PUCKED (A Standalone Romantic Comedy) (The Pucked Series Book 1)
PUCKED: Chapter 22

VIOLET

Alex drops me off at the airport, and we make plans to see each other as soon as he returns to Chicago. I sleep all the way home on the plane. I’m exhausted from the weekend of marathon sex. Alex wasn’t lying about his stamina. He’s like a machine, except better because he’s Alex. I wake up from a dream about his penis as the plane is landing. The flight attendant gives me an odd look, so I have to wonder if I’ve been talking in my sleep. Ignorance is probably bliss in this case.

Charlene, being the amazing bestie she is, picks me up the next morning on the way to work. I expect a full inquisition about my weekend with Alex, which I’m prepared to share, but Charlene has had some excitement of her own.

“I have so much to tell you! Darren is amazing. I’ve already merged our faces to see what our babies would look like—you know there’s a website?” She pauses long enough to take a breath. “They’d be so pretty.”

“You’re kidding about the last part, right?”

“Um, no. Why? Is that weird? I did it for you, too.” Charlene drives through Starbucks for us. I’m grateful considering my level of exhaustion.

“No, Charlene, that’s not weird at all.” It is, but I want to see the pictures.

Charlene is very much a romantic. She dives head-first into every relationship. It’s common for her to tell me she’s in love after the first date. Two weeks later, she’s usually over it and moving on to the next guy. It’s why she doesn’t generally fall into bed with them right away; otherwise she’d have a pretty high running tally.

Charlene shares the details of her evening with Darren, including the size of his dick, on our drive to work.

“Wait a second—you had sex with him?”

“What? No! Of course not!”

“How do you know how big his wang is? Did he whip it out?”

“I wish. I grabbed his junk. Just to check—you know? I don’t want to waste his time or mine if he’s got a tiny winkie. Anyway, he was such a gentleman. If I hadn’t made a move, he probably would’ve kissed my cheek and been done with it. He has the softest lips, Vi. We must have made out for like, I don’t know, an hour?”

“Where did this epic make out session take place?”

“In my hotel room. It was just supposed to be a good-night kiss. I got carried away, and I felt him up. He wants to take me out for dinner next week. Maybe we can double date sometime.”

“That’d be great.” I won’t hold my breath, though, just in case Darren ends up in her discard pile.

“What about you? How was your weekend?”

“My weekend was good.”

“‘Good’? You spent the weekend with Alex and that’s all you have to say? What’s this I hear about you staying at his parents’? How was that?” She sucks in a huge breath. “Did you see childhood photos? Was he always super-hot? What’s the deal with his mom’s hair? It’s huge.”

This is more the line of questioning I expect. “It definitely has its own zip code. The childhood photos were epic. He was nerdy hot in high school.”

I expected things to be uncomfortable with Daisy after she caught Alex with his hand in my pants—and they were—but she was a lot nicer to me the next day. Much like my mom, Daisy’s into oversharing. I got to see Alex’s awkwardness up close in all his skating photos.

He was skinny and dorky and completely adorable. The spandex skating outfits were something else; Alex grew into his junk, not the other way around. I can see why the girls in high school would have been afraid of his trouser anaconda.

The following evening, I rush home from work so I can shower and pack an overnight bag before Alex comes to get me. I open the door to discover Buck in my kitchen, raiding my fridge. I don’t know why he does this. It’s not as if I keep it fully stocked for hockey player style eating. I’ve got the basics covered, and that’s about it. Most of it is sugary crap, to be quite honest.

“Did they run out of food at Poon-central, or did you just get tired of eating the same thing over and over?”

He completely misses the barb. “I’ve never heard of that grocery store. Kind of a messed up name.”

“What are you doing here? Other than grocery shopping in my fridge.”

“I thought I’d stop by and see how your little holiday went. I’d like to thank you for scarring me for life with the locker room fuck-a-thon.” He replaces the one healthy food item in my fridge—an overly large cucumber—and takes a massive bite.

