Pucked Over (Pucked 3)

Lance invited a bunch of people over. Inevitably, that means bunnies. He’s been better about it lately, but he’s still Lance, so there’s always at least half a dozen hanging around, waiting for someone to throw them a carrot—and by carrot I mean dick.

There’s a girl lying on the chair beside me, yammering away about who-fucking-cares what. She won’t stop talking. The problem isn’t her constant flow of words, which is irritating, but tolerable because I can tune it out. The real issue is that I’ve slept with her before, and based on the way she keeps edging her lounge chair closer to mine, she has it in her mind it’s going to happen again.

I’m not feeling it. Or her. Sure, we got naked, but I didn’t call her or respond to any comments on my social media afterward, so the message should be clear. It was what it was, and now it’s over. Unfortunately, she’s not getting the hint.

I text Miller to see what he’s up to. He’s been steering clear of Lance’s when the bunnies are around. That means he stays for workouts and then he bails unless we’re having Xbox wars. Which isn’t very often. Lance usually gets antsy after a couple hours and calls in the reinforcements.

Miller messages back almost right away to tell me he’s at Waters’ Chicago place. That’s still weird to me that not long ago those guys were busy breaking each other’s noses to defend their sisters’ honor. They’ve worked it out since then, but this hanging out stuff is a new development.

With Miller occupied, it looks like I have two options: stay and let the bunny annoy me, or go home and lounge in my own backyard, minus the pool to cool off in. I have a sprinkler if it’s a real problem. Option two holds more appeal than option one, so I excuse myself to the bathroom. Once inside, I grab my duffle and keys from the rack in the kitchen and head for the front door.

“Hey, man, where you goin’?” Lance asks, tucking himself back into his shorts as he steps out of the main floor bathroom. A random bunny appears behind him, adjusting her bikini top. Her eyes are glassy and her cheeks flushed. She looks well taken care of.

“I got a headache. I’m gonna roll out.”

“There’s lots of cures for headaches here.” Lance pats the girl’s ass as she passes him. She jumps and giggles, then turns to wait. He lifts his chin in the direction of the pool. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He waits until she’s gone. “Everything all right with you?”

“Yeah. Fine. I’m cashed today. It’s been a busy week with getting back into training.”

There’s a brief hesitation on Lance’s part, like he’s not sure whether he believes me. Then he slaps me on the shoulder. “I get it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“For sure.” He goes back to the pool and his company.

My truck is parked beside a Fiat. I hit the unlock button and start the engine. Then I hear a voice.

“Randy! Can I get a ride home?” It’s the girl from the pool.

She’s still in her bikini, but she’s got a massive purse, or bag, or whatever it’s called hanging off her arm. Her legs are like sticks, and her boobs are half hanging out of her top. Her getting into my truck isn’t a great idea.

“I, uh, I’m about to run some errands.” It’s a lame excuse, and she isn’t deterred.

“My apartment is, like, five minutes from here. You don’t mind, do you? My friends are staying, and I kinda wanna go.”

I scratch the back of my neck. “I’m running late already.”

“Seriously, five minutes. Please? I don’t have money on me for a cab.” She drops her head and bites her lip, looking up at me with watery eyes.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll drive you.”

She does a little skippy thing and runs around to the passenger side. Her head appears at the window. She really is tiny. Except her boobs. Those are busting out. “Can I get a little help here? It’s a long way.”

Yup. Here we go. I can feel the regret as I circle the front of my truck. I take her bag and toss it into the cab, then tap the running board with my foot. “Take a step up.”

She does as I ask, but she’s facing me, so her boobs are right there. It takes an infinite reserve of muscle control not to roll my eyes. After picking her up and dropping her on the seat, I wait for her to swing her legs into the cab. When all she does is give me a blank stare, I hook a finger under the back of her knee and move it so I can close the door.

This is going to be a whole shitton of fun. I hoist myself back into the driver’s seat and shift the truck into reverse. The girl, I think her name might be Mary, or Miranda—it’s definitely got an M and an R in it—shimmies over. Thankfully the center console is in the way, so she can’t get too close.