Pucked Over (Pucked 3)

“Uh, yeah. It’s cool if you root for Toronto. I won’t hold it against you. I used to play for them, too.”

“Um, I’d love to chat, but I have to start my shift.” I wave behind me to the counter, where no customers are currently waiting.

“I need to use the ladies’ room,” my mom says through gritted teeth. She threads her arm through mine, gripping hard as she steers me toward the back of the shop.

“A hockey player, Lily? What is wrong with you?”

I can’t deal with her now, so I need a cover story—one that’s plausible and no one can refute. “Relax yourself, Mom. He’s a friend of Alex’s. I stayed at Sunny’s last night, and Alex was home visiting. He brought a couple friends with him. Randy was on his way out the door and offered me a ride.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did.”

“Mom. He drove me to work. He’s nice.”

She stares at me hard for few seconds. “They all seem nice at first.”

I love my mom, but sometimes her hypocrisy is frustrating. “I need to start my shift. Is this Tom guy going to be at home when I get there tonight?”

“His name is Tim. Maybe. Probably. Why?”

“Can you please make sure he’s wearing more than underwear outside of your bedroom?”

She gives me a pinched look.

“I gotta go. I’m supposed to be working already.”

“We’ll talk about this later.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Mom. It was just a ride.” I mean that literally and figuratively.

My mom goes into the bathroom, and I drop my bag in the manager’s office and rush to get my apron on so I’m out before my mom is finished in the girls’ room.

Randy and Tim-Tom are still talking. Well, Tim-Tom is talking, and Randy is nodding. Tim-Tom follows Randy to the counter and stops yapping long enough for Randy to order a coffee, one of the specialty kinds.

My stomach is in all kinds of knots. I need Randy to leave before my mom comes back, but based on Tim-Tom, that’s not likely to happen. I pass the coffee to Randy, along with a bag of cookies, and I try not to let him pay, but he keeps shoving the money at me.

He covers my hand with his, blatantly ignoring Tim-Tom’s rambling. My mom shows back up at the same moment Randy kisses me on the cheek and whispers, “Thanks for all the fun.”

My mom shoots laser beams from her eyeballs.

At least we’re in public and she can’t make a scene.Chapter 16Trainer Troubles and Other ProblemsRANDYI miss a training session because I don’t get back to Chicago until late on Sunday. After dropping off Lily I stopped in to see Michael, the kid we held the exhibition game for back in September, before I caught a flight home. Miller had been to see him yesterday, like I figured he would. We can’t be this close and not visit. I talk to him on Facebook and stuff, but it’s not the same as face to face. It’s hard to see a thirteen-year-old sick like that, but his treatment is going well, and surgery is scheduled for early December.

I’ve ignored my phone since I left Toronto for Guelph. More like I turned it off. I have seven messages when I turn it back on. Three are clearly speech-to-text-recorded from Miller because some of it doesn’t make sense. The rest of are voice mails. I only have to listen to one to know he’s stressed.“Dude. You need to call me. Shit’s about to go down. Coach is pissed. I mean pissed. You have no idea. Where the hell are you? We have a team meeting at eight tomorrow. You better not miss it or you’re gonna be benched. You might be anyway for missing today.”That’s early for a game day. It’s already after eleven. I’ve just walked in the door after my flight back from Lily Land. Calling him to find out what’s going on will probably kill the buzz I’m still riding.

Instead, I throw some food in the microwave and send Lily a message while it heats.Back in Chicago. I’d rather b in u.We used an entire box of condoms. All twelve, with the last time in the Jeep. That’s a record. I’ve never had that many consecutive hard-ons in a row and been able to finish every time.

If that keeps happening, I’m going to develop some kind of addiction problem. To her. I glance down. I’m hard. Again. And everything is hypersensitive after so much action in such a short period of time. I’m almost inclined to pull a Miller and walk around naked to keep the friction at bay. If I end up having to whack it tonight, I’ll need some kind of lube to prevent it from being unpleasant.

The microwave beeps, so I take the plate out, burning my fingertips. I search for a dishtowel or something and take my meal into the living room so I can watch sports highlights. I also call Miller on the off chance he’s still awake. I should probably know what I’m walking into in the morning.