“That’s disgusting.”

“No shit. Imagine how you’d feel if you walked in on me boning some chick.” He jabs the cucumber in my direction.

“I’m talking about the phallic vegetable you’re eating.”

“So you’d be fine walking in on me boning some chick?”

A chunk of chewed food flies out of his mouth and lands in his beard when he snorts. It looks like snot. He wipes it away and it lands on the floor.

“I don’t think that’s something you should joke about, considering the chick you’re currently boning is Alex’s little sister. I won’t stand in the way if Alex decides to kick the shit out of you.”

“I’m not boning Sunny.”

“Call it whatever you want. Fornicating is still fornicating no matter what slang term you use.”

“I haven’t slept with her.” He has the decency to look horrified for lying.

I give him my best bitch face. “I’m not an idiot, Buck.”

“You can’t tell anyone.” He’s gripping the cucumber so hard it starts leaking out the top, juice dripping down his fingers.

I process his stance and his expression. He’s legit terrified. “You’re seriously serious?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I haven’t even tried to bone her.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m telling the truth! We’ve made out and I touched her tits, and I may have tried to . . . never mind.” His face contorts as he thinks. “I love talking to her. She gets me.”

This is so not the Buck I know. His eyes are wide, and he keeps swallowing. It’s so loud I can hear it from where I’m standing. Buck is freaked out. I feel bad for him. He has no idea what it’s like to want more than sex and maybe the occasional snuggle.

“I mean it, Vi. You can’t tell anyone.”

“Is it such a bad thing if people know you’re not trying to get into Alex’s sister’s pants? It might help resolve some of the tension between you two.”

“I will try to get into her pants, just not right away because . . .” He scratches his beard. “Well, I don’t know why exactly. The guys can’t know, though. They already think I’ve slept with her.”

“Did you tell them you slept with her?”

I’ll be pissed at him for making Alex’s sister look slutty. I’m lucky Alex isn’t the bragging type. Even when the only things he knew about me were how loud I am in bed and my love for his monster cock, he still didn’t soil my reputation. I’m well-equipped to do that on my own—see locker room for details.

“Not really.” He takes another bite of his cucumber.

“Care to explain?”

“I didn’t tell them I did. I also didn’t tell them I didn’t.” He has the good sense not to look me in the eye.

“So you lied to them.”

“No.”

“Yes you did.”

He still looks confused.

“Alex’s sister isn’t some random chick you’re sticking your wang in. She’s one of your teammates’ sister, kind of like I’m your sister.”

The lightbulb appears to be flickering, so I figure it’s safe to continue.

“There are hundreds of pictures of Sunny and Alex together. It’s no secret they’re close. She spends a lot of time under the scrutiny—” Buck frowns; maybe I’m using words he doesn’t understand. “The watchful eye of the media. If you make it seem like you’re all up in that, how do you think it will look?”

“I know what scrutiny means. I don’t want people to think Sunny is a puck bunny.”

He continues to stroke his beard as he ponders what I’ve said.

“I’m sure you don’t. Just like you don’t want people to think I’m one for sleeping with Alex, even though I’ve done a good job making myself look like one, anyway.”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about that. It was bad enough catching the end of it. I don’t like that you’re with him. Just because Waters isn’t taking puck bunnies home right now doesn’t mean he’s a changed man.”

“That’s like the yeti calling the Sasquatch hairy.”

He runs a hand self-consciously over his forearm. “What?”

“You do realize Alex thinks you’re after his sister to get back at him for me, right? Imagine how he feels believing you’re doing his sister, knowing the number of girls you’ve put your doodle into.”

“Yeah, ’cause Waters’ rep is so much better.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not really a manwhore. It’s all just public misconception.”

Oh God. I don’t think I should’ve said that. Alex’s non-whoriness is probably something we should discuss, which is absolutely insane.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.” It’s the wrong thing to say because it evokes curiosity.

“What kind of bullshit is Waters feeding you?”

