Текст книги "Pucked Up "

Автор книги: Helena Hunting

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A few girls have gotten in the water. Two of them are latched onto Randy, their hair pulled up in ponytails. More of them are losing their shirts and shorts, so it’s skin, skin, and more skin. Some chick hands me a beer, and I take it, since it’s the polite thing to do.

Unwilling to get back in the pool with all the half-naked girls in there, I drop down in one of the lounge chairs on the patio.

“Oh my God! You’re Buck Butterson! But your real name is Miller, right?”

A curvy brunette is standing right in front of me, and her friend, a skinny blonde, looks horrified. I’m shocked she knows my real name.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to—God, I can’t—you’re amazing. I love you. I mean, you’re an awesome player. Chicago won after you got traded! And that was bogus on Miami’s part. You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. The media can suck it. Anyway, you were outstanding during the finals. I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can stop myself.”

I smile. She’s a real fan—the kind who gets genuinely excited about the game, and not just about my dick.

“It’s cool.” I extend my hand.

She grabs it and squeezes, shaking harder than necessary. “Jessabelle.” Her cheeks go a vibrant shade of red. “But my friends call me Jellie.”

“Like peanut butter and jelly?”

“But with an -ie on the end. Is that weird? It probably is. Is it okay for me to call you Miller? I know you go by Buck, but if it’s okay—”

“It’s cool. You’re cool. Take a breath.”

“Wow. Great. Awesome. You’re so blond. You’re like a real-life Ken doll, but your hair’s not plastic. Who’s the girl who always posts stuff about you being a yeti?” She glances at my arms. “You don’t have that much hair.”

Fucking Vi and her comments on Facebook. “I only turn on the yeti moon.” When all I get is a blank look, I say, “My sister thinks it’s hilarious to post that BS.”

She nods like she understands. “She’s funny, right? Do you think I could get a picture with you?”

“Yeah. Sure.” I don’t consider her outfit—she’s in a pair of booty shorts and a bikini top that barely covers her nipples—or that I’m only wearing a pair of swim shorts.

She pulls her phone from her back pocket and hands it to her friend. Then she drops down in my lap and wraps herself around me. Before I can stop her, Jellie’s friend starts snapping pics.

“Whoa! Hold up!” I raise my hands in the air so I’m not touching her anywhere. Well, except for where she’s touching me with all her bare skin, which is a lot of places. “You can’t post those.”

Her friend stops clicking away and once again looks like she’s about sink into the cement. I move Jellie off of me, touching as little of her as possible. “I have a girlfriend. My lap isn’t your chair.”

“Oh! Oh shit. I thought that was a rumor. I mean, God. You’ve never had a girlfriend, and I thought maybe since there weren’t any pictures in the last few weeks you were done . . .” she trails off.

“We’re not done.”

“Not even after last night?”

What would she know about last night? “I was out with the guys.”

She gets this weird look on her face. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I just . . . you’re an awesome player.” She snatches the phone from her friend and starts deleting pictures, or that’s what I assume she’s doing. I don’t want to be a creepy asshole and stand over her shoulder to make sure she deletes them all.

“It’s cool. I just don’t want problems. You know?”

“Sure. Right. Of course.”

I let her friend take another, far less problematic picture of us standing next to each other, somewhat awkwardly, while smiling. “Well, if you ever break up and you’re looking for someone to make you feel better, you can always hit me up on Facebook.”

She holds up the phone so I can see her profile. Her avatar is mostly her boobs. Below is a picture of her sitting in Lance’s lap. Up until this point I kinda liked her, in a player-to-fan way. Now she’s just another bunny making chairs out of us.

CHAPTER FOUR

FLASHITY FLASH WATCH YO ASS

Twenty minutes later, I’ve abandoned the beer, and I’m nursing a mineral water, flipping burgers on the BBQ. This seems to be the safest place to hang out, away from the bunnies in the pool who are buzzed enough to stop protecting their hair. Randy comes over with my phone. “I think you need to check this.”

“Is it working again? I got nothing an hour ago.”

He drops the device in my palm. “Yeah, man, I turned it on, and it’s good to go. You got a shitton of messages. You might want to look at your flight details—you know, to make sure you got the time right.”

That was probably the one thing I forgot to do—turn it on—but I keep this to myself because I don’t need to look like an idiot. Usually I can count on Amber, my Personal Assistant to send me a million messages—most of them audio—so I don’t forget important things like flights and dates and events. But since she’s away on some portaging trip in the middle of nowhere for the next two weeks, I can’t count on her managing my life, which means I have to do it myself.

