Pucked Page 51

“What? It’s true, isn’t it? Your hair grows a million times faster if you swallow instead of spit on a regular basis.”

“I’d be interested to take part in your research study.” Alex puts down his glass, grabs the spatula, and folds the omelet neatly in half. It resembles a huge smile. The pan he’s cooked it in is gigantic. He cuts it in half and offers me a plate.

I hold up the bag of artificially colored, flavored and sweetened fish. “I’m good.”

“After the workout you had last night and this morning, you need more than sugar for breakfast.”

“It’s not like I ran a marathon or anything.”

“Mmm. No. Sex with you is far more enjoyable.”

Alex cuts off a bite and lifts it to my mouth. “Try it. I promise you’ll like it.”

I relent, only because he’s put the effort in and it doesn’t smell bad. Surprisingly, it’s rather tasty. I suspect the fresh basil and sharp cheddar have something to do with it, and whatever else was in those veggies. I polish off what’s on my plate and check the time. If I don’t get a move on, I’m going to be late for work.

In the laundry room, Alex hands me my clothing piece by piece and watches me dress. By the time I’m fully clothed, he’s sporting a massive woody. He dons the shirt I slept in and throws on a pair of sweats—through which the MC is highly visible. Even dressed down, he manages to look smoking hot. I look homeless in sweats.

I was smart enough not to bring my work stuff home last night, so Alex takes me straight to the office. The ride is short, and I’m nervous about the end of the first date good-bye. It’s silly; we’ve had a sleepover, but he’ll be gone for two weeks, so all this giddy excitement could wane. Especially if some other puck bunny catches his eye while he’s on the road.

He stops in front of my building. I’m a few minutes early, thanks to his speedy, albeit safe, driving. Alex puts the car in park and turns to me, his arm slung across my seat. “I had a great time last night, and this morning.”

“Me, too.”

“Can I call you later? After I get to the hotel?”

“If you want.”

“Definitely. I can’t wait to get back so I can take you out again.”

“And I’ll get to drive your car?” I’m trying to be nonchalant, but there’s this unsettling feeling in my stomach. I don’t think it’s because of the egg white omelet, either. I really like him. More than I want to.

“We’ll discuss the car later. I still think you cheated.”

Alex goes in for a kiss. He cops a feel while he’s at it, so I give the monster cock a squeeze and a pet. It’s going to be a long fourteen days.

Charlene is waiting for me in my cubicle.

She has cinnamon rolls. They’re meant as bribery. She wants details. Extensive ones. I pick the biggest cinnamon roll with the most icing and take a huge bite.

“So? How was your date?”

With a mouth full of cinnamon roll, I reply, “Fine. He took me out for dinner. It was nice.”


“The food was excellent.”

“Violet, I don’t give a shit about the food. I’m guessing it was way better than nice since you’re wearing the same clothes from last night.”

“What? How would you—”

“You’d never wear heels like that to work.”

I sigh with relief.

“And then there are these.” She holds out her phone.

I’m greeted by pictures of Alex and me at the restaurant on some Internet gossip site. They’re innocent, unlike the mouth fucking ones from our previous encounter.

My phone buzzes, distracting me from my internal freak-out. It’s Alex.

Oh, God. His shirt smelled like sex after I was done with it. How am I supposed to function for the next two weeks without his monster cock?

Sign me up for Alex Waters Anonymous. I officially have a problem.


Over the next week, Alex sends me cute texts interspersed with dirty ones. Time zone differences make it difficult to talk on the phone. Our schedules don’t mesh; between flights and being on the road, our conversations are not private and therefore brief.

Buck hasn’t sent any angry yeti messages about my date with Alex, so I assume he’s either unaware or he doesn’t care. My mother’s a different story. She attempts to glean as much information as she can about the date-turned-sleepover. She even asks if the rumors are true. I refuse to answer because those aren’t details I’m going to share with my mother. However, my inability to sit without wincing for the first couple of days afterward is fairly telling.

Despite the lack of opportunity to talk, Alex sends me flowers and treats incessantly. The flower dude has shown up twice in the first week with new bouquets. Between deliveries, the FedEx guy drops off packages. Most of the time, I get them before my mom intercepts. Sometimes I'm not so lucky. Despite the flowers and Alex’s attentiveness, anxiety has managed to creep in and set up shop. Sexing it up with him, while fun, may not have been the smartest idea now that he’s going to be gone for an extended period of time.

The lag time between our last date and the next is too far apart. Flowers, texts, and emails aside, all it takes is one too many post-win beers and a slutty puck bunny to ruin it all.

Charlene and I go out for an after work bevvy at the end of week one without Alex. The wall of televisions by the bar shows the hockey game. Chicago isn’t playing, so I’m not as invested in watching. Last night was a different story. Chicago took down Los Angeles in a stunning show of skill and mastery.

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