Buck’s face starts to get red as unnecessary anger sets in. He reminds me of The Hulk, which reminds me of my underwear, which reminds me of Alex’s mother walking into his room while his hand was in the flap. Stupid, humiliating unlocked door.

“It’s not important. Besides, this isn’t about Alex and me. It’s about you and Sunny, and you telling your boys you banged her so you can be the man. It’s immature. You’re making her look bad. Is that what you want?”

He hangs his head in shame. “No. Definitely not.”

“Then stop being an asshole. Now get out of my pool house. I have a date, and I don’t want you here when Alex picks me up.”

He points the cucumber at me. “I still don’t like that you’re dating him.”

“And I still don’t care.” I open the door and shoo him out.

Maybe Sunny can do the impossible and tame Buck. If he screws this up, it’s going to make things hella awkward for Alex and me.

Alex and I spend as much time together as we can over the weeks following his return, although constant practice, away games, and preparation for playoffs keep him busy. We don’t go out apart from picking up the occasional takeout; Alex is trying to keeps things low key after the fight and the locker room sex.

During his interviews to dispel the rumors, Alex is as evasive as ever, neither confirming nor denying anything. It reminds me of the Hat Trick interview. I understand the reasons for his non-answers and the omission, but it makes me nervous. While the pictures of him and I leaving the stadium after the locker sex are unclear, there are plenty more from later in the evening with us together.

When our relationship is brought up in one interview, he dodges the question altogether, as if it wasn’t even asked. I’ve gone from being no one important to the topic of speculation in the gossip rags. The attention is foreign. I don’t want to be seen as Alex’s puck bunny. Beyond that, I worry about how I’ll be perceived at work by my colleagues.

I can’t decide whether I’m being paranoid or if my fears have legitimate basis. He’s so considerate when we’re together; it’s hard to know how much is a result of my own insecurities.

Our weeks blend together, and the April thaw brings wet weather followed by the promise of May sunshine and warmth. Tonight is a rare evening without obligations, so we’re making use of his back porch. Not having sex. Yet.

I discovered his black onyx Scrabble board and challenged him to a word-off.

“Let’s talk about the rules,” he says as he sets up the board and shakes the bag of tiles.

“They’re right here.” I hold up the booklet that contains the rules as well as the list of two letter words I’ve memorized. Those come in handy at the end of the game.

“I have a few new ones.”

“New rules?”

Alex crosses his legs, getting comfortable. “Mmm. I’d like to up the stakes a little.”

“Is that so?” I’m just as good at Scrabble as I am at air hockey. The key to Scrabble isn’t creative words, it’s in the points.

“All words need to be a minimum of four letters, with no less than ten points, and they need to be dirty.”

“Or what happens?”

He grins. “Or you take off an article of clothing.”

“Strip Scrabble?” I crack my knuckles. “You’re so on.”

“Says the accountant to the English major. Get ready to get beat.”

“Pfft.” I take a dainty sip of my wine. It’s so good. Alex has an entire wine cellar. He has a particular fondness for Niagara Rieslings, and now I do, too. They’re sweet and crisp, and I could guzzle a bottle no problem. I want to win this Strip Scrabble competition, so I won’t. “Your snuffie is going to be hanging out long before my beaver.”

“We’ll see about that.”

We pick tiles to see who goes first. I get lucky with my selection and start the board with “clit.”

The challenge of dirty words with four letters isn’t so much the issue; it’s that so many of them contain the letter C.

We go back and forth, me consistently making smutty four letter words, such as slut, poon, and anal. Alex comes up with a questionable Q word he wants to use on the triple letter title. I let him get away with it since I’m kicking his ass so badly.

Alex currently has seven vowels, so he’s having trouble forming a smutty word. I think he’s stalling so I’ll drink more wine and become incapable of making good words. He drops an A between the letter V in beave and the G in gonad to make the word vag.

“That’s only three letters. Take something off.” I lick my lips in anticipation.

We’re only halfway through the game, and he’s already lost his socks, watch, and pants. The next logical item is his shirt.

