Page 3 of The Worst Pucking Deal

After getting ready to turn in, I get naked and into bed. Normally, I end my evening with an orgasm or two courtesy of my pink vibrator. But tonight I don’t even reach for it. I’m not in the mood, and I doubt I’d be able to switch my brain off long enough to enjoy anything.

Fuck.

I knew this day would come, so it pisses me off that I’m so unsettled—scared, even. It’s not me I’m scared for, though. Not exactly. No, I know I’ll be okay. Remus won’t kill me unless he feels he has no choice, or if I betray him by running or trying to hide. If I do that, he’d have no problem tearing through my meager list of loved ones, killing them off one-by-one until he finds me.

Fuck.

Maybe going home to Rome wouldn’t be the worst thing. I have family, and surely I could look up some old friends. The cost would be my happiness, and very possibly my sanity. But… no. Fuck no. I’m not giving up. There are ways out, my uncle said I could stay if I got married. I really should have spent more time dating, maybe then I’d have a steady boyfriend—someone I could marry and learn to love.

It’s only now, in the darkness, that I realize I’ve gone about my freedom in the wrong way. I’ve let myself become complacent, weak, and not thought about the deadline I was given almost ten years ago. This is all my fault, and blaming Remus isn’t the answer.

Think, Lucia, fucking think.

Ugh, coming up with any ideas while my brain’s turned to mush from the wine and surprise text is impossible. Or maybe it’s just because I know how much I’ve fucked up. I can’t change the past, but hopefully I can rectify the mistake I made tonight. I should never have said anything to Gail, and I need her to think I was just having a melodramatic, drunken meltdown. I know my bestie, though. She’s not one to let things go. She knows me too well. But maybe if I manage to act all cool and aloof for the next week… maybe then she’ll let it go.

It’s not a perfect plan, but for now, it’s all I’ve got.

Sawyer

“That’s what I’m talking about,” I roar, grinning widely at my teammates. We bump chests, slap each other on the back, and cheer uproariously. It’s Tuesday, and the season is now in full swing, and we won our away game in Anaheim.

The locker room is filled with cheers as we shower and get dressed in our suits. Even our grumpy looking coach is smiling, if you can call it that. Personally, I just think his frown is less intense.

“You did good,” he praises as I loop my belt through the hoops on my suit pants.

“Is that coach speak for ‘we kicked ass’?” one of my teammates sniggers.

Coach snorts. “Don’t get cocky, boy. This was only the first game of the season, and I’m still not holding the damn Stanley Cup in my hands.” He looks around at all of us. “You did good. And if anyone asks, I’m not embarrassed to say I’m your coach.”

I suppress a smirk. The old bastard is stingy with his praise, but it works. It makes everyone work harder and better. Reaching for my dark gray suit jacket, I shrug it on and button it. While I shove my shit into my bag and focus on my hair, Coach goes on about the media circus waiting outside.

“I want everyone on their best behavior when you leave this room. You’re winners, boys. But you’re gracious winners. No bashing the Anaheim team. Got it?” He glares at one of the assistant coaches when he chokes back a laugh. “I’m serious. We have an image to maintain. Don’t you dare fucking ruin it by being cocky shits.”

We all nod to show him we’ve heard what he said. “Yes, Coach,” we answer in unison, just the way he likes it.

Once I’ve tied my long hair into a bun and combed my beard so it doesn’t stick out all over the place, I hoist my bag over my shoulder, ready to get the fuck out of here and back to Minneapolis. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but when I see who’s calling, I hit the ignore button. I don’t have it in me to talk to my bitch of a mom right now.

“I wish we were staying,” the assistant coach next to me whines. “The women here are so much better than the ones back home.”

Shaking my head, I walk by him. “It’s not about the quality of the woman,” I say with a wink. “It’s about the man.”

He looks up from his phone long enough to follow me out of the locker room, and we’re quickly flanked by our PR team that traveled here with us. “Easy for you to say. You have panties dropping left, right, and fucking center.”

“Jealous much?” Soren, our goalie, guffaws as he joins us. “Sex is like pizza, my man. Even if it’s bad, it’s still good.”

I don’t know what’s worse… the fact that a grown ass man is complaining about the quality of pussy his job gives him, or my buddy comparing sex to food. It might be a tie. I tune them out as we walk out of there. Since I’m not gonna get my dick wet, I don’t care about the fact that we’re flying back home tonight.

My last public stunt cost me an endorsement deal, and to say that our GM is unhappy that I fucked someone in public and ended up causing yet another scandal is an understatement. All he’s done so far is issue some fines and threats, but I know he’s at the end of his tether. Which is why I’m on a self-imposed hiatus from PBP; Puck Bunny Pussy.

Shame, though, I’m going to miss the easy tail. Plus the added bonus of no strings attached. Since I don’t do relationships, it’s been the perfect way to get my dick wet.

All thoughts of not getting laid tonight disappear when Coach bellows from behind us. “Hang on a moment.” We all stop walking, giving him and Jo from PR time to move to the front. “Jo has some things to say before you go out there.” He points at the door behind him.

As head of the Sabertooths PR team, Jo doesn’t normally travel with us. She usually sends her worker bees. But she’s always there for the first game of the season. “Congratulations on the win, Sabertooths.” Most of the guys whoop and shout excitedly. “Get ready to smile at the cameras. Oh, and don’t forget to congratulate the home team on their efforts,” she says. “And don’t react, no matter what they say or ask.” As she adds the last part, she looks straight at me, much to the amusement of my teammates who break out in laughter. Jerks.

She makes a call, and after confirming we’re good to go, she opens the door. Since the weather in Anaheim is a lot warmer than back home in Minneapolis, I haven’t bothered with anything but my suit jacket. The second we walk through the doors, we’re assaulted by questions and lights flashing in our faces.

“You did amazing tonight, Soren. Do you have a new regime since you blocked every attempted goal?”

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