Pucked Over Page 75

There’s always a two-week break between sessions this time of year. “Yeah. I still have the coffee shop, though.”

“There’s no reason for them not to give you time off, and if they won’t, you should quit. You shouldn’t be killing yourself over the measly twelve dollars an hour they’re paying you.”

She’s right. Again. It’s just that I’ve worked there for a long time, and it’s familiar. But I guess that’s the crux of the problem. It’s how I’ve always done things. I stayed with Benji because he was familiar and I knew what to expect, even if it wasn’t good. I keep living in the apartment with my mom partly because I feel like she needs the help financially, and maybe emotionally, but also because it’s what I’m used to, and the same with working at the arena and the coffee shop.

I’m boring and predictable. Except where Randy’s concerned. With him I do things I never thought I would in a million years. Like let him eat me out against a wall in a public bathroom—with a locked door, but still. Or take Uber all the way to a hotel in Toronto so we could get our freak on for a few hours.

“Plus Randy’ll be around.”

“He rode all the way to Guelph with me this morning.”

“What? But didn’t they fly out today?”

“It was early. He wanted to come for the ride, and then he went back to the hotel.”

“No way! He is so into you.” Sunny sits up and spills her wine all over herself and the comforter.

“He’s so into sex with me, you mean.” I won’t admit out loud that I’m digging him more than I should. Especially if I’m considering moving to Chicago.

Sunny gives me a look. “You are so coming to Chicago with me. Alex says the house will be ready by then, and we’re doing all the celebration stuff at his place, and you need time away from everything. So you’re coming. It’s decided. I’m deciding.”

“Just like that. You’re the boss of me, eh?”

“Yup. That’s right.” She puffs out her chest. “See how assertive I can be?”

I toss a pillow, and she deflects it.

There’s a knock at the door. Andy, her Great Dane, jumps up from his spot on the floor. Titan, her little Papillon, pricks up an ear but doesn’t move otherwise.

“Come in,” Sunny calls.

Daisy peeks her head in. Well, it’s more like just her face because her hair can’t fit through the crack. “Just checking to see how you girls are doing.” She eyes the bottle of wine. “Oh. Looks like you’re doing just fine.” She holds out a bag of sweet potato chips. “You could probably use these if you’re planning to finish that off.”

Daisy invites herself into Sunny’s room to hang out with us. Neither of us minds. Daisy’s a great mom, even if she’s a little backward. Her dating stories about Robbie are hysterical. Plus, staring at her hair is always fascinating.

It’s well past midnight before I stumble down the hall to the spare room. I could sleep with Sunny, but sometimes she tries to spoon. I also want to check my messages. Not that I expect to have one from Randy. He’s unpredictable with his communication.

I pull the covers back and slip under them. My stomach does a stupid little flip-flop over the three messages from him.

I’m home.

Move to Chicago.

I have three bathrooms I can fuck u in.

The last message wasn’t sent that long ago, maybe twenty minutes. I’m drunk enough that calling him seems like a great idea.

He answers on the second ring. “Hey.” He sounds like maybe he was sleeping.

His gritty voice wakes all my corresponding parts up. “That’s quite the pitch.”

“Are you sold?”

“So alluring.” There’s a little slur to my words. Randy picks up on it.

“Are you drunk?”

“Nope.”

“You totally are.”

“Sunny and me might’ve had a little wine. I’m staying at her place for a few days.” I don’t know why I tell him this. It’s completely irrelevant.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Anyway, I’m coming to see Sunny’s new place over the holidays.”

“You mean you’re coming to see my bathrooms?”

“Those, too.”

“We’re gonna have a sleepover.”

“So far sleepovers with you haven’t included much sleep.”

“How long you gonna be here? A couple days? A week?”

“Sunny said something about the twenty-third to the twenty-eighth, but we might stay longer. I don’t know yet.”

“You’re not spending Christmas with your mom?”

“We’re not exactly seeing eye to eye on things right now. And she’s probably spending the holidays with Tim-Tom.”

“Who?”

“Her new boyfriend.”

“Is he the reason for the dissension?” Randy asks.

“Part of it.” Why can’t I lie like normal people?

“What’s the other part?”

“My not coming home last night.”

“You’re in trouble for not coming home? Are you lying about your age or something? Are you really seventeen and you just look older because you wear makeup that looks like you’re not wearing makeup?”

I snort. “It would explain my mostly prepubescent body.”

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