“That’s a good idea.” I don’t like the look on his face as I pass him the flipper. I key in my code; he’s right about the messages. A lot of them are from Sunny. Some are from Violet. And there are voice mails. Several of them.

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Take your time. I’ve got this. ’Sides, I need a break from the bunnies. It’s like mating season.”

I pat him on the back, bypass the kitchen where some of the bunnies are hanging out, and head for the stairs. I hit the spare bedroom on the second floor and lock myself in.

I start with the voice mails. They don’t require reading so they’re easiest to deal with. The first message is from Vi. I hold the phone a foot away from my ear, and I can still hear her screaming. She’s loud when she’s angry.

“You’re a fucking asshole! What the shit is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how much shit you’re in? Alex is going to rip your balls off, not that it matters since they’re the size of raisins, and your dick can only be seen by a microscope. You better call me as soon as you get this. You’re fucked. Get ready for the ass-kicking of a century, you yeti bastard!”

I have no idea why I’m in so much trouble, but I figure it’s in my best interest to listen to a few more of the messages before I call her back. The time stamp on that one is from early this morning—either two or five. I’m too worried about what’s made her this mad to absorb the numbers.

The next message is from Sunny. It looks like it’s from about an hour ago, if I’m right about it being after two in the afternoon now. I can’t understand a thing she says because it’s garbled. The only words I make out are pictures and bunnies.

Shit. This can’t be good. It has to be a misunderstanding. God knows there’ve been enough of them in the past few months. I can’t seem to stop messing things up with her, no matter how hard I try. That’s been the biggest roadblock to progress with Sunny. People post pictures all the time. Sometimes they don’t even ask before they snap their shots. It’s crazy.

There are two voice mails from my PA, but they can wait. This drama needs to be taken care of first. I flip to the text messages. These are way more of a challenge to go through. I’ve always been a slow reader. The only As I got in high school were in construction and gym.

It wasn’t that I didn’t get what was going on, it just took me seven million times longer to read the same thing everyone else did. It made me look stupid. People assumed because I was a jock I couldn’t be smart, too. So I stopped trying. Since my dad was a scout for the NHL and I had no mom—she died before I was old enough to really know her—teachers tended to be lenient.

I got tutors once I hit sophomore year, especially after I got my teeth knocked out and missed a bunch of classes. Once the new teeth were in and the bite problem fixed, tutors were more than willing to help me. More often than not, there’d be an “exchange” of services. They’d help write my essays, and I’d work on perfecting the art of orgasm by fingers. By senior year there were a lot of girls looking to help me manage my school work. My grades weren’t awesome—they weren’t even moderately decent—but I still managed to secure a hockey scholarship for college, which was all that mattered since that was the only thing I ever wanted to do.

Once I got drafted, there wasn’t enough time to do all my assignments, even with some flexibility from the college, so I dropped out. It didn’t make sense to struggle through a diploma I’d never use when I was going to make a shitton more money without it.

I have an endless number of texts from Vi and Sunny, but one is from Waters. He normally doesn’t message me. His is easy to read:

YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD, ASSHOLE.

The ones from Violet and Sunny are more of a challenge. There seems to be a lot of autocorrecting and text slang—which is the worst thing ever created. It makes the words more difficult to decode.

I bring up the text-to-speech app and listen as it takes the butchered English and turns it into Violet ranting. It’s much easier to understand, even with all the inaccurately corrected words.

Why the fork would you let someone draw a dock on your face?

Duck

Fork

Goddamnit Dick Fucking DICK, not duck. Autocorrect can suck my clot.

Clit. Asshole

The next set of messages came several hours later. The first one has twenty or so angry face emoticons attached to it.

Seriously?!!!!!! You're naked! Who is that chick?

Did someone lobotomize you?

The question is followed by several screen shotted pictures. The first is one of me sleeping. It wouldn’t be a big deal if I wasn’t obviously naked—my left ass cheek is visible—and if I didn’t have a huge dick drawn on my forehead. Worse is that Lance’s bunny—Flash Beaver—is giving the thumbs up and pretending to ride me from behind.

I’m seriously going to kick Lance’s ass.

A few are from last night. They don’t look nearly as bad—just me with the guys and a few bunnies taking selfies. But the one from today with the mostly undressed chick in her little bikini top sitting in my lap is damn incriminating.

Where the hell are you?

You better fucking call me.

I'm coming to your house.

Those last two were sent ten minutes ago.

Why aren't you here? You have a flight to catch!

I'm coming for you.

