Forever Pucked (17 page)

Violet doesn’t come again, which I don’t like, but I also don’t have the ability to control that right now. She doesn’t move when I’m done. Instead she smooths her fingers through my hair and kisses me with the same languor we made love with. Or that she made love to me with, because I sure didn’t do a whole hell of a lot. Still, even that exertion has wiped me out. I don’t particularly like that either.

“I should probably wash you, eh?” she asks after a while.

“I can do that myself.” I stroke up and down her side, intentionally grazing her boob with each pass.

“Where’s the fun in that?” She doesn’t get off me. Instead she grabs her body poof, squirts my body wash on it, and starts at my neck, working her way down my arms and chest. While it sucks to feel like shit, and I’m not a fan of being incompetent, it’s nice to have her take care of me like this.

When she’s done with my upper body, she lifts off. I’ve gone soft, but I’m still disappointed. Usually I’d be able to get hard again by now and go for round two, but my dick is slower to recover than usual, like the rest of me. At least the water is still warm, so there’s no cold shock.

“Give me a sec.” She gets out of the tub and towels off. Grabbing the red robe with my number on the back from the hook, she puts it on and ties it loosely at the waist. Violet owns a lot of red clothes now. And she looks amazing in them.

She kneels on the mat beside the tub. Her nose wrinkles, and then she smiles. “You do realize you’re bathing in your own jizz, right?”

I laugh and then cough-groan at the sharp jab in my side. “Thanks for pointing that out.”

“Apparently it’s a great moisturizer.” Violet takes care of the bottom half of my body, paying lots of attention to my dick, which eventually makes me hard all over again. It’s a relief that I haven’t lost the ability to do that, too. She takes care of it with her hands this time. When I warn her I’m about to come, she doesn’t grab the washcloth. Instead she covers the head with her mouth and swallows.

I love her so fucking much. For so many reasons.

Contents

Under Pressure

VIOLET

The week following Alex’s accident is comprised mostly of doctor’s appointments, learning how to cook new things with Daisy, periodic short visits from friends, frequent appearances by Sunny, lots of fruit baskets and get well cards, and sadly infrequent and very gentle sex.

I don’t go in to work, doing what I can from home when Alex is napping. Which is often. In the year we’ve been together, I’ve never seen him so drained of energy and motivation. Not being able to do anything isn’t good for his psychological wellbeing.

Surprisingly, Daisy’s presence in the house isn’t a total nightmare. Apart from the overwhelming smell of hairspray, she’s mostly pleasant to have around. Sure, it’s a challenge to have another woman encroaching on my territory, especially one who’s so good at the domesticated shit, but I’ve learned a few new things, so that’s a plus.

My mom has never really been all that awesome at that part. She was always fun, but we ate a lot of fast food when I was young. It wasn’t until Sidney came into the picture that my mom took an active interest in eating things that didn’t come from the frozen section of the grocery store.

As Alex starts to feel better, Daisy takes the opportunity to go out for lunch and manicures with my mom. Those two get along disturbingly well. What blows my mind entirely is the fact that neither of them has mentioned anything about the wedding, or lack-thereof.

I’m just waiting for the right time to bring it up with Alex. I’ve almost mentioned it more than once, but I held off because I don’t want him to think it’s because of the accident. Because it isn’t. Not directly, anyway.

At the end of the week, after a long conversation with Alex in which I express my guilt and he assures me he’s more than okay enough for me to leave him for a few hours, I decide to go to work on Friday. It’s been a week and a half since the accident. We rescheduled the Darcy presentation, and they offered to postpone it again, but I don’t want it hanging over my head, dividing my attention, which should be on Alex.

Plus I need to get out of the house and Daisy can be overwhelming with how much fussing she does over Alex. He’s a grown-ass man, not a baby.

I stop to get Charlene on the way. With her picking up my slack at work, me managing Alex, and Daisy being here, we haven’t had a lot of time to talk. We’ve mostly been reduced to brief conversations and texts in which I tell her I’m fine, even though I’m not.

Charlene hops in and gives me a side-hug. “How are you? Can I tell you how much less exciting work has been without you there?”

