PUCKED Up (6 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

FLASHITY FLASH WATCH YO ASS

Twenty minutes later, I’ve abandoned the beer, and I’m nursing a mineral water, flipping burgers on the BBQ. This seems to be the safest place to hang out, away from the bunnies in the pool who are buzzed enough to stop protecting their hair. Randy comes over with my phone. “I think you need to check this.”

“
Is it working again? I got nothing an hour ago.”

He drops the device in my palm. “Yeah, man, I turned it on, and it’s good to go. You got a shitton of messages. You might want to look at your flight details—you know, to make sure you got the time right.”

That was probably the one thing I forgot to do—turn it on—but I keep this to myself because I don’t need to look like an idiot. Usually I can count on Amber, my Personal Assistant to send me a million messages—most of them audio—so I don’t forget important things like flights and dates and events. But since she’s away on some portaging trip in the middle of nowhere for the next two weeks, I can’t count on her managing my life, which means I have to do it myself.

“
That’s a good idea.” I don’t like the look on his face as I pass him the flipper. I key in my code; he’s right about the messages. A lot of them are from Sunny. Some are from Violet. And there are voice mails. Several of them.

“
I’ll be back in a bit.”

“
Take your time. I’ve got this. ’Sides, I need a break from the bunnies. It’s like mating season.”

I pat him on the back, bypass the kitchen where some of the bunnies are hanging out, and head for the stairs. I hit the spare bedroom on the second floor and lock myself in.

I start with the voice mails. They don’t require reading so they’re easiest to deal with. The first message is from Vi. I hold the phone a foot away from my ear, and I can still hear her screaming. She’s loud when she’s angry.

“
You’re a fucking asshole! What the shit is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how much shit you’re in? Alex is going to rip your balls off, not that it matters since they’re the size of raisins, and your dick can only be seen by a microscope. You better call me as soon as you get this. You’re fucked. Get ready for the ass-kicking of a century, you yeti bastard!
”

I have no idea why I’m in so much trouble, but I figure it’s in my best interest to listen to a few more of the messages before I call her back. The time stamp on that one is from early this morning—either two or five. I’m too worried about what’s made her this mad to absorb the numbers.

The next message is from Sunny. It looks like it’s from about an hour ago, if I’m right about it being after two in the afternoon now. I can’t understand a thing she says because it’s garbled. The only words I make out are
pictures
and
bunnies
.

Shit
. This can’t be good. It has to be a misunderstanding. God knows there’ve been enough of them in the past few months. I can’t seem to stop messing things up with her, no matter how hard I try. That’s been the biggest roadblock to progress with Sunny. People post pictures all the time. Sometimes they don’t even ask before they snap their shots. It’s crazy.

There are two voice mails from my PA, but they can wait. This drama needs to be taken care of first. I flip to the text messages. These are way more of a challenge to go through. I’ve always been a slow reader. The only As I got in high school were in construction and gym.

It wasn’t that I didn’t get what was going on, it just took me seven million times longer to read the same thing everyone else did. It made me look stupid. People assumed because I was a jock I couldn’t be smart, too. So I stopped trying. Since my dad was a scout for the NHL and I had no mom—she died before I was old enough to really know her—teachers tended to be lenient.

I got tutors once I hit sophomore year, especially after I got my teeth knocked out and missed a bunch of classes. Once the new teeth were in and the bite problem fixed, tutors were more than willing to help me. More often than not, there’d be an “exchange” of services. They’d help write my essays, and I’d work on perfecting the art of orgasm by fingers. By senior year there were a lot of girls looking to help me manage my school work. My grades weren’t awesome—they weren’t even moderately decent—but I still managed to secure a hockey scholarship for college, which was all that mattered since that was the only thing I ever wanted to do.

Once I got drafted, there wasn’t enough time to do all my assignments, even with some flexibility from the college, so I dropped out. It didn’t make sense to struggle through a diploma I’d never use when I was going to make a shitton more money without it.

I have an endless number of texts from Vi and Sunny, but one is from Waters. He normally doesn’t message me. His is easy to read:

YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD, ASSHOLE.

The ones from Violet and Sunny are more of a challenge. There seems to be a lot of autocorrecting and text slang—which is the worst thing ever created. It makes the words more difficult to decode.

I bring up the text-to-speech app and listen as it takes the butchered English and turns it into Violet ranting. It’s much easier to understand, even with all the inaccurately corrected words.

Why the fork would you let someone draw a dock on your face?

Duck

Fork

Goddamnit Dick Fucking DICK, not duck. Autocorrect can suck my clot.

Clit. Asshole

The next set of messages came several hours later. The first one has twenty or so angry face emoticons attached to it.

Seriously?!!!!!! You're naked! Who is that chick?

Did someone lobotomize you?

The question is followed by several screen shotted pictures. The first is one of me sleeping. It wouldn’t be a big deal if I wasn’t obviously naked—my left ass cheek is visible—and if I didn’t have a huge dick drawn on my forehead. Worse is that Lance’s bunny—Flash Beaver—is giving the thumbs up and pretending to ride me from behind.

I’m seriously going to kick Lance’s ass.

A few are from last night. They don’t look nearly as bad—just me with the guys and a few bunnies taking selfies. But the one from today with the mostly undressed chick in her little bikini top sitting in my lap is damn incriminating.

Where the hell are you?

