Pucked Over (Pucked 3)

His answering smile makes my panties want to climb into his pocket. “We’ll do it again next time I have a Toronto game? I’ll hold on to the other box of condoms until then.”

I bite back a laugh. “As long as I can get the time off, sure.”

“Great. I’ll send you a message with the date so I can get in you again.”

I roll my eyes. “I better go. My shift starts in ten, and I plan to make out with you for at least five minutes before I leave this car.” I don’t wait for him to lean in. I unbuckle my seatbelt and plaster my mouth to his.

He holds on to the back of my neck while we kiss. It’s not frantic, because we both know it’s not leading to anything more, but it still makes my toes curl and points below light up. We break apart after a few minutes, both of us panting.

He exhales a long, slow breath. “I’ll walk you in and get a coffee for the road.”

“Sure. Okay.”

Randy gets out of the Jeep and comes around to help me with my knapsack full of clothes that smell like sex. The Jeep also smells like sex, and I’m positive I do, too. He opens the door of the café like he’s being all chivalrous. Except he pats my ass.

I stop inside the door. What in the serious shit? Sitting at one of the tables is my mother.

Here’s the thing, my mom almost never comes to visit me at work. Most of the time she doesn’t pay attention to my schedule. Not that she needs to. I’m an adult; I can manage my own life. Usually we try to stay out of each other’s business. So I have no idea what would bring her here, today of all days. She’s not alone either. She’s got a guy with her. His back is to me, so I have no clue who he is, or why in the world she’d have a coffee date at my work.

My first instinct is to push Randy back out the door. But the damn bell has chimed, alerting everyone in the shop to our arrival. My mother looks up before I make any kind of pre-emptive move in one direction or another.

She smiles and waves.

“Oh, shit.”

“Some crazy customer?” Randy runs his fingers through the back of my hair, catching a few knots along the way. I didn’t even think to check it before I got out of the Jeep.

“That’s my mother. I don’t know what she’s doing here.”

“Oh. Shit is right. Is that your dad?”

“Nope. My dad’s a dick. I haven’t seen him since never.” I don’t mean to impart that massive boulder of baggage truth.

“Huh. Well, my dad’s a dick, too. So we have that in common.” He pushes me forward. “We should go say hi.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s cool. Just don’t moan my name or anything when you introduce me.”

“Your ego is its own country.” I take a couple of halting steps forward, figuring out what I’m going to say.

“Lily bird!” my mom gets up, her eyes darting behind me to Randy and then back, clearly wanting some kind of introduction.

I’m pretty sure telling her he’s the guy I’m casually boning who provides the best orgasms I’ve ever had isn’t going to fly. “Hey, Mom, so weird that you’re here right now. This is my friend Randy.” I motion between them. “Randy, this is my mom, Iris.”

“Randy. Hi! So nice to meet you.” She sticks her hand out.

He shakes it with the one that’s been inside me in the past hour. “Hi, Iris. Looks like I’m surrounded by all the most beautiful flowers.”

It’s a super cheesy line—like, poutine with double cheese and extra gravy—but my mom giggles like she’s fifteen. I roll my eyes, and Randy flashes me a grin.

“Holy shit!” the guy with my mom yells.

I’d almost forgotten he was here, thanks to the shitting of my pants over introducing Randy to my mom. At least she hasn’t recognized him as anyone important yet.

“Randy Ballistic?” Dude shoots up out of his chair and thrusts out his hand.

“Hey.” Randy takes it, and the guy—who I now realize is Tom, or Tim, or whatever his name is, all I know is I’m glad he’s wearing more than underwear this time—gives him one of those over-enthusiastic handshakes.

He continues to pump Randy’s hand so much that I almost expect Randy’s mouth to open and water to come splashing out. “Iris, do you know who this is?”

My mom lifts her shoulders in an apologetic shrug.

“This is Randy Ballistic. He’s a new forward for Chicago. He used to play for New York. That game on Friday was killer. You really showed your worth to the team.”

Her smile freezes. “You’re a hockey player?” Her tone makes it sound more like he’s committed a heinous crime.