Of course, Alex decides he’s going to lose his boxers instead. He stands, with his eyes on me, and shimmies them down his thighs. They slide to the floor, and he kicks them off to the side with the rest of his discarded clothing.

I prop my chin on my fist and sigh. “Strip Scrabble is my favorite.”

“I thought my cock was your favorite.”

“That, too.”

Alex has a semi. It’s probably because I’m in my bra. I took off the shirt first as a distraction, so he’s getting me back. Every time I look at the board, I get an eyeful of Alex’s growing MC.

I have an awesome word thanks to the blank tile I’ve scored, but Alex’s crappy vag has done nothing to help open the board. “I’m thinking about going apartment hunting next week,” I say as I search for a creative place to put my letters. I’m trying super hard not to focus on his hard-on. It’s a challenge since he keeps absently stroking his monster cock.

“Oh? Why would you need to do that?”

“So you can come to my place, and we won’t have to worry about my mom crashing our party.” Alex has only spent the night at my place once. She barged in while we were making out—mostly naked—on the couch. Since then, I’ve been coming to Alex’s and looking at apartments close to my work.

“What’s wrong with you coming here?”

“Nothing. I just thought it would be nice if it was equitable.” I scour the board one last time. There’s no good place to put my word, and without a double-letter score of some kind, I’ll only manage eight points.

“You should move in here.” He says it nonchalantly, but his eyes are on his tiles and his hand is still wrapped around his mostly hard cock.

My heart does this fluttery thing. I’m not sure whether he’s kidding.

“We’ve been dating for what, like two months? Yeah, I think moving in with you is totally reasonable.” If we’d been dating a few months longer, I’d jump at the opportunity. Things have been so crazy lately. His evasiveness in interviews isn’t canceled out by how much time we spend together, or introducing me to his friends and family.

“It’s close to three months. You don’t want to move in with me?” He’s peeking up at me from under his pretty, long man-lashes, looking hurt.

“It’s not that.” I pick up my tiles and lean across the board. I don’t know how to deal with this, mostly because as irrational as it is, I totally want to move into Alex’s crib and play house with him.

Instead of giving him more of an explanation, I place the letter D on his snuffie, followed by an I, the blank tile, and a K. I smile triumphantly.

“Nice word. Except it doesn’t count if you can’t lay it on the board. Lose the bra.” He gestures to my chest.

I don’t follow Alex’s instructions. Instead, I drop my pants and toss them on the floor. Alex looks unimpressed. I’m wearing frilly underwear, so he shouldn’t be too upset. He stands up—totally hard now—and knocks over the board with his dick, spilling our carefully crafted smutty words all over the floor.

“Hey! I was winning.”

“Hardly.” Alex pushes my chair back and drops to his knees in front of me.

“I was up by fifty points.”

“Why don’t you want to move in with me?” He hooks his fingers behind my knees and parts my legs so he can fit between them.

“What does that have to do with you sabotaging the Strip Scrabble game?”

“Stop avoiding the question. Do you think you’ll get sick of me?” His hands roam up the outside of my legs.

“No. Of course not.”

“Then what?”

“It’s a little premature, don’t you think?” I like the idea, but it’s too soon. We haven’t even dropped the L-bomb, although I’m starting to suspect these fluttery feelings mean that’s exactly where I’m at now.

“Who cares? I’m gone half the time with away games and practice. It’s a big house. There’s lots of space.” He flicks the clasp on my bra. “By the time the season’s over, we’ll have been dating for the better part of four months—maybe even five, depending on how far we make it in the playoffs.”

“I think six months should be the cut-off for moving in.”

“Is that an arbitrary number you’re throwing around?” He traces the delicate lace ruffle on my panties with a fingertip.

I close my eyes, absorbing the sensation for a moment before I work on forming a response. “I read an article about it.” I won’t tell him it was from some silly girl magazine.

“What’s the significance of six months?” He places a wet kiss below my navel.

