Текст книги "Pucked Up "

Автор книги: Helena Hunting

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CHAPTER FIVE

WINGBACK CHAIR MEMORIES

Though I do manage not to miss my flight on the second attempt, it’s two-thirty in the morning by the time I finally make it to Sunny’s house. I should’ve been here more than two hours ago. There was construction on the highway, and the GPS cut out while I was on a detour. I accidently put the wrong address back into it, and I’d gone forty kilometers in the wrong direction by the time I noticed. The open field of cows was a dead giveaway I’d missed a turn somewhere.

I grab my duffle bag from the front seat, exhausted. I still have to deal with the fallout from today. The more I think about it, the more I recognize that the pictures from last night and today don’t look good, especially taken out of context. The one of me naked with Flash Beaver is the worst of them. I’m not known for being the kind of guy who sticks with one girl. It still sucks that no one believes I can manage an actual relationship.

The motion sensor kicks in as I get out of the car, flooding the driveway with light, and nearly blinding me. Sunny’s tiny, ugly eco car is parked in front of my rented SUV. She left it at an angle, and the front passenger-side tire is in the garden, crushing her mom’s flowers.

I shoulder my bag, lock up my rental, and hit the doorbell. Anxious barking accompanies the clip of nails on the stairs. Titus, a Papillion, and Andromeda—Andy for short—are Sunny’s dogs. They’re both rescues with serious anxiety issues. Titus likes to lick people’s toes, and Sunny doesn’t seem to mind. It’s weird.

Andy’s a Dane, so I can see him through the curtain covering the front window. He paces back and forth, whining. I have treats in the car for him. I run back to the SUV and grab the bag with all the gifts. Fishing out the gourmet dog biscuits, I slip one through the mail slot. Andy snarfs it down and then pokes his nose back through, looking for more.

When Sunny still hasn’t come down a minute later, I pull up her contact and hit the microphone.

“I’m at your front door.”

I must not enunciate properly because front door is autocorrected to foghorn. I hit the doorbell a second time, erase the message, wait for Andy to stop barking, and try again, speaking more slowly this time. I can’t dictate for shit when I’m tired. This time front door comes up looking mostly right. There aren’t any red lines, so I press send.

I get a message back almost instantly.

WTH? Y r U at frat dorm?

I read the text and frown, then hit the text-to-speech function so I can listen to it, because it’s half random letters instead of words. I know she’s angry, but I should be able to make things better. I’m pretty decent at cleaning up messes, except for when I was traded to Chicago. There wasn’t anything I could do to cover up that one. The pictures of me and the coach’s niece in the bathroom stall went viral in a hurry.

The sexy British chick in my phone reads the words frat dorm back to me instead of front door. Jesus. That’s what I get for not listening before I send something.

Sory. Attocorect. Front Door. Please let me in.

I figure short and to the point works better.

I crouch down and open the mail slot. Andy stops pacing and sticks his nose through the hole. “Hey, buddy. Can you go get Sunny for me and bring her down here? Go get Sunny. Go get ’er. Go on.” He runs to the stairs and looks back at me. “Good boy. Go get her for me. I got more treats if you bring Sunny.”

He turns toward the stairs and barks a few times, then runs back to the door and sticks his nose up to the mail slot.

“Ya gotta get ’er.” It only takes a little more coaxing before he finally runs up the stairs. But he comes up and down twice more without her, so I ring the doorbell and knock.

Sunny’s light on her feet, so the only way I know she’s coming down is because she yells, “For doody’s sake! I’m coming. Stop it, Andy! I’m answering the door.”

I grin. Sunny doesn’t swear. It’s fucking adorable.

The light in the front foyer turns on, and the door swings open. Andy rushes me, jumping up so his paws are on my shoulders and his nose is level with mine. I don’t turn away when he licks my face.

“How’s my buddy?” I scratch behind his ears. “Good boy. You’re a good boy.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out a treat. He gets into position, sitting on his haunches with his nose in the air. I set the treat on the end of his nose. He adjusts his stance but waits until I give him the go ahead. Then he flips it up, catching it in his mouth.

Sunny stands at the threshold, looking unimpressed, one hand propped on her hip. Titus hides behind her ankles. There’s a good chance he’ll pee on the floor if he gets too anxious.

Sunny’s sandy blond hair is lighter than the last time I saw her, with streaks so pale they’re almost white. It’s pulled up into a messy ponytail. She’s wearing a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt with a unicorn in a forest on it. I’m nine thousand percent sure she’s not wearing a bra, but I’m smart enough not to stare at her chest.

