Pucked Up (Pucked 2)

“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?”