My phone rings as I finish listening to her texts. It’s Vi. Answering it is better than letting it go to voice mail again.

“I’m at Lance’s front door. Let me in.”

“What? How did you know I was here?”

“Because I’m psychic, and Instagram is my oracle. Now let me in. You are seriously interfering with my weekly orgasm quota right now.”

I have no interest in hearing more about that. I run down the stairs to the front door. Before I open it, I ask, “Is Waters with you?”

“Are you kidding? I left him at home. I’m not interested in reducing our sex life to conjugal visits. Besides, he’s too pretty for prison. They’d probably make him bottom because of his monster cock.”

“That’s more than I needed—”

“I don’t care what you need. I need Alex to not be pissed off. I can see you through the damn door. Open it.”

Violet is a small person. Maybe five four in heels, but she’s got an enormous personality to make up for her lack of size. I have a feeling I’m in for the verbal beat down of a lifetime.

“Should we shave your body hair so they can make wigs for the elderly?” she asks as soon as the door opens.

“What are you talking about?”

“After Alex kills you, you can donate your fur to charity. And maybe some of your more viable organs. I’m pretty sure everything but your liver is good. Ooooh, maybe they can use your micro-penis for a clitoris enlargement surgery.”

“This isn’t funny, Vi.”

“I think the brain surgeons would love to take a peek inside your head—you know, for science, so they can learn more about what happens when yetis and humans mate.”

I’m about to close the door in her face. She drops the sarcasm. “What the hell were you thinking?”

I step outside and close it behind me. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong? Are you serious? Did you happen to see the pictures I sent you today? Those aren’t even the worst ones. What’s wrong with you? And why haven’t you been answering your phone? Do you know how suspect that makes you look? Also, why aren’t you at the airport right now, catching your damn flight?”

“It’s not until nine, and it’s only, like, two in the afternoon. I’ve got lots of time.”

“It’s five, not two. And your flight leaves in an hour. You missed it.”

“But I checked—”

“Apparently not. Jesus, Buck. Isn’t this why you have a goddamn PA? Even your agent called me this morning when no one could get in touch with you.”

“Amber’s on vacation.”

“And she also knows how bad you are with dates. I can’t imagine her not putting an alarm on your phone, or calling or something.”

“My phone was giving me problems. I thought I had it all sorted out. I guess I got the times mixed up.”

Violet rubs her forehead. The giant, marble-sized diamond on her ring finger sparkles in the sun. It’s insanely huge. She expels a breath and looks up at the sky. She’s wearing sunglasses, so I can’t see her eyes. She swallows a few times.

When she speaks, it’s quiet and too calm. “I know flipping numbers is a thing for you, but it’s Sunny, for Christ’s sake. You should be on top of this.” She takes off the sunglasses.

Her eyes have that watery thing going on. It makes me nervous. I can deal with Violet’s sarcasm and anger, but when she gets emotional, I don’t know how to manage her other than to give her ice cream.

“You know, if you’re not interested in that relationship, you better man up and deal with it instead of blowing her off. I won’t have you fucking up my sex life because she’s not interested in your tiny dick.”

“My dick isn’t tiny.”

She’s back to being pissed, thankfully. “Who fucking cares? That’s not the point. Why are you here anyway? Lance is a douche.”

“He’s not—”

A song about peacocks starts playing from her back pocket.

“Hold on.” She answers it. “Yes, he’s still here.” She looks me over and twirls her finger in the air. “Turn around.”

I don’t argue. I do what I’m told.

“He’s shirtless, and I don’t see any nail marks or hickeys through his matted fur.” There’s a pause. I can hear Waters muffled voice. Judging from his tone, he’s not very happy. “No. Absolutely not. That’s where I draw the line, Alex. I’m not interested in requiring therapy.” She purses her lips and glares at me. “Are you going to Hulk out? . . . Are you sure? . . . Fine.” She passes me the phone. “Alex wants to talk to you.”

My phone buzzes with new texts and messages. I need to call Sunny. More than that, I need to reschedule my flight and get my ass to the airport. But instead I put Vi’s phone to my ear.

“Butterson, if you give me one of your bullshit excuses, I’m going to break your goddamn knees.”

Violet is making hand gestures. I can’t listen to Waters’ heavy breathing and the buzz of my phone and watch her at the same time.

“If you break my knees, you’ll be out for the season,” I say.

“I’ll get Violet to do it.”

Violet’s not very strong, so that’s not much of a threat. I don’t share this with Waters, though. He’s already pissed off enough. I make a noise of disbelief instead. Turns out that’s almost as bad as saying what I’m thinking.