Her soft, usually pouty lips are mashed into a line and turned down at the corners. Her eyes are puffy. Her sun-freckled cheeks are blotchy and red. And she’s still absolutely beautiful.

She’s been crying. It’s my fault.

“It’s too late for Andy to have treats.”

“I’m sorry.” I shift from one foot to the other.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re not forgiven.”

“It was just a couple of cookies.” Andy sits on my foot and nudges my pocket with his nose. There’s another biscuit in there, and he knows it.

“I don’t care about the dog treats!”

“Right. Of course. I’m sorry I missed my flight. I got the time wrong. I thought I was supposed to fly at nine, not six. My phone fell in the toilet, so I couldn’t check to make sure. We had to put it in a bag of rice for most of the day to dry it out. The rice worked, though, so that’s good, right?” I get silence, so I tack on, “Amber’s on vacation, and you know how I am with dates and stuff.”

Her jaw tics. Nothing I’ve said seems to be making this better. If anything, she looks angrier since I started talking.

“Andy, inside.” She has to say it twice more and snap her fingers before he obeys. For a second I think this means she’s going to let me in, but she widens her stance and bars my way with her arm across the jamb.

This is going to take way more than a sweet talking to get out of. I should’ve had one of the gifts Amber picked up in my hands. Like the basket of organic treats—that would’ve been smart. Even flowers and chocolate, or that chocolate substitute Sunny eats, would’ve been helpful. Instead I have myself and my mouth to fix the problem.

“You think I’m upset because you’re a few hours late? I expect you to be late. I don’t think on time even exists in your world.”

“Well, I—it’s not . . . I try to be on time. Amber’s away.”

She throws her hands up in the air. “Your PA being away is not an excuse, Miller, and it doesn’t explain the hooker bunnies hanging all over you, snapping their selfies today!” I think she’s mixing up the term hockey hooker, which Vi taught her, with puck bunnies.

Usually when I deal with a jealous honey, I say a few nice things and smooth it all over. Orgasms work well. Lots of them. I need a different strategy this time. Sunny isn’t in this for the sex. Instead of digging myself out of this hole, I say something stupid, proving words definitely aren’t my forte.

“You know how the fans are.”

“The fans? The fans? What fan draws a penis on your forehead? You were naked! And there was some hooker bunny in that bed with you! It’s all over Instagram. It’s on my Facebook now! Who is she? Were you with her?”

“I was passed out. I didn’t even know she was in there with me.”

“Who took the picture? What if that had been a tattoo? It would’ve been permanent.”

“I don’t think I would’ve slept through a tattoo. Especially not on my face.”

“Ugh!” She goes to shut the door, but I slide my arm in before she can.

Sunny’s a yoga instructor; she’s stronger than she looks. It’s a lot of pressure on my forearm.

“Sweets, come on. Things get taken out of context. I was hanging with Lance and Randy. He invited some friends over.”

She makes a disgusted sound.

“They’re not bad guys; Lance just likes parties. He invited a bunch of people by, and you know how that goes. You invite a few people who invite a few more people . . . I can’t control what he does.”

“Oh, right! Of course that explains why a naked hooker bunny ended up in your lap.”

“No one was naked, Sunny.”

“Pretty darn close!” She holds her phone up in front of my face. It’s the picture of the girl sitting in my lap. There really isn’t much to her outfit: a tiny bikini top and a pair of little shorts. The fact that I’m shirtless doesn’t make it look any better.

She turns the phone around and swipes angrily across the screen, then holds it back up for me to see. “And last time I checked, this counts as being naked.”

It’s the picture of me, asleep in bed with that stupid dick on my forehead. I’m definitely naked there.

“I wasn’t conscious.”

“Because you passed out drunk. Wanna know how I know?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “You called me last night. Do you even remember that? I bet you don’t.”

“I remember calling you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. I told you I wanted to hear your voice.” I’m guessing here, but it’s pretty safe. I always want to hear her voice. At least I do when she’s not pissed off at me.

“There was more to the conversation than that.”

“I’ve been on the road all day. Can I come in so we can talk about this? I rebooked my flight so I could get here tonight. You haven’t answered any of my calls. There’s two sides to every story. You haven’t even heard mine yet. Please.”

She takes several deep breaths. “There’s three sides to every story.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s your version, the other person’s, and then there’s the truth, which is somewhere in the middle of the two.”

