Pucked Page 82

I have an awesome word thanks to the blank tile I’ve scored, but Alex’s crappy vag has done nothing to help open the board. “I’m thinking about going apartment hunting next week,” I say as I search for a creative place to put my letters. I’m trying super hard not to focus on his hard-on. It’s a challenge since he keeps absently stroking his monster cock.

“Oh? Why would you need to do that?”

“So you can come to my place, and we won’t have to worry about my mom crashing our party.” Alex has only spent the night at my place once. She barged in while we were making out—mostly naked—on the couch. Since then, I’ve been coming to Alex’s and looking at apartments close to my work.

“What’s wrong with you coming here?”

“Nothing. I just thought it would be nice if it was equitable.” I scour the board one last time. There’s no good place to put my word, and without a double-letter score of some kind, I’ll only manage eight points.

“You should move in here.” He says it nonchalantly, but his eyes are on his tiles and his hand is still wrapped around his mostly hard cock.

My heart does this fluttery thing. I’m not sure whether he’s kidding.

“We’ve been dating for what, like two months? Yeah, I think moving in with you is totally reasonable.” If we’d been dating a few months longer, I’d jump at the opportunity. Things have been so crazy lately. His evasiveness in interviews isn’t canceled out by how much time we spend together, or introducing me to his friends and family.

“It’s close to three months. You don’t want to move in with me?” He’s peeking up at me from under his pretty, long man-lashes, looking hurt.

“It’s not that.” I pick up my tiles and lean across the board. I don’t know how to deal with this, mostly because as irrational as it is, I totally want to move into Alex’s crib and play house with him.

Instead of giving him more of an explanation, I place the letter D on his snuffie, followed by an I, the blank tile, and a K. I smile triumphantly.

“Nice word. Except it doesn’t count if you can’t lay it on the board. Lose the bra.” He gestures to my chest.

I don’t follow Alex’s instructions. Instead, I drop my pants and toss them on the floor. Alex looks unimpressed. I’m wearing frilly underwear, so he shouldn’t be too upset. He stands up—totally hard now—and knocks over the board with his dick, spilling our carefully crafted smutty words all over the floor.

“Hey! I was winning.”

“Hardly.” Alex pushes my chair back and drops to his knees in front of me.

“I was up by fifty points.”

“Why don’t you want to move in with me?” He hooks his fingers behind my knees and parts my legs so he can fit between them.

“What does that have to do with you sabotaging the Strip Scrabble game?”

“Stop avoiding the question. Do you think you’ll get sick of me?” His hands roam up the outside of my legs.

“No. Of course not.”

“Then what?”

“It’s a little premature, don’t you think?” I like the idea, but it’s too soon. We haven’t even dropped the L-bomb, although I’m starting to suspect these fluttery feelings mean that’s exactly where I’m at now.

“Who cares? I’m gone half the time with away games and practice. It’s a big house. There’s lots of space.” He flicks the clasp on my bra. “By the time the season’s over, we’ll have been dating for the better part of four months—maybe even five, depending on how far we make it in the playoffs.”

“I think six months should be the cut-off for moving in.”

“Is that an arbitrary number you’re throwing around?” He traces the delicate lace ruffle on my panties with a fingertip.

I close my eyes, absorbing the sensation for a moment before I work on forming a response. “I read an article about it.” I won’t tell him it was from some silly girl magazine.

“What’s the significance of six months?” He places a wet kiss below my navel.

“By that time all the fairy dust has settled. You’ll know all my weird quirks, and maybe then you’ll decide you can’t live with the way I brush my teeth, or how my hair clogs up your shower drain, or my obsession with Swedish Fish.”

“I like all your weird quirks.” He pulls his shirt over his head.

“I like your naked body,” I say, running my hands over his chest.

“Then you should move in with it.”

“Ask me again after playoffs.”

“I don’t think I can wait until then.”

“They’re only weeks away.” I pull his mouth to mine. All my paranoia seems to have been for nothing. Alex wouldn’t ask me to move in with him if our relationship wasn’t important.

We don’t even attempt to make it to his bedroom. We have sex on the floor. It’s intense and charged, and I want it to stay like this between us. I want to want him with this kind of insatiable need forever. But passion fades eventually, and the warm, soft balm of love is what keeps the fire burning.

The Hawks keep winning games, which should be a positive. Instead of being excited, Alex gets moodier the closer they get to securing a place in the playoffs. Whenever Dick calls—which is frequently—he gets tense and leaves the room. I hate Dick. Alex is always pissy after they talk. He’s also always horny which is the only upside. After the calls, I find myself promptly carried up the stairs and loved into oblivion.

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