Pucked Off (Pucked 5)

I look down. Usually by this point Tash would’ve given up, but she’s still calling, still leaving messages for me. I’m actually impressed that I haven’t responded to her, even though I’ve read the messages.

“She’s kind of a stalker, yeah?” Randy asks.

I shrug.

“Why don’t you block her?”

“What’s the point? I’ve tried before. She always finds another way.”

Randy shakes his head. “Man, I don’t know how you deal with that all the time.”

“I’m used to it, I guess.” I pull up my contact list to see if there are more new texts to go with the voicemail she’s left. Of course there are. All I can see in the preview is a bunch of profanity. Three messages down are the texts from Poppy.

I looked her up on the internet after I left her place last night. I kinda fucked that whole thing up. Or my dick did. Everything was fine until she started touching my face. I don’t think anyone has put their hand on my face without the intention of causing me pain since I was ten.

I’m damn lucky she’s willing to massage me at all after that bullshit, even if I lost the home-care privileges. I should make a bunch of appointments at the clinic so I don’t have to worry about being on another waiting list, and it’ll probably win points with Smart.

I dial the clinic and talk to the receptionist. Unfortunately Poppy’s all booked up for two damn weeks, so I can’t get in right away when I’m back. Obviously Poppy’s in high demand, so I just book as many appointments as I can before we get called to board the plane. I don’t have my game schedule in front of me, so I take whatever she offers, hoping it won’t conflict with an away game.

I catch a nap on the flight to Philadelphia, and I get paired up with Rookie to share a hotel room since Miller and Randy always stay together when we’re at away games. Waters and Westinghouse do the same.

Once we’re settled in our room, we head down for food, and then we get some ice time. My back is definitely feeling better, thanks to Poppy. And the nagging headache I’ve had for the past few days seems to be gone, which leads me to believe she was right about the teeth grinding.

Later on, Rookie asks if I want to go to the bar, but I don’t know if I can go and not drink right now. I don’t want to screw myself for the game tomorrow, so instead of joining him, I turn on hockey highlights and fuck around on my phone.

I find a picture of Poppy on my camera roll. It doesn’t look like a selfie, not with the way she appears to be yelling at the photographer. I use it as the picture for her contact.

I kill time by screwing around on social media. Tash has tagged me in a bunch of posts, as she does. Mostly it’s just stupid ranty stuff and a few old pictures. I untag myself and look up Poppy. She has the usual accounts. Facebook, Twitter—she doesn’t post there much, Instagram, and Snapchat. I scroll through the pictures she’s posted on Insta, hitting the follow button, even though I probably shouldn’t.

There’s one of her at the beach with her friends. Poppy’s wearing a bikini, but it’s mostly hidden under one of those cover-up things. She’s wearing a wide-brim hat and big sunglasses. Her freckled cheeks are pink, and so are her shoulders. I bet she burns like crazy. I bet her skin is creamy white under that fabric.

Thanks to the European genes involved in my creation, I’ve at least got the ability to tan a little and not burn to a crisp. It’s mostly a freckle tan, but it’s something.

I pause and recognize that I’m internet-stalking my massage therapist. And I’m considering how I’d like her to be more than that, except I’m not sure that’s even possible since I screwed her friend last year. But that was a long time ago. Maybe it’s fine now. She keeps saying it’s fine, though it doesn’t seem that way. I don’t know the statute of limitations on screwing one chick before you can get down with one of her friends.

Well, if they’re bunnies it doesn’t matter, but Poppy isn’t a bunny.

I could ask Miller and Randy about it, but I get the feeling Miller would be pissed, so I decide to leave it alone for now.The next morning we have a pre-game skate, followed by a team meal and a meeting. Once it’s over, we’ve got several hours before we have to suit up for the game. I want some down time with Miller and Randy before I get out there so I can mentally prepare. But Smart pulls me aside on the way out.