I think about that. She’s right, in a way. But in the case of the dick picture, my version is missing the whole part where the event took place, being passed out and all. The girl in my lap is a case of her word against mine.

“Are you willing to hear my side?” I give her my best I’m-sorry face.

Eventually she steps away from the door and lets me in, locking it behind her.

Sunny still lives with her parents. She’s only twenty, and she’s in school. She’s already completed a diploma of general arts and science, and she got her yoga certification. Last year she started a Public Relations program. She’s great with people and animals and all sorts of stuff, so whatever she decides to do, I’m sure she’ll be awesome.

This summer Sunny’s teaching yoga part-time and volunteering at an animal shelter. Thankfully her parents, Robbie and Daisy, are out of town for the weekend, so I don’t have to deal with them. It’s not that I don’t like them. I do. They’re cool for parents, but they’re the only ones I’ve ever met on purpose, so I don’t have much of a basis for comparison. Her mom, Daisy, likes to be involved in everything, so her not being here means I can focus on making things better with Sunny without any interference.

I glance around the front foyer. The Waters’ house is dated. Most of the furniture is new, but the curtains are poufy, and there are a lot of knickknacks. None of the colors seem to belong together. Vi calls it a boxing match between a bohemian gypsy and a southern belle. I’m not sure what that means, but it’s hard to look at.

I set my bag down by the front door. Sunny’ll let me stay the night. I already know this. She’s too sweet to make me leave once she’s let me in. I think it might be the Canadian in her. The question is, where will I be sleeping? If I can say the right thing, I might get a spot in her bed. If I don’t, I’ll be taking the spare room.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I’ve had to go for the past hour.

“You know where it is.” She doesn’t make a move to touch me, or hug me, so I take off my shoes—something Canadians seem hung up about—and head down the hall.

The main-floor bathroom is small, so there isn’t much to help me out in the freshening-up area. I find mouthwash under the sink and rinse with that. I’ve been wearing my hat since I got out of the shower, so I have to wet my hair to fix the hat head I’m sporting. My armpits could use a shot of Axe, but it’s not as bad as it could be. Another shower would help. I find some Lady Speed Stick and rub it under my pits. I smell like flowers and cucumbers, but it’s better than BO, so I’ll take it.

Sunny isn’t in the living room when I come out. I detour to the kitchen; she isn’t in there either. After a tour of the main floor, I come up Sunnyless, so I hit the stairs. I hope she hasn’t gone to bed. That would suck. I don’t like unresolved issues, especially before bed—it interferes with sleep. Her door is open a crack.

I peek around the jamb in time to get a glimpse of side boob before she pulls a sports bra over her head. Then she goes back to digging through her drawer to find a shirt.

Sunny isn’t one of those super-skinny girls. She’s got curves, and she’s taller than average. I still have a good head on her, but she comes up to my chin. She’s active, always out biking or hiking or teaching yoga, so she’s in awesome shape, and she’s extra bendy. I haven’t had a chance to find out exactly how bendy, but I plan to. Hopefully soon. Maybe this weekend. Shit. I’m getting hard. The blood in my head needs to stay where it is so I can have a conversation. I move out of her line of sight and knock, calling her name.

“Just a sec.” The rustle of fabric makes me sad. A few seconds later she opens the door.

She’s changed into some loose, sporty, sheer tank-top thing. It’s meant to be worn with something underneath it. Her chest is significantly flatter than usual, thanks to the sports bra. I’m not a boob man. Well, I guess that’s not true. Every heterosexual man loves boobs. I don’t care about the size of them. As long as there’s a nipple and something to hold on to, I’m happy.

My favorite part of a woman’s body is legs. Sunny’s still wearing loose shorts that come high up on her thigh. I glance down, all the way to the floor. Her toenails are painted bright orange, except for the big toes. Those are painted blue with a palm tree on the beach.

I’m about to step inside her room, which I’ve only been in once before, when Sunny puts a hand on my chest. She doesn’t seem as angry anymore, instead she looks sad and guarded. “We can talk downstairs.”

“Right. Sure. That’s cool. I couldn’t find you; I wasn’t sure if you’d gone back to bed.”

“I wanted to change into something more comfortable.”

This is Sunny’s version of real clothes. I’ve only seen her in a pair of jeans once. That was the first time I met her. Mostly she wears skirts and flowy dresses if she’s leaving the house. The rest of the time she’s in athletic wear, like she’s always ready for a spontaneous workout. It’s so fucking hot.