You better fucking call me.

I'm coming to your house.

Those last two were sent ten minutes ago.

Why aren't you here? You have a flight to catch!

I'm coming for you.

My phone rings as I finish listening to her texts. It’s Vi. Answering it is better than letting it go to voice mail again.

“
I’m at Lance’s front door. Let me in.”

“
What? How did you know I was here?”

“
Because I’m psychic, and Instagram is my oracle. Now let me in. You are seriously interfering with my weekly orgasm quota right now.”

I have no interest in hearing more about that. I run down the stairs to the front door. Before I open it, I ask, “Is Waters with you?”

“
Are you kidding? I left him at home. I’m not interested in reducing our sex life to conjugal visits. Besides, he’s too pretty for prison. They’d probably make him bottom because of his monster cock.”

“
That’s more than I needed—”

“
I don’t care what you need. I need Alex to not be pissed off. I can see you through the damn door. Open it.”

Violet is a small person. Maybe five four in heels, but she’s got an enormous personality to make up for her lack of size. I have a feeling I’m in for the verbal beat down of a lifetime.

“
Should we shave your body hair so they can make wigs for the elderly?” she asks as soon as the door opens.

“
What are you talking about?”

“
After Alex kills you, you can donate your fur to charity. And maybe some of your more viable organs. I’m pretty sure everything but your liver is good. Ooooh, maybe they can use your micro-penis for a clitoris enlargement surgery.”

“
This isn’t funny, Vi.”

“
I think the brain surgeons would love to take a peek inside your head—you know, for science, so they can learn more about what happens when yetis and humans mate.”

I’m about to close the door in her face. She drops the sarcasm. “What the hell were you thinking?”

I step outside and close it behind me. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“
You didn’t do anything wrong? Are you serious? Did you happen to see the pictures I sent you today? Those aren’t even the worst ones. What’s wrong with you? And why haven’t you been answering your phone? Do you know how suspect that makes you look? Also, why aren’t you at the airport right now, catching your damn flight?”

“
It’s not until nine, and it’s only, like, two in the afternoon. I’ve got lots of time.”

“
It’s five, not two. And your flight leaves in an hour. You missed it.”

“
But I checked—”

“
Apparently not. Jesus, Buck. Isn’t this why you have a goddamn PA? Even your agent called me this morning when no one could get in touch with you.”

“
Amber’s on vacation.”

“
And she also knows how bad you are with dates. I can’t imagine her not putting an alarm on your phone, or calling or something.”

“
My phone was giving me problems. I thought I had it all sorted out. I guess I got the times mixed up.”

Violet rubs her forehead. The giant, marble-sized diamond on her ring finger sparkles in the sun. It’s insanely huge. She expels a breath and looks up at the sky. She’s wearing sunglasses, so I can’t see her eyes. She swallows a few times.

When she speaks, it’s quiet and too calm. “I know flipping numbers is a thing for you, but it’s
Sunny,
for Christ’s sake. You should be on top of this.” She takes off the sunglasses.

Her eyes have that watery thing going on. It makes me nervous. I can deal with Violet’s sarcasm and anger, but when she gets emotional, I don’t know how to manage her other than to give her ice cream.

“
You know, if you’re not interested in that relationship, you better man up and deal with it instead of blowing her off. I won’t have you fucking up my sex life because she’s not interested in your tiny dick.”

“
My dick isn’t tiny.”

She’s back to being pissed, thankfully. “Who fucking cares? That’s not the point. Why are you here anyway? Lance is a douche.”

“
He’s not—”

A song about peacocks starts playing from her back pocket.

“
Hold on.” She answers it. “Yes, he’s still here.” She looks me over and twirls her finger in the air. “Turn around.”

I don’t argue. I do what I’m told.

“
He’s shirtless, and I don’t see any nail marks or hickeys through his matted fur.” There’s a pause. I can hear Waters muffled voice. Judging from his tone, he’s not very happy. “No. Absolutely not. That’s where I draw the line, Alex. I’m not interested in requiring therapy.” She purses her lips and glares at me. “Are you going to Hulk out? . . . Are you sure? . . . Fine.” She passes me the phone. “Alex wants to talk to you.”

My phone buzzes with new texts and messages. I need to call Sunny. More than that, I need to reschedule my flight and get my ass to the airport. But instead I put Vi’s phone to my ear.

“
Butterson, if you give me one of your bullshit excuses, I’m going to break your goddamn knees.”

Violet is making hand gestures. I can’t listen to Waters’ heavy breathing and the buzz of my phone and watch her at the same time.

“
If you break my knees, you’ll be out for the season,” I say.

“
I’ll get Violet to do it.”

Violet’s not very strong, so that’s not much of a threat. I don’t share this with Waters, though. He’s already pissed off enough. I make a noise of disbelief instead. Turns out that’s almost as bad as saying what I’m thinking.

“
You think this is funny, Butterson? My sister is bawling her eyes out over fucking media snapshots of you and all your goddamn pucksluts—”

“
I was asleep. I didn’t know they drew a dick on my face until this morning. And that girl dropped into my lap and started taking pictures. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

He exhales like Darth Vader. When he speaks again, it’s much more softly. “This is your last chance, Butterson. If you don’t fix this mess, I’m going to schedule a meeting with the manager to tell him you’re a cancer to the team and you need to be traded.”