Forever Pucked (38 page)

Way to get your shit together, Carrington.

The latest victim of my social ineptness coughed, choked, and sputtered out, “Uh, yes. I’m—I’m headed to the lobby. You?”

The elevator sounded like it was about to launch itself into the stratosphere and Mr. Suit God was now using his full suit-wearing body to hold open the door. I jumped on (the elevator, not the man, unfortunately) and managed to utter a thank you without tripping over my tongue. I subtly checked out his reflection in the doors and looked away quickly all nine times he caught me staring. He was really quite fetching. Fetching? I think I suffered head trauma earlier and repressed it. Whatever you do, do not open your mouth and speak to this man-god.

"So," I began, against my better judgment, "do you come here often?"

I tentatively lifted my hand to my forehead to see if I could actually feel the lobotomy scar. No one with a full brain said things like that.

"Do I come to this elevator often?" My wet dream incarnate asked, amused. "No, I'm a first timer."

"A virgin? Luckily you have me to show you the ropes."

I did not just say that. Please let this elevator plummet through the basement and let the earth swallow me whole.

As if on cue, the aforementioned elevator jerked, groaned and screeched to a halt. The sudden stop sent me flailing about the cabin, where I landed the most ungraceful right hook across Mr. Suit God’s left jaw.

That did not just happen.

He rubbed his jaw, flexing it from side to side. "Speaking as the token virgin here, is that normal?"

I just punched him in the face. Scratch that. I accidentally asked him to go down on me and then punched him in the face. I will be lucky to leave this elevator not hog tied and tasered by the authorities.

Hoping to physically hold back the asinine word vomit, I covered my mouth and spoke through my hand. "No! I don't make a habit of hitting handsome men!"

"Handsome, huh? Well, thank you. I think. Actually I was wondering if this contraption typically stopped between floors. You’ve got one heck of a right arm, by the way." His smile could foster world peace.

"I know. I’ve been using that arm more than usual lately. I—uh... what was the question again?" I seemed to be having more trouble than usual getting my bearings in an awkward situation. You would think my body would have acclimated to it by now.

"The elevator. Does it always break down? Hey, are you all right? You look a little pale. You're not claustrophobic or anything, are you?"

This was not happening. This had to be some kind of barbaric psychological experiment. Is Candid Camera back in syndication? There was no way I could be trapped in this metal box with a deity and no verbal filter. I needed an exit, stat. I would roll Dorothy for her ruby slippers right about now. Crap. He’s looking at me. I wonder how long I've been standing here with my mouth open. Why can't I use my brain for good?

"Um, no. It's just really warm in here and I haven't eaten much today and I was in an invisible cage match with a mime earlier and this day has been a little overwhelming. But to answer your question, no, the elevator is ancient but typically the only reliable thing in this building."

He chuckled as I refilled my lungs after that word vomit. “Well, let’s try the emergency phone.” He leaned in to open the tiny door. “Maybe they can at least drop a pizza down to us.”

His face was much closer to me than it was a moment ago. Being the classy lady that I was, I resisted the urge to lick across his jaw line. He was easy on the eyes. I wondered what Emily Post would say about licking a stranger.

My reverie was interrupted by my cell mate’s cursing. “I’ve never actually used one of these red phones before, but I think dead air is a bad sign.” He pulled out his cell phone and cursed again. “Shit! I don’t have any bars. What about you?”

I started digging through my oversized bag in search of my phone. Why didn’t I just put the damn thing in the side pocket like a normal person? Now I’m shoulder deep, fumbling around like an imbecile.

After an inordinate amount of time, I finally located my phone in the very bottom of my purse. Of course. “Nope,” I sighed. “No signal. I bet this elevator could double as a fallout shelter. They don’t build them like they used to.”

“No,” he grumbled. “Now they build them to actually work. I’m going to be so late.”

I slyly checked his left hand for a ring or tell-tale tan line. Nothing. “Oh, are you missing a date with your girlfriend or other partner of a romantic nature?”

Subtle, Cici. Real subtle.

“No. No girlfriend…or other partner. I was supposed to meet some friends for a celebratory dinner. I just landed a new job.”

He lost me at “no girlfriend.” My inner five-year-old was dancing around like the Peanuts’ characters. He probably could have confessed he was late for a ritualistic killing and I would not have heard.

SUMMARY:

The plan for Cici Carrington was to steadily climb UP the corporate ladder, and hopefully do so without her skirt tucked into the back of her underpants. Unfortunately, there was no contingency plan for the aftermath of spending a night trapped in an elevator with a suit-wearing Elevator Sex God named Cole Danvers. A one…or two-time dalliance wouldn’t normally throw off the course of someone’s life…unless you find out you have to work together the next day.

To further complicate matters, Cici’s best friend is also her Human Resources Director. She has to hide her secret from every person she knows. Her only confidant is her one-eyed cat, and his loyalty is tenuous at best. Toss in an accidental mugging, a bungled disguise, secret meetings, and unintentional arson, and Cici’s beautiful, careful plan has fallen by the wayside.

Perhaps there aren’t any hard and fast rules in life. Sometimes you can have your cake and eat it too. Sometimes following the rules doesn’t get you ahead.

