Forever Pucked (Pucked 4)

I shoot Charlene a glare. “He’s a great dancer.”

“Right. And that’s why you’re watching that scene all the time and then disappearing to the bathroom.”

“That’s a total lie! I only did that once.” I’m much too loud.

Thankfully, it’s only the four of us and the ladies who work in the spa, plus some ancient, overly plastic-surgeoned lady getting a pedicure on her terrifying feet. But I assume she’s too old to eavesdrop, or understand the content of our conversation.

“I know of at least three occasions when you’ve referenced that movie and marble rolling,” Charlene counters.

Damn it and damn her for throwing me under the bus.

“I don’t think about anyone but Miller when we’re having sex,” Sunny says.

“Randy makes it impossible to focus on anything but him. That man’s tongue. God.” Lily sort of sigh-moans.

“I’m fully engaged in boning with Alex, but there’s less of it lately than I’m used to, and unlike Lily White Balls over here, Alex and I don’t send each other masturbation videos every five minutes.”

Lily gasps, and she pokes Sunny in the arm. “That’s supposed to be a secret!”

I come to Sunny’s immediate defense. She isn’t the reason I know about the amateur porn. “She didn’t tell me. Miller let it slip. Apparently Randy inadvertently sent him one of the videos he meant to send to you.”

Lily grabs her phone, but I snatch it from her before she can do something stupid, like call Randy and get pissed.

“It was a video of his frank and beans.” I cringe, because my wiener reference could be mistaken for insensitivity. “Sorry, I don’t mean that the way it sounds.”

Lily waves me off, apparently relieved that Buck didn’t get a shot of her beaver. Her titanium, magic beaver.

“I’m sure Miller has seen Randy’s junk plenty of times. As long as it’s not my parts he got to see, I think we’re good,” she says.

“Before I moved to Chicago, Miller and I used to have Skype sex. And we still do when he’s at away games, obviously,” Sunny says and sighs. “I’m not sure I’ll feel like doing that when I’m busting out a baby belly, though.”

“You never know. Maybe he’ll be one of those guys who’s all about pregnancy porn. I can definitely see Buck getting into that.” I’m trying to be supportive, not sound like a creep, but based on the looks from the women who work at the spa, I’m unsuccessful.

“I just mean he’s down with you being pregnant,” I add to clarify.

“He’s actually really excited. And now that I’m only a few weeks from graduation, I am, too.” Sunny gives her non-existent belly an affectionate pat.

“You’re going to be the most amazing mom, Sunny.” Lily’s smile is one-hundred-percent genuine.

“You really are,” I agree. I’ve seen her with her dogs. It has to translate. This might’ve been a surprise, but she’s rolling with it. I have to say, I’m kind of envious of how easily she manages life-altering changes.

Not to mention, Buck seems to have embraced impending daddyhood now that the shock has worn off. I think he was mostly apprehensive about the family reaction.

Skye can’t wait to be a grammy, and Sidney, well, I think he’s relieved Buck’s in an actual committed relationship.

Robbie didn’t threaten to murder Buck for knocking Sunny up—that’s Alex’s role apparently. And even that didn’t last long. Daisy’s been hinting that maybe Alex and I want to jump on the baby bandwagon so Sunny and I can deal with the little barnacles of bliss together.

Alex, who has already expressed his desire to produce a hockey team’s worth of offspring, doesn’t seem to have any problem putting a bun in my oven now that he’s past the whole anger and rage phase—which was a lot shorter than I expected it to be, with a twenty-four-hour residual irritation hangover.

While I’m excited for Sunny and Buck, I’m not on the same page as Alex when it comes to creating spawn. I’m not even reading a book in the same damn series.

No babies. Yet. First we get married and have lots of married sex.

I scratch my arm and immediately check for stress hives, which usually only appear during wedding-related discussions. They start in the same place every time: about two inches below a small mole on my right wrist. If I catch it fast enough, I can stop them from spreading up my arm and covering my chest. If I don’t, I’ll be covered head to toe within an hour or so. Thankfully they’ve been infrequent these last few weeks. I’m attributing it to the amount of yoga I’ve been doing to get all Zen.

I root around in my purse for my antihistamines, to ward off a potential problem. The hives upset Alex because he thinks they mean I have reservations about the wedding, which I don’t. It’s the mom interference that’s my issue. I pop one, washing it down with my sparkling lemon water.