Pucked Over (Pucked #3) Read online

  “Do—” Charlene makes a chopping motion, cutting Sunny off.

  “Let’s get you some new bras.”

  Violet nods. We distract her with a pile of sexy clothes. While she’s in the changing room, I ask Charlene what that was all about.

  “She’s terrified of dolls. I think she watched too much Chucky as a kid. Buck used to torment her with them when they were teenagers. He’d put them by her bed so when she woke up in the morning, one would be staring at her.”

  Sunny frowns. “That’s not very nice.”

  “They were kids.”

  Alex calls while Violet’s in the changing room, and they have a video chat that everyone is privy to. Sunny leaves the area, uninterested in hearing Alex tell Violet how sexy she is.

  Randy doesn’t call, and while I’m disappointed, I can’t help thinking it’s definitely better this way. If I hear from him on a regular basis, it won’t feel casual anymore. Some distance is a good thing. Sex is just sex. Feelings don’t have to be part of anything.

  I fly back to Toronto with the Waters on Monday morning. We have to be at the airport ridiculously early, so I’m bitchy and tired by the time I get home. I’m cutting it close. I have a shift at the coffee shop at noon, and then I go straight to the rink at six. I’m in and out of the house in fifteen minutes, and Sunny drives me to work. I’m on my own to get to the rink after that, but it’s not a problem. Busses are frequent and plentiful in this town.

  I check my messages on the ride home from the arena at the end of my day. Randy’s sent one, checking to see if I made it home okay. I send him a brief reply, but don’t invite further conversation.

  It’s close to midnight by the time I get home. After a flight, a five-hour shift making coffee for stuck-up pricks, and four hours of teaching kids to skate, I’m beat. I hang my keys on the little hook in the front hall, kick off my shoes, and head for the kitchen. I need an unhealthy snack.

  I scream at the sight of a man with back hair and a pair of gray boxer briefs gnawing on a chicken bone.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I scramble to get my backpack off. My skates are in there. If nothing else, they’re heavy, so smacking him across the face will hurt. If I can get them out quick enough, they’re a decent weapon.

  “Lily!” My mom grabs my bag out of my hand before I can heave it at the random guy in the kitchen.

  “What the hell?” I turn to her, gesturing wildly between them. I realize it’s the same guy from last time—the one who caught me coming out of the shower while sporting morning wood. Shit. My mom’s got a new boyfriend. I wonder how long this one will last.

  “This is Tim. He’s a friend of mine.”

  “Why are you in your underwear?” I’m still yelling. I feel like my heart is about to slam right out of my chest. It’s then that I realize my mom is wearing her bathrobe. I bet she’s naked under there. Gross.

  I’m too old to deal with this. I don’t need to know who my mom’s boning. If Sunny wasn’t talking about moving to Chicago, I’d say we should get an apartment now. I don’t want to be stuck here, witnessing my mom getting more action than I am. I have enough saved up to front first and last month’s rent. I can do it on my own if I have to. My mom’s talking while I’m thinking through a plan to move.

  “I didn’t think you’d be home until tomorrow.”

  “I told you I was coming back today. It’s on the calendar.” I point to the adorable kittens rolling around in a flowerbed. In red are the days I’m away. Today is marked with a big H for home.

  “I must have gotten the dates wrong.”

  “Whatever. I’m wiped. I’m going to bed. Nice to meet you, Tom.”

  “It’s Tim,” my mom says.

  “Night, Tim. Please wear pants in the future.”

  “Uhhh…”

  I don’t wait for actual words. I take my bag from my mom and carry it to my room. If this turns out to be more than half a dozen dates, I’m going to have to consider my options. I can’t go through another one of my mother’s boyfriend cycles. The guys she picks make Benji look like a damn saint.

  ***

  Over the next week I don’t hear from Randy at all. I’d like to say I don’t perseverate on this, but I do. And I masturbate often to his pretty face. It’s not hard to pull up a pic of him on social media. I creep his Facebook page, but asking him to be friends would take us from casual to something else. We don’t want to do that, so creeping is as far as I’m allowing it to go.

