Pucked Up (Pucked 2)

“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.