PUCKED Up Read online

  PUCKED UP

  BY HELENA HUNTING

  KINDLE EDITION

  Copyright (c) 2015 Helena Hunting

  All rights reserved

  Published by Helena Hunting

  Cover art design by Shannon Lumetta

  Cover font from Imagex Fonts

  Cover image from Scott Hoover Photography and back cover image from @konradbak at Depositphoto.com

  Formatting by LJ Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations

  Editing by Jessica Royer Ocken

  Proofing by Marla at Proofing with Style

  Pucked Up is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's twisted imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  DEDICATION

  To my family, thank you for having my back, for being my cheerleaders and for letting me foster this dream. I love you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Husband of mine, you really are the best. I couldn’t do any of this without you. Thank you for giving me a chance to do this thing. I love you.

  Debra, you’re the pepper to my salt. Even the hardest parts are easier with you around.

  Kimberly, you are made of awesome. I’m so glad you had lunch with Nina and the stars aligned. This has been an incredible journey so far, thank you for being a source of encouragement, for the feedback, for the brainstorming and for making this roller coaster so much fun to ride.

  Nina, I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful that you do. Thank you for years of friendship and putting up with my neurotic squirreliness.

  Shalu, you have so much talent. I can’t wait to see you shine. Thank you for making the outsides reflect the insides.

  Jessica, I always know I’m in good hands with you. Thank you for all your patience, even when I kept on changing things at the end. Marla, thank you for cleaning up the crumbs and the typos. Mayhem, so many texts in this one! You make amazing innards! Daisy, Kelly, Julia, Liv, thanks for not only being eyes on this, but for being my friends, for talking me down, and for loving my words when all I want is to press backspace. Liv special thanks to you for the conversation which essentially led to the naming of this series. You’re pucking awesome!

  To My Filet Chignon’s, The Pams, The Nap Ladies, the 101 ladies, the Indies, the One-Clicks, The PUCKED Locker Room girls, and The HH Street team, you make me feel so supported. Thank you. You give me motivation to keep on going when I hit rough patches

  To my BBBabes, thanks for tolerating my overshares. They’re frequent and many. I love you.

  Maven, every time you’re not at an event I have a little panic, and then I remember all the nice things you say to build me up, and I manage to get through it. Thank you for the hand holding. Kandace, you’re an incredibly special person. Thank you for being part of my journey.

  Jessica R Hodnett, thank you for sharing your horrifically painful wolf spider story with me—and the pictures. They were helpful in ways I’m sure you’ll understand soon enough.

  To my WC crew who have watched all of this unfold, thank you for supporting both sides of my life and being my friends and cheerleaders along the way.

  As always, to the originals, my fandom friends who have been with me from the beginning, I’m here because of you.

  OTHER TITLES BY HELENA HUNTING

  PUCKED SERIES

  Pucked (Pucked #1)

  Pucked Up (Pucked #2)

  Pucked Over (Pucked #3, coming January 2016)

  THE CLIPPED WINGS SERIES

  Cupcakes and Ink

  Clipped Wings

  Between the Cracks

  Inked Armor

  Cracks in the Armor

  STANDALONE NOVELS

  The Librarian Principle

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CONNECT WITH HELENA HUNTING

  OTHER TITLES BY HELENA HUNTING

  EXCERPT FROM THE LIBRARIAN PRINCIPLE

  EXCERPT FROM FIRE IN THE HOLE

  CHAPTER ONE

  WASTED IS AS WASTED DOES

  I’m super wasted. Like, messed up to the point that Lance, my teammate, has two sets of eyes.

  “I’mma go home.” In my head those are the words I’m speaking, but in reality I think it comes out more like a groan. I take an unstable step toward the line of waiting cabs outside the bar.

  Lance puts a hand on my shoulder, his grin sloppy. He’s almost as drunk as me. “Your car’s at my place, Butterson. Come back with us.”

  “I can get it in the morning.” My words run together, but he seems to understand.

  “Just get in the limo, man.” Lance looks to Randy, another teammate and one of my closest childhood friends, for backup.

  “The trainer’ll be at Lance’s at ten-thirty, remember?” Randy says. “You can roll out of bed and right into the pool.”

  “Then I don’t have to call you fifty times to get your ass up,” Lance adds.

  “Come back with us, Buck!”

  One of Lance’s puck bunnies uses the nickname I’ve answered to since I was a kid. My real name is Miller. I wasn’t named after beer. Plus Buck Butterson has a nicer ring than Miller Butterson—too many “ers” in it.

  The three girls Lance has convinced to come back to his place are fixing each other’s hair and messing with each other’s makeup while I debate making bad choices.

  Lance smiles—all horny bastard—and pats me on the back. “Come on, man, you’re gonna be away for a couple weeks. Last chance to party it up.”

  I mumble something even I can’t understand and lean on the limo so I don’t have to hold my own weight. The shooters were a bad idea. There were too many. I might have paid for them.