And perhaps sometimes you can get off between floors…

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The first girl I ever groped I met at hockey camp the first year I was a junior counselor. My buckteeth—thanks to my thumb-sucking as a kid—were finally en route to being fixed. And by kid I mean ten years old, still trying to break the habit. I started after my mom died, according to my dad. I didn’t do sleepovers with friends because there was a damn good chance I would wake up with my thumb in my mouth. It was fucking embarrassing.

Anyway, this girl was dorky, but she was amazing at hockey, and she had great legs, so I liked her. We were walking from the lake to the mess hall, and she pulled me off the trail, behind some big evergreens. Then she laid one on me, just crushed her mouth against mine and rammed her tongue right in there.

I didn’t know what to do. Well, that’s not true. I’d watched enough movies and checked out the magazines my dad had hidden in his workshop to understand the mechanics, but she took me by surprise. When I recovered from the shock I full-on groped her and kissed her back.

It was close to dark, and the mosquitoes were terrible. I was covered in bites when we came back out five minutes later. It was worth it, since I managed to go right past first base and directly to second. Sadly, I found out later that night that Slutty Shellie—that was her nickname, not created by me—had kissed almost every single junior counselor in the camp. At least I got in the extra boob grope.

I imagine the number of guys she made out with might have been a bit of an exaggeration. Either way, it took some of the shine off the moment.

I think about that Michael kid, and how his future is up in the air. If treatment doesn’t work, he might never have the chance to get past first base. All those experiences, the good and the bad, will only ever be ideas in his head. Sometimes the world sucks.

My phone vibrates with an alert. There are new pictures. Some are posted by Patchy Bushman, but there are also a few from Lily and two new ones from Sunny. They were all added a few minutes ago. In one, Bushman has his arm around Sunny’s shoulder, his hand perilously close to her boob. It’s a selfie. They’re holding up bottles of beer. Bushman is staring right at her while she looks at the camera. In another, posted by Sunny, she’s in the middle of a Lily-and-Bushman sandwich. They’re, hugging her from either side. He’s not groping her, but it doesn’t seem particularly innocent, either.

At first glance she looks happy, but upon closer inspection her eyes are puffy and her cheeks are blotchy. I can’t tell if it’s the quality of the picture or not. Still, they’re smiling, and I’m not there to stop whatever might happen later in the night. And she hasn’t bothered to call me.

My phone rings. It’s not Sunny; it’s Violet.

I don’t have a chance to say a word before she yells, “Why are your disfigured balls all over the Internet?”

Buy the Book

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 bedrooms 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.”

“Don’t talk shit about your body. I fucking love your body. Especially when you’re naked and I’m on top of you, and even more when I’m inside you. Shit. Now I’m hard. Again. You’d think after last night and this morning I’d be done with the hard-ons.”

“Your dick giving you problems?” This is easier than conversation about my family. All his attention isn’t because he wants to date me. We just have insane chemistry, and he wants to fuck a million orgasms out of me.

“My fantasies about you are what’s giving my dick problems. If you move here, they don’t have to be fantasies; I’ll get to live them out all the damn time. Then my dick wouldn’t be such a problem for me.”

“If I was there I’d put your dick on lockdown.” I have to pause and choke back a laugh. “In my vagina prison.”

“How soon can you get here?”

“Not for another two weeks.”

“Damn it. Prison never sounded so cozy before.”

“I’ll keep him locked up the entire time I’m in Chicago, if you want. We might actually get thrown in real prison, though, if we have to go out in public. And it might make our friends uncomfortable.”

“Miller and I are pretty open. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

I blush and snicker. “Anyway, it’s late. I should go.”

“Because you have to work in the morning?”

“Yup.”

“’Kay. I’mma go whack off to the pictures I took of you while you were sleeping last night.”

“Lies! I didn’t fall asleep.”

“You totally did. For about ten minutes. Night, Lily girl. I’m looking forward to spending time in pussy prison.”

Less than a minute later, I get a text. It’s a picture of me with my head on his chest. I’m definitely asleep. And we’re both naked. My hand is curled up under my chin, my lips are parted, and my hair is damp near my forehead. Randy’s smiling, and his stunning, honey-colored eyes are on the camera.

Another message comes from him:

Look at how gorgeous ur

.

My tummy flutters. He’s such a flirt and a charmer.

Another message comes in. This time it’s a video. It’s exactly the same scene as the picture, only not a still frame.

With his eyes still on the camera, he drags a fingertip down my cheek. “Lily, Lily, Lily, wake up for me.”

I moan in my sleep, but lift my head toward his voice.

“Come on, baby, open your eyes for me.”

I watch my lids flutter, another soft sound escaping. Randy’s not looking at the camera any more, he’s focused on me. “There you are. Didn’t I tell you? No time for sleeping tonight.”

“No time,” I murmur.

“That’s right. Where am I supposed to be right now?” His voice is whisper quiet, his chest rising and falling faster as I lift my head, blinking blearily up at him.

My lips curve into a coy smile. “Inside me.”

The video goes blurry when his mouth finds mine. His groan is the last thing I hear before the screen goes blank.