Pucked Up (Pucked 2)

I can’t lie to her. The evidence is splashed across her chest in a red, blistering rash. It’s even on her poor little nipples.

“Are you itchy anywhere else?” I just hope it hasn’t spread.

“No. I showered as soon as we got back from our walk in the forest.” She goes for the button on my shorts.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking your lightning rod.”

“I think I’d notice if I had poison ivy on my dick, Sunny. Remember I told you I’m immune?”

“What if you’re wrong? Why aren’t I immune?”

I move her hands away, unbutton my pants, and drop my shorts, along with my underwear—to humor her. My balls are almost back to their regular size, and I’ve got a semi. “See? No rash.”

The door bursts open. “Is everything okay? I heard Sunny sc—” Lily stops short. “Holy geez! You weren’t lying.” Her eyes are fixed on my half-mast lightning rod.

Randy’s right behind her. He’s in a pair of boxers, and Lily is wearing his shirt, I realize now. That didn’t take long. I pull the underwear back up, but leave the shorts where they are, wrapped around my ankles, and put my hands up to shield Sunny’s boobs. Randy’s already turned away.

“Nice tightie-whities, Butterson.”

“Nice patch of chest hairs, Ballistic. What are you up to now, three or four? And my underwear is red. Not white.”

“Would you two stop it! What am I going to do, Miller? I have poison ivy on my boobs, and it’s itchy!”

Lily closes the door on Randy and elbows me out of the way. She pulls Sunny into the bathroom and flips on the light. I’d be all over the girl-on-girl action if my girlfriend—I’m calling her that now—wasn’t crying and didn’t have a rash on her boobs. Also, I don’t want to share her. With anyone. Not even her bestie.

Lily sticks her head out. “Get me baking soda, please.”

“You got it.” Baking soda is one of the few things that can take the itch out of poison ivy. I learned that in Boy Scouts.

I hunt down the baking soda in the kitchen while Lily calms Sunny. It takes forever to find it. By the time I get back, the shower is running and Lily is standing in the hall with Randy. They’re close-talking and so absorbed they don’t even notice me ease past them into the bedroom. I rifle through my bag until I find the box of condoms. I toss it to Randy. “I’ve got Sunny from here. You two play safe.” Then I shut the door and lock it.

I make a paste out of the baking soda, and when Sunny gets out of the shower I slather it all over her chest while she lays on the bed and sniffles.

Then I eat her cookie to make her forget about the itch.

It works. Twice.CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

PORNO CAR WASH PROBLEMSThe distractions worked well enough last night, but they’re not so effective this morning. Overnight the rash has gotten worse.

“What am I going to do? This looks awful!” Sunny gestures to her bare chest.

“It’s not that bad, baby.” I’m sort of lying. It doesn’t look great.

She can tell. “Are you serious? I have to teach yoga in three days. I can’t do that like this!”

“You’ll be wearing a shirt, though. Won’t that cover it?”

“I wear tank tops. It won’t cover this!” She motions to her neck and collarbones.

It wasn’t until Randy knocked on the door and reminded me we had to get a move on that I remembered the charity car wash this afternoon. It’s already eleven forty-five. I need to shower and get dressed, but first I need to calm Sunny down again.

She wouldn’t have sex this morning without a shirt on no matter how much I assured her that I don’t care, and the rash isn’t contagious. She’s self-conscious. Overnight it’s crept up her throat, blossoming into blisters that nearly reach her face.

I feel terrible. If we hadn’t had sex in the forest, she wouldn’t have this problem. The only upside is that I don’t have to make excuses as to why she can’t come to this fundraiser with me. Any other time I’d want her there for bunny cover—and because she’s awesome—but since I want to pick the dude’s brain who’s running it, and it pertains to a venture I’m hoping might eventually include Sunny, the poison ivy is an unfortunate blessing.

“Maybe it’ll clear up by then.”

“In three days? I’m blistering. Do you know what happens to blisters? They turn into scabs. I’m going to be scabby. I’ll be disgusting!”

She has a point. She’s being extreme, though. “You could put makeup on it or something.”

“I don’t wear makeup. Besides, you can’t put makeup on open sores.”

I run a hand through my hair, trying to come up with a solution, even if there isn’t one. “Should we take a trip to a medical clinic?”