  September rolls into October, and the leaves turn a lovely shade of red, followed by orange and yellow. Fall’s an interesting season. It’s beautiful, but all those lovely colors represent leaves choking to death. It’s kind of macabre, really.

  I slip back into my normal routine: work at the coffee shop, teach skating lessons, hang out with Sunny when I’m not doing either of those things and she’s available. Now that training is over and the regular hockey season has begun, Miller can’t visit as often.

  She’s talking more and more about moving at the end of December, after she’s finished the course component of her public relations program. Internship placements can be done anywhere, and she’s already gone to the program coordinator to discuss options in the States. I don’t know that I’d want to up and move my entire life for another person, but then my relationship experience has been limited.

  On the ex-boyfriend front, Benji’s started calling again. I’ve come to recognize the pattern. The longest we’ve ever been broken up in the past is eight weeks—long enough for me to go on some dates; sometimes have meaningless sex I feel guilty about afterwards, and then we get back together. Break up again. Make up again.

  I try hard not to respond or encourage him, but I have a box of his crap at my place, and he’s got stuff of mine, including my favorite jeans. Seeing him is inevitable. Benji and I have been through a lot together. It was a lot of years, and he was there when I lost my Olympic dream. In the past that’s been enough to pull me back to him after one of our breakup fights. But not this time. Among other things, now that I’ve had much, much better sex—like, the outstanding kind—my position feels less vulnerable. Still, I’d like to avoid him for as long as I can.

  Today I’m pulling eight hours at the coffee shop and rushing to the rink to teach three hours of lessons. I’m on hour number six, and there’s a lag between customers. It makes the day seem that much longer. My feet hurt, and I’m tired. I’m also cranky.

  My phone buzzes against my ass, signaling a text. Since I’m sometimes the manager, I won’t get in trouble for checking it, but I try to avoid doing that in front of other employees in case it gives them the impression it’s okay for them to do it, too.

  I scan the shop, once I’m sure no one is paying attention to me, I slip my phone out. I sigh as Benji’s name comes up, along with three new messages. He wants to meet up, presumably to give me my stuff back, but he’s vague. I make the mistake of telling him I’m working, so I can’t.

  Half an hour later he shows up. The counter is a great barrier, keeping him from hugging me. He looks the same as he did the last time I saw him, which was almost a month ago when he stopped by with some girl. I went to the back and made one of the other girls wait on them. He texted a thousand apologies later and said she was one of his coworkers. I know better. He did it to make me jealous.

  He’s still growing that awful beard, which isn’t really a beard. It’s a bunch of patchy scruff. It’s not attractive. He’s wearing a shirt I gave him two years ago for his birthday. He doesn’t have a bag or a box or anything with him, but it could be in his car.

  “Hey, Lily.”

  “Hi, Benji.”

  He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You look great.”

  “Thanks.” I roll back on my heels and wait.

  The awkward silence drags on until his face starts to turn red. “Think you can take a break?”

  “I’ve already taken it.”

  He sighs, and my toes curl in my shoes, like they wa
nt to be fists and punch him in the knees.

  “Aren’t you, like, kinda the manager? Can’t you take one whenever you want?”

  “We’re short staffed.” It’s a lie. There are only three people in the shop, and two other people are working with me. One of the girls is in the back checking inventory; the other one is cleaning tables.

  Benji glances pointedly at the girl across the shop. “Come on, Lily.”

  “I can’t. It’s her break in five minutes. She has to have one. It’s unfair otherwise.”

  “Well, what time do you get off?”

  “In an hour. I have to go straight to the rink after that.”

  “I’ll drive you.” Benji knows I don’t have a car, and that it’ll take almost an hour to get from downtown to the rink at the university by bus.

  “Fine. Sure.”

  “Great.” He smiles.