“You think this is funny, Butterson? My sister is bawling her eyes out over fucking media snapshots of you and all your goddamn pucksluts—”

“I was asleep. I didn’t know they drew a dick on my face until this morning. And that girl dropped into my lap and started taking pictures. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

He exhales like Darth Vader. When he speaks again, it’s much more softly. “This is your last chance, Butterson. If you don’t fix this mess, I’m going to schedule a meeting with the manager to tell him you’re a cancer to the team and you need to be traded.”

It pisses me off that Waters, of all people, drops threats like this. He knows better than anyone how the media misconstrues things. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is you playing my sister and thinking you can get away with it.”

“Kinda like you played mine.”

“Don’t even start with me. You have no idea what it’s like to make sacrifices for someone else. Put Violet back on the phone.”

“Your boyfriend’s an asshole,” I mutter, passing the device back to her.

“Fiancé,” she corrects, flipping me off. She turns away while she has a back and forth with Waters.

I pull up my email and search for messages from Amber. She forwarded me one with my flight details last night. I open it and stare at the numbers and letters swimming together on the tiny screen. Under the flight times in her message is my entire monthly calendar. Everything is color-coded so I know what it means without having to read it. Practice is highlighted in red (there aren’t any this month because we’re off season), workouts in blue, free days in pink, travel days in purple, and time with Sunny is a red heart. I tried to get Amber to change that one, but she thought it was cute and refused.

At first I think I’m right and the flight is at nine tonight, until I read the message underneath. I’m off by three hours because I flipped the number upside down. I go back to my emails and scroll through the most recent ones. Amber sent one this morning. It’s a voice memo, thank Christ.

I hit play. “Just a reminder that you fly to Toronto this evening at six. Your tickets are attached in the email. I also picked up a few of the items on the list of things you felt might make good gifts for Sunny. Those are packed in your carry-on bag. Your luggage for the camp has been sent directly there to minimize the number of bags you have to take with you.”

Damn, she’s good. And she’s not even finished.

“An SUV has been rented for you,” her message continues. “All you have to do is pick it up at the airport in Toronto once you arrive. Sunny’s address and the directions to the camp will be pre-programmed into the GPS system. I hope you’re managing without me. Call if you need anything. I should have phone reception between today and tomorrow, but I’m unsure after that. You can always call Violet; she has all the information. So does your dad, but remember he and Skye are on a cruise for the next two weeks.

“This message will self-destruct in thirty seconds. Kidding! You’ll be fine, Miller. Good luck with Sunny.”

I should’ve known I’d mess this up. Things can’t ever be easy for me when it comes to dates and times.

I check the time on my phone. Vi’s right; it’s after five.

Even with my bags already packed, there’s no way I can make this flight.

“Come on, let’s go.” Violet grabs my wrist and pulls me toward an old-school Torino. It’s Waters’ car. I’ve only seen him drive it a couple times.

“I have my car, and I need my wallet.”

“Leave your car here. You need to rebook your flight, and you don’t need to be distracted with driving. It’s too much for your yeti mind to handle.”

“Can you give the damn yeti jokes a rest, please? I feel shitty enough without the insults, today, thanks.”

As I turn to go back into the house, the door opens. “Hey, man! There you are! I thought you’d taken off already.” Randy glances behind me at Violet. “Hey, how’s it going, Vi?”

“Hi, Randy.” She makes this sound, like she’s choking on something. Here we go. It happens every time she seems him. She can’t get past his name. And she thinks I’m immature.

I look over my shoulder; her whole body is shaking. She balls her hands into fists and pulls them up like she’s getting into a fighting stance. Then she thrusts her hips, not once or twice, but three times. When she’s done, her face is blotchy, and she pretends to be mortified.

“Get your wallet. I’ll be in the car.” She spins around and almost trips on her way down the front steps.

“Bye, Violet,” Randy calls after her.

She waves over her shoulder. “Bye, Ran—”

She stops, turns again, and gets back into a half squat. Her face is all pinched and weird looking. She cups her hands like she’s holding a pair of melons. “Balls! Randy Balls!” she yells.

“You do know my last name is Ballistic, right?” He’s smiling.

“You’ll always be horny nut sac to me!”

Then she runs the rest of the way to the car and slinks down in the front the seat like she’s trying to hide. It’d be way funnier if I wasn’t in shit.

“She’s a little crazy, huh?”

“Uh yeah. You get used to it. Eventually. I gotta go; I missed my flight,” I tell Randy as I brush past him, back into the house.