She closes her bedroom door and steps around me. There’s nothing for me to do except follow her downstairs to the living room. On the up side, I get to stare at her legs. Sunny has nice calves. I want to bite them. She sits on one of the uncomfortable pink floral wingback chairs.

I sit in the middle of the couch and pat the cushion beside me. “Come on, Sunny Sunshine. Talk to me.”

She pulls her legs up and tucks her feet under her. “I can do that from here.”

I keep patting the cushion, and she keeps glaring. Eventually I abandon the couch and go to her, kneeling so we’re at eye level. “I know you’re mad, and I don’t blame you, Sunny, but you know how things look through social media. Think about all the pictures of your brother floating around out there.”

She twists her hands together and sighs. “It’s not the same, and you know it. All that stuff about Alex is garbage, and all the stuff about you is true.”

“Used to be true. That’s not how it is anymore.”

Up until the last few months, the pictures that appeared on the hockey fan sites and gossip columns had been just what they seemed. I’ve been with a lot of bunnies. I tried to keep Sunny from finding out an exact number—not that I can give her one—but she looked up my history after her friend Lily, who hates me, told her she should be careful about dating me.

Sunny wasn’t all that concerned at first. She’s a free spirit. She liked my aura, and that was enough for her. Then reality smacked her in the face like an unwashed dick. And the pictures in the media have kept happening, but not because I’m taking girls home—I’m not. I just don’t want to be rude to my fans.

Unfortunately a lot of my fans happen to be women who dress slutty.

I need to find a way to convince Sunny I’m not full of shit. It’s gonna be a challenge.

Sunny sighs. “How do I know you weren’t joining the Kilometer-High Club in the airplane bathroom with some hooker bunny?”

“I didn’t even use the bathroom on the plane. They’re disgusting. I try to go before I get on.”

“So maybe you waited until after you got off the plane. Maybe you did it in the rental car. Maybe you stopped at her house on the way here. And then maybe you had a shower so I wouldn’t suspect anything and then had sex again in the shower with her, and I bet she gave you her number and—”

“Who are you talking about? Is there some rumor or something that I don’t know about? I didn’t meet any bunnies on the plane. No one even sat beside me, and the flight attendant was a dude.”

Sunny throws up her hands. “I’m being hypotheatrical.”

“Do you mean hypothetical?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth! Didn’t you land around eleven? You were supposed to be here hours ago, even with your missed flight. How do I know you actually missed the flight in the first place?”

“You can ask Violet. She dropped me off at the airport.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Pfft. How do I know she wouldn’t lie for you?”

“There’s no way in hell Vi would lie for me, especially about something like that.”

She gives me an incredulous look. “You forgot you were coming to see me!”

“I didn’t forget. I got the flight times wrong.”

Her cute little chin starts to tremble. I’ve seen this happen before. Not with Sunny, but with Vi. I think it means she’s going to cry. Up until now, I haven’t seen tears, and I’m not sure how to deal with them. With Vi I usually get her a dairy treat, and we play violent video games until her lactose intolerance gives her stomach cramps and she makes me leave so she can hole herself up in the bathroom and let the terror rain down. Sunny doesn’t play video games, and she doesn’t eat dairy, so that’s out.

“How do I know you didn’t stop at a frat dorm tonight and you’re using autocorrect as an excuse? You do that a lot, you know.”

“You also know I suck with spelling.”

“That’s not the real issue, and you know it.”

I sigh and drop my head to her knee. Her skin is soft and warm, and it smells like her name. Or what I think sunshine would smell like if it were something I could actually smell. Her whole body tenses. After a few seconds she runs her fingers through my hair. I totally get why dogs love to be scratched behind their ears. I forget there’s a question and rub my cheek on her leg.

Her fingers curl at the crown of my head, and she lifts me by my hair. Her normally soft green eyes are hard.

“What am I supposed to believe, Miller?”

“I’m sorry about the pictures. I wasn’t even awake for the dickface ones, so you can’t really be mad about those.”

“But you were naked.”

“I can’t sleep with clothes on.”

“You were at Lance’s house. And there were hooker bunnies!”

“I’ll wear boxers to bed when I stay at Lance’s from now on.”

“Boxers aren’t going to solve the problem. I don’t know why you have to stay at his place at all. It’s, like, a twenty-minute drive to your place, isn’t it?”

I don’t know how she knows this. Sunny’s never been to my place, or Lance’s. Sometimes we talk on the phone while I’m driving there, so maybe that explains it. It’s not important now, though.

