Page 2 of Not the Puck Bunny

Rafe would have found this whole situation hilarious. Too many times he’d told me I worked too much and should spend more time practicing my blow job skills.

“Ofcourseyou can,” Pia said. I could almost feelher eye-roll through the phone. “Tomorrow is Friday. I'm coming down to the Bay and we're going out. You need to have fun, and drink too much of that vodka we were talking about.”

“Youwere talking about vodka,” I reminded her. “I was saying I don't need to go out. I have a million things to do?—"

“Andrea Clarissa Welling, you're coming out with me whether you like it or not." She sounded like our mother. “You need this and I want to spend time with my sister. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me.”

“Why do you need a night out?” I turned away from my ten foot long kitchen island, towards the view over Lowball Bay.

Recently named one of the fastest-growing, most livable cities on the east coast of the continental United States, my father's company developed at least half of it. It went from a seaport to a cosmopolitan city in a couple of decades. You couldn't walk around downtown without practically falling over an on-trend restaurant, or gallery. The waterfront precinct was one of my favorite places to be. And, let's face it, be seen.

“Because I haven't seen you for weeks,” she said. “When was the last time we did anything fun?”

“The last time you were here, we went to the beach,” I said. I was reaching here and we both knew it.

“Riiight. Where you got so burnt you looked like a lobster,” she said, with unapologetic amusement.

“Thanks for the reminder.” My sarcasm was equally unapologetic.

I swear I applied at least fifty layers of sunscreen. Being a pale-skinned redhead, the sun laughed hysterically at my attempts and burnt me to a crisp anyway. Next time, I was wearing clothes from head to toe. Or maybe I'd stay inside.

Pia was the lucky one, with dark hair and skin that tanned more quickly than it burned.

“You're welcome,” she said brightly. “Going out is much safer than going to the beach. Less chance of stepping on a jellyfish.”

“It wasn't a jellyfish.” I unlocked and slid open the door that led to my balcony, shivered at the icy breeze that blew inside and, closed the door again.

“Riiight,” she dragged the word out again. “It was a condom.”

“Yes. Yes it was.” It had squelched under my foot, cold and squishy. I hopped straight off it and let out a squeak of disgust. Without stopping to think, and with Pia howling with laughter behind me, I'drun straight for the water to wash my foot. It didn't feel clean again for days afterward. Even after several showers and a bath, I could feel it there, under my heel.

I shuddered at the memory.

I'd gone to my doctor and got tested for every fuck-knows-what that might have come out of that abandoned piece of latex. Nothing, fortunately.

Like everything else in life, inmylife anyway, Pia found it hilarious.

“At least your foot didn't get pregnant,” she said with a laugh.

“I told you that you should have studied more science at school,” I said. “If you had, you'd know feet can't get pregnant.”

“Not human feet anyway,” she agreed.

“What animal can… You know what, never mind.” I shook my head. “Even if that is a thing, I don't want to know about it.” How in the world had we gotten to the topic of pregnant feet?

“Don't be such a prude,” she scolded playfully. “You never know what you might learn. For example?—"

“I'll hang up on you,” I warned.

She laughed. “You wouldn't do that to me. You love me too much. That's why I'm coming downthere tomorrow and we're going out. We're going to find a hot guy for you to hook up with, to help you forget Xander. That could be your used condom on the beach on Saturday morning.”

“I can't even begin to tell you what's wrong with that,” I said. “Let's start with the fact that littering is illegal, bad and icky, and it's too cold to have sex on the beach.”

“Depends how cold your partner is,” she said. “We'll find one hot enough that?—"

“I have an idea, how about you concentrate on your own love life?" I said. “Mom is starting to worry you're never going to give her a grandchild.”

“What about you?” Pia asked.