Page 3 of Not the Puck Bunny

“I have Laverne,” I said. “Best damn grandplant this side of Highball Creek.”

Pia snorted so loud I had to pull my phone away from my ear again. “Grandplant my ass. If that was all it took, I'd be rolling in grandbabies for her. Out here, she could take her pick.”

I pictured the wide open countryside, mountains to the west. Clear air and a relaxed pace of life. Sometimes I envied her. Then I remembered I could have a cheeseburger ordered and delivered to my door within an hour. The city came with certain luxuries. That perk was one of my favorites.

“That will never be good enough for her,” I said. “You know what she's like. She's about as subtle as a…"

“Wart right in the middle of your ass cheek?” Pia suggested.

“Sure, let's go with that,” I said. “I'm assuming you have a lot of experience with this particular medical condition?”

“No, but in high school I went out with a guy that did,” she said. “Remember Kyle Coleman?”

“Yes I do, and I don't want to think about his ass cheeks.” I grimaced. “And I really don't want to know how you know what his ass cheeks looked like.”

The last time I saw him, he was a typical, gangly teenage boy with acne and a high-pitched laugh that sounded more hyena than human. If I remembered right, he didn't have much of an ass to speak of. Not compared to me. I'd always been curvy. Not to mention self-conscious as hell.

“Skinny-dipping,” she said anyway. “Right after prom. A whole bunch of us went down to the lake. After a few shots of cheap tequila, it seemed like a really good idea.”

I remembered that. Or specifically, I remembered hearing about it. I was away at collegeat the time, still getting over missing my own prom. My date broke up with me the day before, so he could take one of the cheerleaders instead. I decided not to go, and stayed home binge eating chocolate ice cream, while watching reruns ofBuffy the Vampire Slayer,and hugging my plush vampire.

Don't judge me, that vampire got me through all those years of high school. Lucky for everyone, he couldn't talk, because I'd told him all the secrets I'd never tell anyone else. Not even Pia. Right now, he was tucked away in the back of my closet. If my mother knew he was there, she'd be horrified. Several times, she'd tried to throw him in the trash, only to have me pull him back out again. Count Bob—I was eight when I named him, okay—deserved better.

Pia left a string of broken hearts behind her, but all I seemed to have was a string of disappointments that always equated to the same thing. I was never good enough, no matter what I did. At work, yes, but not in love.

I’d settled for Xander, when I knew we weren't compatible in the short term, much less for the rest of our lives. Maybe I’d meet some hot guy and hook up for wild sex, but I wasn't going to get involved with anyone. Not again.

From now on, I'd focus on my job and trying tokeep Laverne alive. If I couldn't look after a plant, then I had no business trying to look after anyone else.

“Fine,” I said finally. “Let's go out tomorrow night. I can tell you all about the new project Dad put on my desk. You won't believe it.”

Chapter Two

Cam

Contrary to popular belief,beer doesn't solve everything.

Try telling that to my best friends and teammates.

I trailed behind them through the wide doorway and into Shells. The bar was packed full of players from the Lowball Bay Sea Dragons, their wives, girlfriends and more puck bunnies than I could swing a stick at. A band was setting up in the corner. Any moment now, we'd be elbow to elbow, shouting to be heard over them.

Just what I needed tonight.

Not.

“Good game tonight,” Brody Clutterbuck, the owner of Shells, greeted us. “Nice assist, Cam.”

I nodded my thanks and stepped over to the bar to order a light beer.

“When are you going to get that stick out of your ass?” Nate Southwell leaned on the bar beside me. He grimaced and raised them, the elbows of his shirt dripping from the moisture in the bar mat.

Blake Eastwood, who stood on the other side of him, chuckled.

Nate flipped him off. He shook out his arms and pushed his sleeves up, revealing an expanse of tattooed skin. For some reason, women went crazy for his ink. And him. The defenseman practically fought them off every time we went out. Practically, because he wasn't trying very hard.

If I had to guess, I'd say he'd been with three hundred and sixty-five different puck bunnies in the last year.

Whatever, that was him. Let people flock to kiss his ass. Me, I was the brooding giant in the background. The way I liked it.

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