Pucked Up (Pucked 2)

“I already told you, she’s fighting with Benji.” She shifts around, leaning against a wall. Words are written on it in marker, or scratched into the surface, exposing silver where there was paint before.

“Are you in a bathroom?”

She nods and sniffs. The sound of toilet paper being pulled from a roll follows. She brings the wad to her nose and blows. “It smells horrible in here.”

“I bet. Why don’t you go outside? It’ll smell way better and be quieter.”

She drops her voice to a whisper. “I’m hiding.”

“From who?”

“Kale. He tried to kiss me. He hasn’t brushed his teeth since we got here, I don’t think. Or maybe he has cavities. Anyway, his breath is bad. And his beard—I don’t like it. It’s not soft like yours was during playoffs. I like your beard. It feels nice on my nipples.” She strokes along her collarbone. She might be wearing a dress, but I can only see from her shoulders up. “I like you a lot, Miller. Everyone thinks I shouldn’t. Except Violet and my mom. She thinks you’re perfect and that you’ll take care me, but I can take care of me. Lily tells me I’m gonna get hurt, and maybe she’s right, but I don’t wanna listen because I want to be with you, but sometimes it’s so hard.”

Her candidness gives me a lot to process. There’s a quick burst of noise. Country music and male voices filter through the phone, along with a flush and the sound of water running.

“Sunny, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Are you in the men’s bathroom?”

“Uh-huh. No one will look for me here ’cause I have a cookie, not a penis.”

She’d be funny if I was there to take care of her. I’m angry at Lily for not being a better friend and Patch McBushman for making her feel like she needs to hide. “You need to get out of there, sweets.”

“I can’t. There are urinals. Men pee in rows. It’s weird—like cows feeding at a trough, but they’re peeing. They’re right outside the stall. I’ll see penises. Or is it peni? I don’t know what the plural is.” Her eyes are wide with drunken horror. “I only want to look at your penis.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. But the men’s bathroom isn’t a good place for you to be. Just cover your eyes and head for the door.”

She takes a couple of deep breaths.

“You can do it, Sunny. I’d come get you if I could. Camp’s done tomorrow. I’ll come as soon as the kids leave.”

“I don’t need you to save me, Miller. I’m self-succinct.”

I think she means self-sufficient, but she’s mixing up her words. “I know that. I’m just worried, and I don’t like that you’re upset. I want to be there to make it better.”

She licks her lips. “I like it when you make it better. Better always feels good.”

“I’ll make you feel really good when I see you, ’kay?” I hope it’s loud enough in the bathroom that no one else can hear our conversation.

“Okay. Maybe. First I want to be mad about the picture of you and that girl who looks like me.”

“That’s cool. You can be upset about that. We’ll talk about lots of stuff.” We both have things to be unhappy about. “You gonna get out of that bathroom, now?”

“Okay.” She nods, resolved. “I’m gonna put you in my bra.”

“I love being in your bra.”

“I know. Oh, wait. I’m not wearing a bra. Hmm. I’ll put you in my underwear.”

“Even better.”

She’s definitely wearing a dress. She stands and hikes it to her waist, shoving the phone down the front. It’s the closest I’ve been to her pussy in a week.

There’s a rattling sound, then Sunny panicking. I try to tell her to calm down, but since I’m in her underwear, she can’t hear me. All of a sudden there’s a loud slam. Deep voices issue shouts of surprise and a couple of whistles.

“Sunny? What are you doing in here?” I know that voice. It’s Patch McBushman.

There’s some fumbling and arguing. The music gets obnoxiously loud, then there’s crunching. Gravel, maybe. More muffled talking. All of a sudden it’s not dark anymore. Sunny’s phone drops out of her underwear and onto the floor of the trailer. I can see her legs and her panties. They have little flowers on them.

A hand covers the screen like a spider. It’s not Sunny’s face I’m met with afterwards. I almost gag; it’s Bushman.

I point at him. “I’m coming for you.”

He might smirk, but I can’t tell because his beard covers his mouth. “Come on, Sunny Bunny. Let’s get you into bed.”

“Don’t call me that! Hey, where’s my phone? Give me that.”

He ends the call before I can say another word. I try to call back, but I get voice mail.

It’s on. I’m gonna take that fucker and his stinky breath down.