  I wait while the girls get in the limo. As drunk as I am, I still have a few manners left. The last one bends over, and her micro-mini rides up, giving me a full shot of naked beaver before she sits down. I’m definitely not getting in beside her.

  Lance elbows me in the arm. “Get in, Buck.”

  “You first. They’re your bunnies.”

  Going back to Lance’s is not a good plan, but I’ve already said I would, and he has a point about my car being at his place.

  He shrugs and holds on to the door frame, sticking his head inside. “Whose lap am I sitting on?” He throws himself into the limo.

  The girls squeal, and laughter follows.

  I put a hand on Randy’s chest to stop him before he gets in, too. “Don’t let me do anything stupid, ’kay, man?”

  “Don’t worry, Miller. I’ll take on two if I have to.” He winks, but he’s serious.

&n
bsp; Randy’s one of the few people who uses my real name, aside from my dad when he’s pissed. Growing up in Chicago, he lived down the street from me. We’ve played hockey together since we both learned how to skate. When we were drafted to the NHL in our first semester of college, we ended up on different teams. Five years later, we’re back on the same team again, Randy having been traded to Chicago after the season ended. Being off season, it took him all of two weeks to move back. It’s good to have him here. We’ve stayed tight over the years; if anyone is going to help keep me from fucking shit up, it’s him.

  Randy gets into the limo and sits between two of the girls. This leaves the bench seat wide open for me. I slide in and stretch out, taking up the entire thing.

  Lance already has his arm around Flash Beaver, and her friend in the middle seems like she’s not sure what to do. When she makes a move to sit with me, Lance hugs her to his side and whispers something in her ear. Her eyes widen, and she bites her lip, but she stays where she is.

  Going home in a cab by myself would’ve been the smarter move. Then I wouldn’t be facing unnecessary temptation. Sometimes it’s hard as fuck to make the right choices, like removing myself from a situation in which bunnies will inevitably offer up pussy that I’ll have to turn down.

  It’s not that I can’t go without. I’ve just been choosing the alternative for the past five years. And quitting cold turkey has been way more difficult than I ever expected. Lance and Flash Beaver have turned toward the corner of the limo now. I’m pretty sure he’s got his hand up her skirt already, judging by the giggle followed by a moan. I close my eyes and lean against the armrest. I’m tired. And hungry. I need pizza.

  I root around in my pocket for my phone. I have messages: a couple of texts and a voice mail from my sister, Violet, and a few more from my girlfriend, Sunny. Well, she’s kinda my girlfriend. I want her to be my girlfriend. Sunny’s the reason Randy—or maybe Lance—is taking one for the team, and I’m sitting over here by myself.

  I’ve been doing everything I can to move things in the girlfriend direction for the last few months, but Sunny’s hard to pin down. Way worse than me, but not in a slutty way. Sunny’s the opposite of slutty. She’s not as easily charmed by me as most women. I actually have to work to get her to date me.

  It doesn’t help that her brother, Alex Waters, is one of my teammates. He’s also engaged to my sister, and he’s captain of the team. Waters hates me. It’s complicated. The first night I met Sunny, I considered—for half a second—sleeping with her to get back at him. I’m a player, not an asshole. Besides Sunny wasn’t interested in getting naked with me. She actually wanted to talk. And I liked her. So I got her number instead. That was months ago. She still won’t sleep with me. Yet. I’m hoping to change that soon.

  I try to read my text messages, but my vision is blurry, and the words all jumble together—even worse than usual. I can’t use the text-to-speech app in here like I normally would because the music’s too loud and everyone will hear my business. Plus sometimes my sister’s messages are assholey. She has no filter. At all.

  “I’m hungry. Anyone else hungry?” I yell over the music.

  Lance is too busy sucking face, but Randy raises his hand. The girls on either side of him shrug. The one stuck in the middle of everything looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

  I pull up Siri and ask her to call my favorite pizza joint. It takes a few tries to get her to do what I want, partly because I’m slurring my words and partly because the music interferes. Finally someone turns it down so I’m able to put an order in.

  “Is the address five-two-one or two-five-one?” I ask Randy when they get to that part of the ordering process.

  “Five-two-one.”

  “You’re sure it’s not two-five-one?”

  Lance takes a break from sucking the chick’s face off to get on my case. “You’ve been at my house a million times, and you still can’t get the address right?”

  I flip him the bird. “I’m dyslexic and drunk, but thanks for being an asshole about it.” I probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s not something I usually talk about in front of bunnies. It’s frustrating to be twenty-three and shitty at reading. I give the pizza guy the right address. Then I end the call and slip my phone back into my pocket.

  Ten minutes later, we pull into Lance’s driveway. I’m the first out of the car, and I practically fall up the steps to his door. I use the doorjamb for support while I wait for everyone else. I should know the code to get into the house, but I always forget it.

  Lance and Flash Beaver are last to get out of the limo. True to her name, she gives us all a beaver shot—my second of the limo trip—as she slides across the bench. When her feet hit the ground, Lance steps in front of her, blocking her from view. He leans down to adjust her skirt, which is nice. When he’s in a mood, he’ll let girls makes fools out of themselves and laugh about it later. He can be a dick sometimes.

