whatever. I mean, they haven’t been together that long. Like, six months? It feels way soon, ya know?”

“Sometimes when you know, you know.”

The first night I met Sunny, I knew she wasn’t the same as the girls I usually spent my nights with. Or my early mornings. I don’t think that’s what Natasha means, though. “I guess. She’s a big girl, and she can make her own decisions, but if he fucks her over again, I’m gonna break his face.”

“I’m sure he’d do the same if you screwed Sunny over.”

“Truth. That’s not gonna happen.”

I fish my phone out of the bag of rice Randy—or one of the girls, more likely—put it in. It’s been plugged in this entire time, but I’ve still got nothing except a blank screen. Natasha emails me a few dates for sessions that I’ll have to check at home, before I leave for the airport. I want to call Sunny and check in, but I’ve never been great at memorizing numbers, so I don’t have hers banked. It’s a weekday, so she’s probably teaching yoga or volunteering at the animal shelter, anyway.

Natasha gives me a one-armed hug and waves to Randy, who’s floating on his back in the pool. Well, the top half of his body is floating, thanks to the pool noodle, but his legs are sinking. She doesn’t so much as look at Lance as she walks past him to cut through the house, and he’s too busy socializing to notice.

I shove my phone back into the rice bag. I’ll have to check it again later. I’m not sure how long it needs to dry out before it starts working. If I’m still having problems in a couple of hours, I’ll have to hit up the phone store. I don’t like not having access to people when I need it. I’m hoping this camp isn’t so remote I can’t get a signal. That’ll fuck things up for me. I rely on daily messages to Sunny so she knows she’s on my mind.

All of a sudden there’s a music change. We go from rock—which is how we work out—to some pop dance crap.

Lance scans the patio. “Where’s Tash at?”

“She left.”

“What? When?”

“A minute ago.”

He jumps up and jogs across the concrete, his brows creased. I have to wonder what the deal is there. Sometimes I feel like all the flirting Natasha puts up with from Lance isn’t just him being him. Lance digging on her would be all kinds of fucked up since she knows exactly how frequently he lets the bunnies eat his carrot.

Randy paddles over to the edge of the pool, and hoists himself out. “What was that about?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, because I’m not, and I’mma keep my hypothesizing to myself.

Lance’s doorbell goes off and, like Pavlov’s dog, Randy goes running. He comes back a few minutes later, piggy-backing one of the newly arrived girls. The other three are practically tripping over themselves to get next to him. A couple of months ago when Vi and Waters were on the outs because he was—and I maintain still is—a huge fuckwad, I suggested she go on a date with Randy. Even though he’s my friend, I’m glad that never happened.

I recognize a couple of these girls. I hope my dick hasn’t been inside any of their holes. Although there’s a good chance it has.

Randy doesn’t waste any time. He starts running for the water with the girl on his back. Her eyes go wide when she realizes what he’s going to do, and she starts screaming and kicking. He’s got a solid hold on her legs, so she doesn’t have a chance in hell of getting free. She bites his shoulder as he takes the leap. I smile at her absolute horror.

Dick Yeller stomps past Flash Beaver, heading for the house. The new girls notice and whisper among themselves. It’s too much drama too early in my day.

I hadn’t expected the bunnies today, although I probably should have. Lance doesn’t do the chill-out thing very often. Usually when Natasha comes by, she hangs out for a while after the workout. We BBQ and swim, and then she takes off and we plan our night. Lance always walks her out. I figured it was him being all polite or whatever, but now I’m not so sure.

“This must be torture,” Lance says from beside me.

I glance over at him. While I was busy scoping the scene, he must have come back outside.

“What do you mean?” I drain what’s left of my bottle of water.

“All the girls.”

“It’s no big deal.” Honestly, I figured it’d be a lot harder than it is. Although the bunnies are damn hard to avoid, especially with friends like Lance who throw parties all the time.

I change the subject. “Did you find Natasha?”

“Nah. She was already gone by the time I got inside.” A twitch under his eye is the only tell that I’ve hit a nerve. “You know, if you disappeared with one of the bunnies for a while, no one would say anything.”

I take off my sunglasses and pin him with a cold glare. “My balls could be so fucking blue they look like they’ve been handled by a Smurf, and I still wouldn’t do that to Sunny.”

He raises his hands in the air. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just figured . . . I don’t know. It can’t be easy. She’s all the way in Canada, and you’re here. Long-distance relationships don’t really work, you know?”

I drop my sunglasses back in place. I don’t want to think about it not working, which is a real possibility. I don’t know the stats on long-distance relationships, but I’m guessing they aren’t good.

Realistically, if me and Sunny are going to be long term, one of us will have to relocate. Since my job is always subject to change, that would mean Sunny going where I go, and she’d need a job that’s easy to do anywhere. It’s something I’ve already put thought into, which says more than I’m willing to admit about how I feel about her.

I nab one of the lawn chair floaty things and toss it in the water, jumping in after it. This isn’t a conversation I want to have with Lance, not before I see Sunny. Sometimes I feel like this whole thing is set up to be a failure from the start.

I must fall asleep on my floaty chair, because all of a sudden I’m really fucking awake, and I have to take a piss. Getting out means dealing with the bunnies. I paddle over to the edge and hoist myself up. Instead of passing about twenty of them to get into the house—they’ve multiplied while I napped—I head for the pool house bathroom. No one else is in here, thank God. I’ve accidentally walked in on people getting it on more than once.

When I come out of the bathroom, a familiar-looking girl is waiting outside the door.

“Buck!” She wraps her arms around my neck.

“Hey.” I pat her back, fully aware she’s wearing nothing but a tiny string bikini, and there’s absolutely no ass to the thing. I can feel her boobs against my stomach. There’s too much skin. My dick wants to react. I think about dead kittens and roadkill to stop a hard-on from forming.

Eventually she lets go and takes a step back. It’s not enough. She’s still too close. I keep my eyes on her face and try not to see her cleavage. I wrack my brain for a name, for something beyond the customary “Honey” I’m used to. I’ve got nothing.

“It’s been a while,” she says. “I haven’t seen you at the bars. You hanging somewhere new these days?” Her desperation isn’t attractive.

“I haven’t been going out as much.”

She pops a hip and pouts. Her lips are red like cherries, or blood, or Satan’s ball sac. “That’s too bad. I think some of us are going to the club tomorrow night. You should come.”

“I’m out of town. Maybe another time.” I step out of the way so she can get to the bathroom. “I should, uh . . . give you some privacy. The fan doesn’t work in there.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, but I don’t care. I need to get away from this mostly naked chick who I evidently have a brief history with. I leave her to do her thing and head back to the pool. It’s no better.