Pucked Up (Pucked 2)

The motion sensor kicks in as I get out of the car, flooding the driveway with light, and nearly blinding me. Sunny’s tiny, ugly eco car is parked in front of my rented SUV. She left it at an angle, and the front passenger-side tire is in the garden, crushing her mom’s flowers.

I shoulder my bag, lock up my rental, and hit the doorbell. Anxious barking accompanies the clip of nails on the stairs. Titus, a Papillion, and Andromeda—Andy for short—are Sunny’s dogs. They’re both rescues with serious anxiety issues. Titus likes to lick people’s toes, and Sunny doesn’t seem to mind. It’s weird.

Andy’s a Dane, so I can see him through the curtain covering the front window. He paces back and forth, whining. I have treats in the car for him. I run back to the SUV and grab the bag with all the gifts. Fishing out the gourmet dog biscuits, I slip one through the mail slot. Andy snarfs it down and then pokes his nose back through, looking for more.

When Sunny still hasn’t come down a minute later, I pull up her contact and hit the microphone.

“I’m at your front door.”

I must not enunciate properly because front door is autocorrected to foghorn. I hit the doorbell a second time, erase the message, wait for Andy to stop barking, and try again, speaking more slowly this time. I can’t dictate for shit when I’m tired. This time front door comes up looking mostly right. There aren’t any red lines, so I press send.

I get a message back almost instantly.WTH? Y r U at frat dorm?I read the text and frown, then hit the text-to-speech function so I can listen to it, because it’s half random letters instead of words. I know she’s angry, but I should be able to make things better. I’m pretty decent at cleaning up messes, except for when I was traded to Chicago. There wasn’t anything I could do to cover up that one. The pictures of me and the coach’s niece in the bathroom stall went viral in a hurry.

The sexy British chick in my phone reads the words frat dorm back to me instead of front door. Jesus. That’s what I get for not listening before I send something.Sory. Attocorect. Front Door. Please let me in.I figure short and to the point works better.

I crouch down and open the mail slot. Andy stops pacing and sticks his nose through the hole. “Hey, buddy. Can you go get Sunny for me and bring her down here? Go get Sunny. Go get ’er. Go on.” He runs to the stairs and looks back at me. “Good boy. Go get her for me. I got more treats if you bring Sunny.”

He turns toward the stairs and barks a few times, then runs back to the door and sticks his nose up to the mail slot.

“Ya gotta get ’er.” It only takes a little more coaxing before he finally runs up the stairs. But he comes up and down twice more without her, so I ring the doorbell and knock.

Sunny’s light on her feet, so the only way I know she’s coming down is because she yells, “For doody’s sake! I’m coming. Stop it, Andy! I’m answering the door.”

I grin. Sunny doesn’t swear. It’s fucking adorable.

The light in the front foyer turns on, and the door swings open. Andy rushes me, jumping up so his paws are on my shoulders and his nose is level with mine. I don’t turn away when he licks my face.

“How’s my buddy?” I scratch behind his ears. “Good boy. You’re a good boy.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out a treat. He gets into position, sitting on his haunches with his nose in the air. I set the treat on the end of his nose. He adjusts his stance but waits until I give him the go ahead. Then he flips it up, catching it in his mouth.

Sunny stands at the threshold, looking unimpressed, one hand propped on her hip. Titus hides behind her ankles. There’s a good chance he’ll pee on the floor if he gets too anxious.

Sunny’s sandy blond hair is lighter than the last time I saw her, with streaks so pale they’re almost white. It’s pulled up into a messy ponytail. She’s wearing a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt with a unicorn in a forest on it. I’m nine thousand percent sure she’s not wearing a bra, but I’m smart enough not to stare at her chest.

Her soft, usually pouty lips are mashed into a line and turned down at the corners. Her eyes are puffy. Her sun-freckled cheeks are blotchy and red. And she’s still absolutely beautiful.

She’s been crying. It’s my fault.

“It’s too late for Andy to have treats.”

“I’m sorry.” I shift from one foot to the other.