  Her friends are giggling and whispering, being bitchy and judgy. Well, the one who was sidled up to Randy is; the other one looks uncomfortable. Of the three girls Randy and Lance picked up tonight, she seems the most reserved. Maybe she’s not all that excited about sharing a dick.

  “You’re the best, man. Have I told you that lately?” I ask Randy, while I rest my head on the closed door and attempt to hit the doorbell. I keep missing it.

  “That’s what the girls tell me.”

  I scoff and aim for the doorbell again, hitting it this time. The tone is actually a line from a movie. I can’t quite remember which one, but it’s funny, so I keep punching it until Lance and Flash Beaver finally make it to the door.

  Lance keys in the code. “I don’t think that’s a good place to stand, Butterson.”

  “I’m fine.” My eyes are closed. I’m feeling like bed might be a nice place to be. Screw the pizza.

  His meaning doesn’t register until the door gives way. I put my hands up to grab for the jambs, but I’m not quick enough. I fall face first into his front foyer. The hardwood floor doesn’t make it a soft landing.

  I grunt on impact, and one of the girls rushes over to help me while Lance laughs his ass off. I tell her I’m fine and lie there for a few seconds before I roll over onto my back. Flash Beaver gets me again. I can see right up her skirt from the floor. It’s like a loose meat sandwich up in there. I’ve seen more beaver in the last thirty minutes than I have since I started trying to date Sunny.

  Randy puts a hand out to help me up.

  I wave him off. “I’ll stay here until the pizza arrives, yeah?”

  “That could take a while. Let’s get you a couch.” I take his hand, but make no effort to help with the whole standing-up business. When he’s about to give up, I yank his arm and he ends up on the floor with me. I put him in a headlock.

  He scrambles to get out, but he’s drunk too, and I have the element of surprise. “Fuck you, asshole,” he tells me.

  “Oh my God!” One of the girls screams while we wrestle on the floor like idiots. “Are they seriously fighting? Shouldn’t you stop them?”

  “They’re fine.” Lance puts a hand on two of the ladies’ lower backs. “Come on. Let’s get some drinks and hit the hot tub.”

  Randy elbows me in the side, and I let him go. He rolls over and pops up, weaving as he follows Lance and the bunnies. It’s a lot of work to get my ass off the floor, but I manage. I slide-walk down the hall with my shoulder against the wall to stop from falling over again.

  I need water—and that horrible drink my trainer, Natasha, gives me when I’m hungover. But Lance’s kitchen is way far away. I stumble into the massive living room and over to the unoccupied couch. When my knees hit the arm, I fall forward like a tree. My aim is bad, and I’m on an angle, so I roll off and smack my head on the coffee table.

  “Ow! Fuck!” There isn’t enough space for me to turn onto my back, so I lie there instead, wedged between the couch and the coffee table.

  Lance laughs. “You all
right, Butterson?”

  “There’s a spent condom under here.”

  “Oh yeah? Wanna get that for me.”

  “Pretty sure I don’t.” It’s covered in dust, but I can tell it’s red—so he definitely got it from me. Or maybe I’m the one who used it. I have no idea. I always order the assorted rainbow pack that comes with the big container of lube.

  I’ve nicknamed the condoms according to color: red is for devil dick, green is the green giant, blue is for smurf cock, and the black is the sledgehammer. I’m not a fan of the yellow ones; they look less banana-y and more like my dick has jaundice. My personal faves are the glow-in-the-dark ones, which make my dick look like a big glow stick.

  “You gonna lie on the floor, or are you coming outside to hang in the hot tub?”

  “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “Whatever you say, Butterson. But if you fall asleep there, I’m not waking your ass up.”

  “That’s fine.”

  I watch pointy heels teetering toward the patio doors.

  “I don’t have a bathing suit,” says Flash Beaver.

  Lance puts an arm around her waist, his hand settling on her ass. “Who needs bathing suits?”

  Loud music blasts through the house and the outdoor speakers. I hear a distant splash and a scream. Someone got thrown in the pool. I lay with my cheek mashed against the floor, staring at the dusty condom, wishing I’d gone home instead of coming here. I must pass out like that, because the next thing I know, the doorbell’s ringing. It takes me three tries to get up. Then the door isn’t staying still, so it’s hard to get to.

  I pay the pizza guy with my credit card and take the boxes and six-pack of soda. I don’t bother to call the other guys. If I know Lance, he’s got those girls down to their bras and underwear—except for the one who wasn’t wearing any in the first place.

  I take the pizza over to the coffee table, crack a soda, and chug it. I need to hydrate so I don’t puke like a pussy during tomorrow’s training session. Water would be better, but I’m already sitting down. Before I dig in, I take off my pants. I’m not worried about spilling food on them; I’m just tired of wearing jeans. I also like the freedom from clothes. I run hot, so it’s nice when I can strip down to the bare essentials, which is often nothing.