Page 21 of The Worst Pucking Deal

It’s obviously too soon to do it right now. Maybe the week of or a few days before. I pull my phone out and make a calendar reminder for Monday the twentieth of November, so I don’t forget to cancel. There, familial obligations are sorted.

My idea of celebrating Thanksgiving is with some fancy bourbon and a puck bunny or two. Sheesh, this year I’ll probably have to at least pretend to be with Lucia. Or maybe I can convince Tom it’s enough to bring her to the annual Sabertooths event.

Tom usually does a big family thing the weekend before for all the players, coaches, and our families. Mickey and I are usually the only ones who show up alone, but with everyone else there, it doesn’t feel odd. We’re one big family and everyone shares. Hell, Soren’s Nana insists we all call her that. She’s an awesome woman with a penchant for cheating in cards.

“Why the long face, lad?” Jackie asks as she comes into the backroom I’m occupying by myself. “And don’t tell me it was the food. I’m an outstanding cook.” Her eyes light up as she eyes my empty plate.

“There was nothing wrong with the food,” I say, forcing a smile.

“Then it has to be the company.”

I bark out a laugh at the accuracy and bluntness of her remark. “That’s one way to put it.” She isn’t wrong since I’m sitting alone and it’s my fucking choices and thoughts that are dragging me down.

Jackie starts placing my plate and cutlery on the tray, taking her time. “Maybe you should go out there and be around other people, lad,” she suggests. “It would do you some good, you know.”

“Maybe,” I allow.

“Ain’t no maybe about it, lad. Do as Jackie says.”

I shake my head and get up. “Thanks for the food, Jackie,” I say before placing a kiss on her cheek. “It was delicious, as always.”

She scoffs and mumbles, “Like I need you to tell me what I already know. My food is outstanding.” But the softness in her eyes and smile tugging at the corner of her lips show just how much she likes her food being praised.

I throw some bills on the table, grossly overpaying for my meal. Then I walk out of the private room before she can give me a lecture about not wanting the tip. It’s the same song and dance every time.

There are only a few people sitting at the bar, neither of which pay me any attention as I sit down at the end. After getting a beer from the bartender who did a double-take as he saw me, I study the surrounding people. The pub grows louder and becomes more crowded by the minute. People are shouting, swaying to the music, and just having a great time.

I’m about to head home when I see Lucia walk up to the bar, only a few feet from where I’m sitting. I quickly turn my head in the other direction, not wanting her to see me. The dark window I’m facing shows me her reflection, and I grit my teeth as she hugs who I assume to be a friend. I clench the bottle tighter, pissed that she’s enjoying herself when I’m not allowed to.

As her friend drunkenly darts off, I continue to watch Lucia while she waits to be served. She looks as perfect as always, but there’s something in the depth of her eyes. An uneasiness, or maybe it’s desperation? Ah, fuck it. I don’t know her well enough to guess. For all I know, she’s unhappy because she chipped a nail or some shit like that.

When she leaves with more alcohol than I ever thought someone of her size could drink, I chuckle. Looks like Miss Perfect might be worth watching for an hour or so. I might get my first glance at who Lucia is without her guard up.

My luck of not getting noticed lasts for a couple of hours, all of which I spend discreetly eyeing Lucia and her friend. Now that I think about it, I think I’ve seen her before at some of our games. But when a woman bumps into me and spills her drink on my arm, I forget to keep my head down and she lets out a shriek. “Oh my God, you’re Sawyer Perry.”

I smile indulgently. “Sorry, did my arm get in the way?”

She laughs nervously. “No, that was all me. I was… I mean… holy shit. You’re Sawyer Perry.”

By now, her loud shrieks have gathered the attention of the surrounding people, and they start closing in. “It is you,” a guy says. “I thought it was, but I wasn’t sure. Look, man, what happened to you was bullshit.”

“Yeah, you should have punched the dude harder,” another adds.

“Did you really sleep with his wife?” the girl who spilled her drink on me asks, flicking her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.

“What does it matter?” the first guy says. “You should never blame the third party, since they didn’t make any vows.”

The conversation about me continues to flow around me. No one is looking for me to say anything. They just carry on discussing my life like it’s the juiciest gossip, and maybe it is.

“Let me buy you another beer as an apology,” the blonde croons, running her hand up my wet sleeve until she’s running her fingers across my jaw.

I shake my head. “That’s not necessary. In fact, I was just about to leave—”

“Aww, do you really have to go right now?” she purrs, batting her lashes so much it looks like she’s suffering through a fucking seizure. Jesus. “And here I thought things were about to get interesting.”

I force a laugh. “Well, in that case, I’m sorry to disappoint you…” I trail off when she stands straighter and moves so close I feel her tit rub against my arm. My dick doesn’t even twitch.

“What do you want?” she asks, her tone no longer playful. It’s fucking colder than ice as she looks at someone or something over my shoulder.

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