“By that time all the fairy dust has settled. You’ll know all my weird quirks, and maybe then you’ll decide you can’t live with the way I brush my teeth, or how my hair clogs up your shower drain, or my obsession with Swedish Fish.”

“I like all your weird quirks.” He pulls his shirt over his head.

“I like your naked body,” I say, running my hands over his chest.

“Then you should move in with it.”

“Ask me again after playoffs.”

“I don’t think I can wait until then.”

“They’re only weeks away.” I pull his mouth to mine. All my paranoia seems to have been for nothing. Alex wouldn’t ask me to move in with him if our relationship wasn’t important.

We don’t even attempt to make it to his bedroom. We have sex on the floor. It’s intense and charged, and I want it to stay like this between us. I want to want him with this kind of insatiable need forever. But passion fades eventually, and the warm, soft balm of love is what keeps the fire burning.

Chicago keeps winning games, which should be a positive. Instead of being excited, Alex gets moodier the closer they get to securing a place in the playoffs. Whenever Dick calls—which is frequently—he gets tense and leaves the room. I hate Dick. Alex is always pissy after they talk. He’s also always horny which is the only upside. After the calls, I replace myself promptly carried up the stairs and loved into oblivion.

While the orgasms are stellar as usual, I feel like I’m missing something important.

I notice the pattern and call him on it. “What’s going on with Dick?”

He tenses, staring up at the ceiling. “We’re not seeing eye-to-eye on how to handle some of my endorsements.”

“Which endorsements?”

“The ones for Bachelor of the Year.”

He mentioned this in passing a few weeks ago and hasn’t brought it up since. “What’s the issue?” Silence stretches out so long I prop up on an elbow. “Alex?”

He shifts his gaze from the ceiling to me. “Dick thinks it’s better for me to appear available until it’s over.”

“Available?”

“Unattached.” He swallows.

My stomach bottoms out. “There are pictures of us together everywhere.”

“I know. So does he. It’s stupid.” Alex sighs. “It could help me secure that big endorsement campaign, Violet. I have to start thinking about my career outside of being on the ice.”

I know this. Hockey careers are short. It’s the reason I have my job and also the reason I have to do it well. It doesn’t mean I have to like what he’s telling me, though. “Is this why we’ve been staying in the past few weeks?”

“I’m trying to fly under the radar. I don’t want you caught up in all my crap.”

It’s another evasive answer. I try a different angle. “Does Dick know you’ve asked me to move in with you?”

“No.”

“Don’t you think you should tell him if you’re serious about being with me?”

Alex skims my cheek with his knuckles. “You’re right. I should. I will. I’ll talk to him this week.”

“Promise?”

“Promise, baby.” He holds out his arms. “Come snuggle with me.”

I settle with my cheek on his chest. His arms wind tight around me, his heart beating hard beneath the cage of flesh and bone. Our conversation should make me feel better. Instead I worry about what else he might be keeping from me.

Instead of things settling down when Chicago makes the first round of playoff games, Alex is more stressed. Needier. I stay at his place almost every night leading up to the first playoff game.

“I’m going home tonight,” I say while Alex inhales a heaping plate of pasta.

He finishes chewing before he replies. “Why?”

“You need to get a good night’s sleep tonight. I won’t be responsible for messing up your first playoff game because I kept you up with these.” I motion to my rack.

“I sleep best when my head is resting on your delicate pillows of love.”

I roll my eyes. “You can snuggle with them after dinner, but me and the girls are going home at nine.”

“That’s less than two hours from now.” Alex shoves his plate aside, picks me up out of my chair, and slings me over his shoulder. “Dinner’s over.” He takes the stairs at a run.

Two and a half hours later, I’m fully dressed and standing at the front door. I’ve been trying to leave for the past twenty minutes. Alex is having some difficulty letting me go.

I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss the dimple on his left cheek. “I’ll stay tomorrow night.”

“Since we’re into playoffs, I was thinking maybe you’d reconsider moving in.”

I smile. “I thought we were going to talk about it after playoffs were over.”

