Page 13 of The Worst Pucking Deal

When we’re done eating, we pay, leaving a generous tip for Jackie. Then we sneak out the back, and Mickey drives us back to the arena so Soren and I can get our own cars.

“Are you going to be at practice tomorrow?” Mickey asks as I’m about to slam the door after getting out.

“Probably not,” I admit. “Tom told me not to come back until Saturday.”

“Alright,” Soren says, grasping my shoulder. “I’ll keep Mickey boy busy tomorrow then.”

I walk to my car and drive home, only to discover that every time I try to summon a mental image of a puck bunny to fit around my cock, it’s Lucia’s face that pops up.

Fuck!

Lucia

It’s Friday morning, and I don’t think I’ve slept at all. No matter how much I’ve tried, I can’t stop thinking about what it will be like to see Remus today. I hate not knowing what he expects from me. Gail already knows I’m off work today to see him, and I can feel her looking at me as I sit at our kitchen table while she’s running around, getting ready for her day.

“Stop looking at me,” I huff into my bowl of cereal.

“But you’re so pretty when you scowl at your breakfast.” Her sing-song voice is calming, and her words make me laugh. “Don’t even think about canceling tonight. I won’t let you. And who knows, it might be fun to see your cousin for lunch—”

“It won’t be,” I grumble, once again regretting I told her about Remus visiting.

Gail rolls her eyes at me and sighs. “Well then, I guess you’ll have a miserable ol’ time. No matter. Do your duty to the family or whatever. And then tonight…” She pauses theatrically and waggles her eyebrows. “...We go out and party instead of staying in. You and me, babe, and a helluva lot of tequila.” With those words, she discards her bowl into the sink and turns back to look at me.

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. Then I let go of my spoon and give up on the drenched corn flakes that look anything but appetizing.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Well, can’t say I’m going to miss this version of you, Luce. So try to ditch it tonight, kay?”

“Okay,” I agree.

“Once more with feeling.”

I laugh at Gail’s over the top antics, which are clearly orchestrated to lighten my mood. “I promise I’ll be… more fun tonight.”

“That’s the spirit.” She shoots me a smile before pouring the rest of the coffee into her travel cup. “How are things going with Sawyer, by the way? He’s out now, right?”

I scrunch up my nose. “Yeah, he’s out,” I confirm. While I love Gail and trust her implicitly, we both know there are things I don’t tell her. As far as she’s aware, it’s only the finer details of my job I don’t share, and I’d like to keep it that way. After all these years, I don’t want her to know how dishonest I’ve been in our friendship. “We had a meeting the other night. The GM wanted us to come up with a strategy to make Sawyer more…” I swirl my hand in the air as I try to come up with a suitable word.

“Likable? Tame?” Gail asks, curious.

None of those words sounds right, but they’re not wrong. “I guess,” I say with a grimace. “Tom wants Sawyer to enter a fake relationship to make him seem more…” Pausing, I blow out some air. “Likable.”

Gail nods slowly, her eyebrows scrunching together in that way that tells me she’s concerned. “Well, you knew the shit with Sawyer would hit the fan after he punched that guy bloody. So now I have to ask, is your mood really about your cousin visiting?”

Fuck. I thought I’d done so well at acting annoyed rather than concerned, scared. Ugh, I really don’t want to make up more lies, but I also can’t have her knowing just how much I dread Remus being here.

When Gail clears her throat, I realize I haven’t answered her. Not that I’m going to, not in the way she wants. “Don’t worry about it,” I say, trying to sound convincing. I don’t want her to know that I might not be here for our tequila date tonight. If I’m called back to Rome, I’ll have no option but to obey the orders from the Mafia Don ruling my family.

“You’ll be okay with your cousin, right? Or do you need me to fake an emergency?” she asks, making it clear I’m doing a shit job at making it seem like nothing is wrong.

As tempting as that is, I shake my head. “It’ll be fine. I’m just tired. Too many long nights this week is making me dramatic,” I say, needing to convince her that it’s not all bad. Dammit, everything would be so much easier if I’d kept my mouth shut the night I got the first text from Remus. Jesus, has it really only been a week? It feels much longer.

“If you say so,” Gail says, and I let out a sigh of relief that she isn’t pushing the issue further.

I watch her as she goes to pick up her shoulder bag and coat while mumbling something about hating arts and crafts day as she leaves. Can’t say I envy her spending her days with the kids she teaches, but sometimes I am jealous that she’s always out of her workplace no later than 4pm.

A quick glance at the microwave clock tells me I have to hurry if I want to meet Remus on time, which I do. It’s not in my best interest to be late. My family is too disciplined to allow lateness, and Remus would read too much into it. He might even consider it a weakness, and I can’t afford that.

I sprint to the bathroom, indulging in a long shower, where I make sure to perfect every part of my body. Back in my room, I rummage through my closet until I find a suitcase I’ve hidden behind my shoes, and other things. I drag it onto my bed and carefully remove the clothing inside. I haven’t worn it since my uncle set me free, and I’d naively hoped I’d never have to.

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