“We’d been drinking, and Lance scheduled a workout at his place in the morning. I was being responsible by staying put. I’m trying here, Sunny. It’s been a long time since I’ve done the relationship thing, and it’s a lot different than it was in high school, you know?”

“You’re just figuring that out now?” She’s doing that thing she does with her hair when she’s nervous or upset, twirling it around her finger.

“Well, yeah. I’ve been doing my own thing for the past five years—”

“You mean playing the field.”

“I guess. If that’s what you want to call it.” It sounds a lot better than bunny banging. “There’s a learning curve involved here. I really like you. I wanna see if we can make this work. I’m asking you to be patient.”

“I have been patient. And tolerant. Put yourself in my sandals, Miller.”

“My feet are way too big for your sandals.”

“I’m being serious. How am I supposed to believe what you say when all the pictures of you out there make it look like the exact opposite?” She holds up her phone and scrolls through the posts of girls hugging me. There are a few new ones from the bar last night that I don’t remember. In one I’m doing shots with Dick Yeller and Flash Beaver. I’m not doing anything wrong, but the comments in the post make it seem like something happened that didn’t.

“Shit. Okay. That looks way worse than it is. I didn’t hook up with any of those girls, Sunny. I haven’t hooked up with anyone since we started talking. I promise I’m only using my hand when I’m horny.”

She’s staring, and she looks confused, or maybe disturbed, so I keep going, hoping to clarify.

“Last week I considered sticking my dick in a bag of marshmallows that I’d left in the sun because they’re soft and warm, but I figured it’d be a messy clean up and kinda fuckin’ weird, so I went with lotion instead, but I wanted to try it. Technically that means it’s not just my hand, but if I don’t use lotion I chafe, especially during the regular season when I’m always wearing a cup and all my gear. Is that too much detail?”

Sunny covers her mouth with her palm. I hope she doesn’t puke.

“It’s too much detail. It’s all the time I’m spending with Vi. Her lack of filter is rubbing off.”

A laugh bubbles up, and Sunny’s shoulders start to shake. “You know, that explains a lot.”

“Vi’s a bad influence.”

“No, she’s not. And that’s not what I’m talking about. When Alex was a teenager I used to wonder why he went through so much lotion, and so many pairs of socks.”

I don’t know why she’s bringing up her brother and his sock issues when we’re talking about me whacking off. “What do socks have to do with anything?”

“He used them when he . . .” She gestures below my waist and makes a whacking-off motion. “You know, to contain the explosion.”

Her cheeks go pink, and she looks away. Then she pokes at her cheek with her tongue, giving me the BJ signal. I don’t think it’s intentional, since the only thing she’s done so far is put her hand down my pants. Aw, fuck. I’m hard. And distracted.

“He blew his load in a sock?”

Her nose scrunches up in this cute way, similar to her reaction when I suggested we go for wings and beer, before I knew she didn’t eat animals.

“Man, he must have gone through an awful lot of socks.” When I was a teenager I blasted the cannon three times a day, if not more. Sometimes in high school when Barbie Claremont wore her little white sundress that didn’t fit dress code, I’d have to take a time out during second period so I could manage the rest of the morning. And that was after I’d already taken care of my morning problem in the shower.

“He went barefoot a lot. His sneakers smelled awful.”

“I bet. It’s kind of genius, eh?” It would cut down on the use of tissues, that’s for sure. “Wait. How do you know about Waters’ masturbating habits?”

“I used to do his laundry ’cause he always helped me with homework and stuff. But I stopped after I discovered his mountain of crusty socks.”

“I can see how that might happen. I usually stick to tissues or whacking it in the shower. I’ve tried aiming in the sink or the toilet, but the trajectory isn’t always predictable, and my dick isn’t bendy when I’m hard.” I’m still kneeling in front of her, so she can’t see my current wood. “We should probably talk about something else, yeah? Other than my whacking-off practices.” I’m not even sure how we got on this topic in the first place.

“Probably.” Sunny brushes the hair she’s twirling between her fingers across her lips. She never wears lipstick, so the soft strands sweep across without getting caught in any gunky, sparkly crap. Kissing Sunny is nice. I don’t end up looking like I made out with a circus clown, and she doesn’t taste like artificial candy flavor.

I lean closer until my chest is pressed against her knees and our faces are only inches apart. I can tell she thinks I’m going to kiss her. It’s what I want to do. But she still looks uncertain, and I’m not willing to make more mistakes than I already have.

Instead, I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger, watching the silky, golden strands slip around and around. I twist them until they fan out like a paintbrush and rub them over my lips to see what it feels like.