“You said it wasn’t until nine.”

“I got it wrong.”

“I’m sorry, Miller.”

“Yeah. Me, too. I’ll check in with you when I get to Toronto. You’ll have to send me your flight details so I know when to pick you up from the airport for camp.”

“You got it. Don’t worry about it now. We’ll get it handled.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll tell Lance you had to bail.”

“Thanks.” Randy is good people, even if he is a dickwhore.

I run up to the spare room and grab my clothes from last night, along with my wallet. I can get anything else I’ve forgotten when I get back from the trip. Lance won’t care.

Once I’m in the car, Violet revs the engine and books it back to my house. If Waters knew how she was driving his ride, I bet he’d shit a brick. Not that I care to tell him. That would mean talking to him.

While Violet drives like a maniac on crack, I call the airline and rebook my flight to the tune of two thousand dollars. This flight doesn’t leave until nine thirty-eight. I buy a seat in first class so I can have priority everything, including check-in and boarding, to make things easier. It should leave me plenty of time to make sure I have all my crap organized.

I call Sunny, but her phone goes directly to voice mail. I leave a message explaining that Amber’s on vacation, and I mixed up the flight times, but that I’ll be in Toronto by about eleven and at her house around midnight. Hopefully she’ll let me in.

“I’m coming up with you.” Violet shoulders her purse and gets out of the car.

“I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Like hell. Plus there’s no air in that stupid car, and it’s hotter than a nut sac in a cup.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“I know. You’re welcome.”

We leave the car parked in front of my building. Violet stops at the front desk to ask about the bag Amber apparently sent. They’ve had it since yesterday morning. She asks Travis, the front desk guy, to throw it in the back of the Torino.

I thank him and follow Vi to the elevators. She checks her messages as we head for the penthouse floor. “Great. Now Sunny isn’t answering my texts. I hope you haven’t screwed this up permanently.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. She’s pissed. Really pissed. Probably the angriest she’s ever been with me. I send Sunny a message, but I get nothing back.

My condo is spotless. I don’t keep it that way; I pay someone else to do it for me. I head straight for my bedroom. The bag I packed two days ago at Amber’s insistence is in my closet. Inside the front pocket are my passport and travel documents, including printed directions from the airport to Sunny’s parents’ house in Guelph. There are also directions to the camp, which is farther north.

Since it’s an international flight, I can’t mess around. It’s already six. I’m not taking any chances. With my luck, there’ll be a fifty-car pileup on the freeway.

When I come out of my bedroom, Violet’s standing in the middle of my living room, frowning at her phone.

“I’m ready.”

She looks up and arches a brow. “Oh, really?”

“I told you it would only take a minute.”

“You don’t think you should clean yourself up? Maybe take a quick shower? Put a shirt on? Or does that covering of fur count as clothing in your mind?”

I drop the bag on the floor. “Look, I get you’re pissed at me. No one is more pissed than I am, but seriously, I already know I’m a fucking idiot. Okay?” I stomp back in the direction of the bathroom.

“Buck.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I know you’re not an idiot. I wouldn’t say things like that if I believed it was true.”

I run a hand through my hair. It feels gross. “I know I fucked up. It’s clearly what I do best. I need your help right now, and that includes not making me feel worse than I already do, ’kay?”

“Sure. Got it. Do your thing.”

Fifteen minutes later I’m showered. If I had enough time I’d do a full-body trim, but it’s a lengthy process. I throw my trimmer and a couple of razors in a bag so I can handle that situation later—when I’m not at risk of being late for another flight.

I check out the bag of gifts for Sunny on our way to the airport. It’s half an hour from my condo without traffic, and the roads are clear, so we make good time. Amber did a great job picking things out from the list I gave her. Everything is holistic and organic cotton, and no animals were harmed in their making.

Violet pulls up to the curb and gets out to give me a hug. “I’m always on your side, Buck. You know that right?”

“I know.”

“Just remember that Alex is always going to be on Sunny’s, so if you can’t figure out what you want, you need to stop chasing her like she’s some bunny you want to catch.”

“She’s not a bunny.”

“Exactly.”

I must wear a blank expression, because she sighs and looks up at the sky. Actually, she looks up at the roof of the overhang.

“If you want to have a relationship, you have to make compromises.”

“Gotcha.” I don’t really, but it’s seven, and I don’t want to be late for my flight.

“Send me a message when you get there.”

“’Kay.”

I watch her drive away in Waters’ car and wonder what compromises she’s been making for him, and what Sunny will have to give up to be with me. If she still wants to.