  I used to find it charming; now it seems more of a leer. He thinks he’s going to convince me to get back together with him. He orders a coffee and a scone and takes a seat on one of the couches. He watches me while I work, which I find highly unsettling. I don’t feel like doing this with him today. But I suppose now’s as good a time as any to let him know this is really over.

  At five, I clock out. Benji’s right there, opening doors for me, being all sweet. He’s good at faking nice, as well as guilt-tripping and manipulating. It’s a game he likes to play. I think I’d gotten so used to it after seven years, it seemed normal. But seeing Sunny and Miller together, and even Violet and Alex, I’m getting a much better sense of how dysfunctional my relationship with Benji truly was.

  He puts his hand on my lower back, guiding me out of the shop. “You teach at six, right?”

  I walk a little faster to get away from his hand. “Yeah.” His car is parked in the lot.

  Here’s an interesting fact about Benji: he dresses like he’s homeless, but his family is fairly well off. He drives a brand new Jetta. He didn’t pay for it, though. His parents did, just like they pay for everything else.

  He hits the button, unlocking it. I grab the handle before he can and slide into the passenger seat. He closes the door for me, his smile wavering a little as he walks around the car. He’s back to his grinning, fake-pleasant self by the time he’s in the driver’s seat.

  “How’ve you been?” he asks, buckling himself in.

  “Fine. Good. How about you?”

  “Oh, you know. Keeping busy.” That’s Benji code for boinking other girls, or trying to make me think he has. I don’t care if it’s true.

  “That’s good.”

  He glances at me, lips pursed under his scraggly mustache. He stretches his arm out over the back of my seat as he reverses out of the spot. He nearly hits a customer and has the audacity to flip her off as he pulls out onto the street. I slouch in my seat so she can’t see me. It’s a ten-minute drive to the campus rink. I’m hoping we can manage not to have a screaming match.

  “You know, you can always call me if you need a ride.” His fingers graze the back of my neck.

  I lurch forward. “Thanks. That’s probably not a good idea, though.”

  “Come on, Lils. How long are you planning to stay mad at me this time? I know I’m not perfect, but neither are you. We had a fight. It happens. It’s over now. I know you were mad at me when we were camping, and that’s why you kissed that hockey douche. I’ll forgive you for that.”

  This right here is what I’m talking about. This is the kind of crap Benji pulls, putting it all on me. It wasn’t always this way. He was a great boyfriend for the first four years—doting, kind, sweet. Sometimes a little too much of all of those things. We were solid until senior year; then there were a couple of bumps and short breakups. Nothing terrible.

  Things got rocky after high school. I went to university on a full scholarship instead of pursuing my dream. He went to college to get a diploma in loafing. It was eye-opening to be in classes with other guys who expressed an interest in me. Benji didn’t like it; he has insecurity issues. I’ve realized he used to project them on me by constantly telling me I wasn’t good enough. The jabs were subtle at first, but by the end he’d blatantly put me down.

  I don’t know why I stayed for so long. Maybe I was too scared to have no one other than Sunny, since most of our friends left Guelph after high school. Maybe I was scared I’d end up like my mom, with a revolving door of loser boyfriends. Regardless, it’s a cycle that needs to stay broken, for good this time.

  “I’m not asking to be forgiven for kissing Randy.”

  “Fine. Then I won’t ask to be forgiven for screwing around on you, either.”

  “Screwing around on me? Benji, we’re not together. You can screw anyone you damn well please. It’s none of my business.”

  He’s silent for the rest of the ride—stewing, I guess. I hold my knapsack on my lap, wishing I’d gone with my gut and taken the bus, even if it meant rushing to get to the rink.

  Benji pulls up to the front of the arena.

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  “So that’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?” As his anger expands, so does his volume.

  “I don’t know what else you want me to say. We haven’t spoken in two months apart from the time you came to the coffee shop with that girl you apparently work with. We’ve said all the things we need to say to each other over the years. We should be good at this point, don’t you think?”

  “Why can’t you admit you made a mistake with the meathead? Why are you so intent on becoming your mom?”