Sunny laughs. It’s a soft, breathy giggle. Cute. Sweet. A little uncomfortable, even. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know. What are you doing?”

Her gaze shifts past me. “Thinking.”

“About what?” I drop her hair and run my fingertip along the contour of her bottom lip. She has fantastic lips. I haven’t had them on mine in more than two weeks. I want to fix that right now.

“About how I’m not sure what you want from me.”

I drop my hand and hold onto the armrests instead. “You still think I’m trying to play you?”

“You’re always talking the talk.”

“You think so, eh? Well, why don’t we look at the facts?” I drop that bit of Canadian in there to make her smile. She does, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appears.

“There you go again! You’re doing it right now.”

“Doing what?”

“Saying eh, being all cute.”

“You think I’m cute?”

She pushes at my chest with her toe. Annoyed. “You have the biggest ego in the world.”

I grab her ankle and run my hand up the outside of her calf. Her legs are amazing—long, toned, and sun-kissed. I want my hands and my mouth on every last inch of skin, starting at her ankle and ending at her mouth.

“Your brother has the biggest ego,” I tell her. “It’s at least ten times the size of mine.”

“He does not.”

“Fine. My ego is bigger. Let’s get back to the facts. How long have I been calling you?”

“Since you came to Toronto.”

“How many times have I come to Guelph to see you?”

“This is the third.”

“How many times have I tried to get in your pants?”

Sunny taps her lip with her finger. “You mean for sex?”

I release her leg and hold onto the arms of the chair again. My knees hurt from kneeling for so long, but I’m making a point, one I hope is going to win a lot of favors. “Yeah, I mean for sex.”

She looks down, her eyes on my chin rather than my face. “Never.”

“That’s right. Never. So you tell me, Sunny. What do you think I’m here for?”

She peeks up, her expression sweet like those maple candies I steal from my sister all the time. “Just me?”

“Not just you. You. I’m here because I want to be with you, and no other reason.”

This is way different than placating a bunny. I’ve only ever dealt with this once before, way back at the beginning of college when crushes crushed a kid. This is different; the feelings feel a lot more real now. It’s about more than how hard she makes me.

“Come on, Sunny Sunshine. You know how much I like you. I’m trying hard not to screw it up.”

She exhales slowly, finally letting her guard down. She parts her legs and they slide along either side of me. It gives me the access I’ve been waiting for since I walked in her door. I’m not an idiot, though. I don’t move into the space.

Instead, I run my hand up the outside of her bare calf again. Stopping behind her knee, I stroke with my thumb before I reverse the movement, kneading all the way to her ankle. Sunny’s a big fan of the leg massage, and I’m damn good at it. On the way back up, I follow her shin bone with my thumbs. All her muscles are tight. Sitting back on my heels, I get a glimpse of pale blue cotton through the small gap between her shorts and her inner thigh.

Panties are panties: frilly, frilless, plain, fancy, lacy, cotton, satin. By the time I usually get to look at them, they’re about to come off. But for some reason, I want to know what style Sunny’s wearing. Will they be regular bikini briefs? Boy shorts? Cheekies? I want her to parade around in them, and then I want to get her naked and keep her that way for hours. But first I need to get her excited enough to want that. And I need to make her forget how frequently I mess shit up.

I continue rubbing up and down the back of her calf until she starts to sigh and shift. Her head drops against the back of the chair, and her eyes flutter shut. Her toes curl against my forearm, and her lips part, which tells me she likes what I’m doing.

“You’re real tight. That feel good?” I go up higher, avoiding the ticklish spot on her knee, getting at her IT band and keeping my palms to the outside of her thighs.

“I taught three classes and then ran five miles with this new greyhound we got at the shelter.”

“You must be tired.”

She cracks one lid. “Probably not as tired as you. You’re the one who got on a plane and then drove here.”

“I’m the one who caused you all kinds of stress today.” I might as well acknowledge it.

“I’m over it.”

“You sure about that?”

She traces one of the ugly flowers on the arm of the chair. “I’m mostly over it.”

“Anything I can do to help you get totally over it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you don’t wanna tell me?”

I spread my fingers wide, covering the tops of her thighs. When I’m a few inches from the hem of her shorts, I graze her inner thighs with my thumbs. It’s a sensitive spot, holding the promise of something way more fun, like wet fingers and Sunny’s little moans of excitement.

I’ve had my hand down Sunny’s pants a total of four times. It’s a fucking world record for me. Usually by this time I’d have bagged a bunny in every conceivable position.