“Jimmy and Dean not keeping you entertained?” I pull away from the curb.

“Jimmy and Dean are obnoxious and bored without you.”

“That’s because you don’t do and say half the stupid shit I do.”

“I miss our ridiculousness,” Charlene says.

“Me, too.” Charlene is the one person I miss seeing every day at work.

The closer we get to Stroker and Cobb, the more anxious I become. Working from home has been nice—nicer than I expected. I’m highly conflicted over going in today, and not just because of the guilt.

Alex is actually doing surprisingly well physically. Mentally and emotionally, it’s a different story. He’s been obsessively watching the games he’s missing, replaying every goal, most of which are being scored by Randy. The team won the past two games, which should be good, but it worries me, because it probably worries Alex. Being away from him worries me.

“Are you okay?” Charlene asks.

“I’m fine.” I avoid looking directly at her. I have makeup on today, including mascara, which I’m not sure is waterproof, and the buildup of emotions threatens to overwhelm me. Maybe I need to get a part-time job at Hot Topic so I can immerse myself in the emo that’s become my life.

“Violet? How are you, really? I know this hasn’t been easy on you. You can talk to me. ”

“Can we do the serious stuff later? After the Darcy presentation is done and I don’t feel like I’m going to hurl?”

“Okay. Sure. How are you feeling about that? Other than barfy?”

“Good, I guess. I mean, I’m as prepared as I’m going to get. Can you open the glove compartment?”

She hits the button and a bag of Swedish Fish falls into her lap.

“Thank God!” I nab the bag and tear it open with my teeth.

“You’re going to eat those now?”

“I need something to calm my stomach.”

“So you’re going with sugar and caffeine?” she asks as I pull into the Starbucks drive-thru.

“And gelatin. Don’t forget the gelatin.” I tip my head back and dump a few fish into my mouth, savoring the artificial fruit flavor. Of course, this is the exact moment the car in front of me moves forward and I’m due at the speaker. “Whaddya want?” I ask through a mouthful of candy.

Charlene orders a latte and some healthy egg-white crap while I chew furiously. I swallow in time to secure my own caffeine fix, adding one of those fudge squares and a cake pop.

“Wow. You’re really aiming for gut rot today,” Charlene says. “We’re going out for lunch, the two of us, and we’re going to talk about how you’re managing. We haven’t had any girl time in almost two weeks.”

“It’s been busy what with Alex being broken.”

Charlene purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything as I stuff another handful of fish into my mouth.

I’m slick about hiding candy from Alex. Otherwise he eats it and feels guilty. The man burns five thousand calories a day, but during the season he has the most boring diet in the world. He’s ultra-healthy. Healthier than Sunny even, and that’s saying something since she doesn’t eat anything animal-related. I’d be so sad if I had to give up cow and pig.

My secondary candy stash is in my “office” in the house. Alex had one of the six bedrooms converted after I moved in. I don’t do much in the way of work in there—until the last week anyway. Before that it was where I keep all the stuff I don’t know what to do with, and my sewing supplies so I can make costumes for Alex’s Super MC.

Once we have our coffees, Charlene’s normal breakfast, and my sugar fest, we get back on the road.

“Other than Jimmy and Dean being pains in the ass, has work been okay?” I ask.

“It’s been the usual.”

“What about Darren? You see much of him?” I feel like such a bad friend, although I think I’ve probably had a solid reason to not be as engaged with the rest of my life recently.

Charlene slips her fingers under the scarf thing she’s taken to wearing and finds the pearls underneath. “We saw each other right before the away games, and I’ll see him tonight. He’s missing Alex. The whole team is.”

“Yeah. It bugs Alex that he can’t be with them.”

The team’s been on the West Coast most of the week. They came back late last night. Alex and Darren text each other and talk on the phone when they can, but they haven’t seen each other since he got out of the hospital since the team has been away.

“Brunch tomorrow should be good for their bromance.”

“Yup. Daisy has the most elaborate menu set up. She’s been to the grocery store every day this week. It’s crazy.”

“I don’t know how she has time with all the hair styling she has to do,” Charlene jokes.