  And just like that, he makes me feel two inches tall. I take a deep breath, steeling myself against the insults. “Don’t bring my mom into this.”

  “Why? Because you don’t like the truth?”

  I don’t engage; I don’t have enough time to battle it out. And I don’t want to. “Do you have my stuff with you?”

  “Stuff?”

  “My things? From your house?”

  “I didn’t think you were gonna be playing this game with me, Lily. I thought we were gonna work things out.”

  “Never mind. I gotta go.”

  I reach for the door handle, and Benji grabs my wrist.

  “Let go of me.”

  He loosens his grip. “Come on, Lily. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that. I miss you. I’m worried about you.”

  My phone rings. I slip it out of my pocket. It’s five-thirty. It takes a good ten minutes to get changed, and I still need to warm up before the kids arrive for their lesson at six.

  “Don’t answer that, Lily.”

  I’ve about had it with being told what I should and shouldn’t do. The screen lights up, the name flashing its alert. Of all the people to be calling at this moment. I wrench my arm out of Benji’s grip, open the door, and get jerked back by the seatbelt. I slam my finger on the button and tumble out of the car, landing on my ass in a puddle. It hasn’t even been raining, so I’m not sure where the damn wet spot came from. “Thanks again for the ride.”

  “Come on, Li—”

  I hit the green button and bring the phone to my ear, meeting Benji’s annoyed gaze. “Hi, Randy.” I slam the door, pop up from the ground, and start hoofing it toward the building.

  That was probably a really bad idea. Nothing like poking a hornet’s nest when you’re sitting right beside the hornet. Benji lays on the horn and rolls down the window. I start jogging, not interested in hearing his vitriol spew. My heart crashes around in my chest as I push through the arena doors, leaving Benji to fume.

  “Hey, luscious. How’s it goin’?”

  “Hey. Good. Great. How ’bout you?” I’m breathless, so each word comes out on a pant.

  “Excellent. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Huh. What? No. Nope. Not a bad time.” The unpleasant altercation with Benji is immediately forgotten—okay, not forgotten, but made much less worse by the low, deep timbre of Randy’s voice. It makes my girl parts tingle like they’ve been
dipped in mouthwash.

  “You sure? You sound out of breath.”

  “I’m on my way into the rink.”

  “That’s unfortunate. Here I thought maybe I’d caught you with your hand down your pants.”

  I laugh. “I’d probably get arrested if I did that right now.”

  “Too bad. It’s a nice image.” He makes a sound, like a sigh with a hum attached to it. “So I’m guessing you’re lying about it not being a bad time.”

  I shoulder open the door to the locker room. It’s empty apart from me. I put my phone on speaker. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to teach.”

  “Awesome. How’ve you been?”

  “Good. You?”

  “Yeah. All right. My dad overstayed his welcome; I only got rid of him a few days ago.”

  “I’m sorry about that. Didn’t sound like a good situation.”

  “It wasn’t. It isn’t. But whatever. I don’t see him much, so I should be good for another six months before he fucks with my shit again.”

  “I guess that’s a good thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  When he doesn’t elaborate, I change the subject. “How’s the season going?”

  “I’m getting used to my new team. It’s good even though it’s different. You know how it goes—or maybe you don’t.”

  “I can understand that. It’s like a learning curve, right? Figuring out how everyone works together and stuff. It’s probably like getting used to a new partner for pairs, but with way more people involved.” I pull my shirt over my head and kick off my shoes.

  “Yeah. That’s a reasonable comparison. What’re you doing? What’s all that noise?”

  “I’m getting changed.”

  “No shit. Are you naked?” I swear his voice lowers two octaves.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Every part of me warms at the memory of the things he did to me the last time we were naked.

  “I sure as hell would.”

  I laugh.

  “You’re not gonna tell me?”

  “You can’t see me, so I’m not sure it matters.”

  “It’s the idea, the possibility.”

  “Fine. I’m naked.”