“No. You said you’d talk about it after playoffs are over, not me. You’ve stayed here the past six nights. You might as well keep staying and make it permanent.”

I can’t understand why he’s pushing now. “So we have Dick’s seal of approval?”

“I don’t need Dick’s seal of anything. Are you considering it?”

“You’re impossible.”

“I prefer the term tenacious.”

“I’ll call you before the game tomorrow.” I wait for him to kiss me for the seventy-fifth time. It takes another ten minutes to get out the door, but I don’t mind.

The following evening, Charlene comes to my place and we all pile into Sidney’s Hummer, excited to be front and center for game one of the playoffs. The stadium is buzzing with exhilaration.

I’m currently staring at the back of Alex’s head while Charlene moans about Darren’s hotness. Charlene and Darren have been out a bunch of times since returning from Toronto. It’s been all over the gossip rags, which is a nice distraction from the less positive attention Alex and I have been receiving. The hockey fanatics are shocked. Darren has never been captured with anyone except his fans. He and Charlene spending time together makes for good publicity. He’s getting a lot more press on and off the ice. Charlene pretends she isn’t fazed at all by the attention; however, it did take her two hours and twelve wardrobe changes to get ready for the game.

“Just look at him.” Charlene sighs as Darren skates across the ice.

“He’s awesome.” It’s what she wants to hear. It’s also true.

“He really is, Violet. He’s got to be the most romantic man I’ve ever met.”

She yammers on and on, but I can’t be mad at her. I’ve definitely done the same thing to her regarding Alex over the past couple of months.

Alex is on his game tonight, as is the rest of the team. No one’s messing around or getting chippy with the opposition. The focus is singular: Get the puck in the net and win the first game of the playoffs. This is a big game; it sets the tone for the series.

These boys are determined and apparently off to an awesome start—the score is two-one in favor of Chicago at the end of the first period. Buck is high on adrenaline, seeing as this is the first time he’s ever made it to the playoffs. He keeps the puck away from the net, preventing goals. That creepy Kirk guy even manages an assist, proving you can be dodgy and an amazing hockey player at the same time. Chicago holds their lead all the way through and run away with the game. The final score is four-one, putting them in a great position moving forward in the series.

The high is contagious, my own excitement spiraling as I absorb the state of the fans around me. Interviews are being televised on the big screens after the win, and the entertainment bulldogs are all over the team. The roar of the crowd makes it difficult to hear. Reporters fire questions at Alex.

“Two game suspension earlier in the season . . .”

“Reflects on you as the captain . . .”

“Sexiest bachelor . . .”

It’s disjointed, but the last bit catches my attention. I push forward through the crowd, hoping to hear better.

“It’s an honor to be nominated,” Alex says, running his hand through his sweaty hair.

He seems uncomfortable. A sea of people surround him, and I’m short, so he can’t see me.

Another fragmented question filters through the crowd. Dammit, I wish I could hear what they’re asking.

“. . . rumors about your relationship . . .”

Alex blinks nervously. “I thought we were going to talk about the game, not my personal life.”

Another reporter pipes up. “So the rumors are true?”

The mic crackles with static, but his next statement is foghorn clear. “No comment.” He scans the crowd, and his guilty expression makes my stomach turn.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. I want to kick the shit out of someone. I want to cry. This is the same as a complete denial, which makes me look like a total hockey hooker. I’m pissed.

It’s obvious he lied about talking to Dick, and just last night he asked me to move in with him. Again. None of this makes sense.

His answer feeds the vultures. “. . . The woman you’ve been seen with . . .”

The words just friends drop like a sewage-filled balloon.

Everything else is drowned out by the media’s questions. I’ve heard enough, anyway. If I have to listen to him a second longer, I’ll projectile vomit all over his fucking fans.

I push through the crowd, desperate to escape. I don’t look back. I’m sure I can catch my own humiliation on YouTube later.

I’ve learned an invaluable lesson today: Never trust a hockey player.