“Seriously. It’s so big. So hard. And not in a well-endowed-dick kind of way. I thought maybe when she and my mom went to the spa she might’ve come back with a new hairstyle, but no such luck.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah. She goes through an insane amount of hairspray. I’ve found three aerosol cans in the garbage. I think either she should buy stock or we should stage an intervention.”

“That’s an awesome idea.”

“Buying hairspray stock?” I scoop up another handful of fish.

“No, the intervention. You should get rid of her hairspray.”

“She’ll go buy more.”

“Not if you do it in the middle of the night. Then you can save the day by offering to style her hair for her.”

I pause with a handful of fish halfway to my mouth. “Oh my God. That’s brilliant. I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before.”

“You don’t want her to have that hair for your wedding pictures—you know, for whenever you decide to set a date.” Her eyes are wide, like she’s afraid she’s said the wrong thing.

“Yeah. We definitely need to get that helmet under control before then.” I don’t say anything else about weddings and dates. That’s a conversation for later.

But I do know I want to tie the knot this summer. And I also know the longer I wait to say anything, the less chance there is that we’ll be able to secure an excessively large venue.

I pull into the underground lot and park in an empty spot between some expensive sporty car and a Land Rover. Files and coffee in hand, we make our way to the elevator. I’m still nervous. And angsty.

I shut down thoughts of potential wedding plans and stop wondering how Alex is doing so I can focus on what’s important, which is the presentation. Of course, that makes me think about how getting this account could make things really different at work, and I’m already experiencing a lot of change as it is.

I’m realizing that ultimately, my job—the one I’m good at but is causing me conflict and stress—is really the last normal thing I have, the last part of my life that’s the same as it was before Alex. I think the reason I’ve been holding on to the nine-to-five grind—resisting even the flexibility of working from home—is because it’s normal, and nothing else about my life is anymore.

Sometimes I wonder how my life got so complicated, and then I remember I’m engaged to a professional hockey player who’s currently broken. As the elevator rises, I realize every single person in this office knows how broken he is. It’s been all over the news—as has the massive suspension slapped on Cockburn.

Charlene puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“What?” I’m eating my fingernails so I drop my hand. “Oh, yeah. Just bracing myself for all the fake sympathy.”

“It’s not fake, Vi. People are really concerned about you.”

“No, they’re not. They’re worried about whether Alex is going to play the end of the season and how much this is going to hurt Chicago’s shot at the playoffs.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but the elevator dings.

I’m not braced enough as the doors open and we step into the office. It’s like being smacked in the face with an empathy dick. All these people come out of their cubicles— half of them I don’t even know by name—to hug me and tell me how I’m such a trooper and blah fucking blah.

It takes seventeen minutes to get to my cubicle. I’m frazzled and on the verge of tears by the time I make it. I need to get it together. Jimmy pops his head in before Charlene can even leave. He’s holding a box of cinnamon buns. My favorite kind. My stomach is all sorts of upset over the crap I’ve already put in it.

“Hey, girl, how you doin’?” He grimaces, indicating I may look like yesterday’s garbage. “Ohh, rough start?” He opens the bun box. “Want one?”

“No thanks.” My smile feels constipated.

My professional and personal relationship with Jimmy hasn’t been the same since Alex and I got engaged. I don’t know if it’s because he secretly hoped the rumors about Alex being gay from years ago were true, or because I’ve been fortunate enough to get some sweet opportunities, like managing Buck’s money and now the Darcy account, if I don’t screw it up. It’s a lot of personal attention from Stroker, which he’s usually stingy with. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a combination of the two. Jimmy’s always had a crush on Alex.

“It’s so great that you’re here! Are you just coming in to get some stuff? I thought Stroker was letting you work from home for a while.” He checks behind him before he makes his customary jerk-off gesture.

“Thanks. He was; he is—”

“Who’s dealing with the Darcy account? Are you still presenting? I checked out the PowerPoint. I hope you don’t mind.”

Charlene puts a hand up in front of his face. “Calm your balls, Jimmy.”

He drops a hand to his crotch. “What? I haven’t seen Vi in, like, a week. I’m being a good friend.”