Page 75 of Forbidden Puck
“I already know that about you.”
“And how does it make you feel?”
“I mean … I'm notwildabout it. But it's not like you're unique in that regard.I'mthe odd one, sitting around and waiting, for what, exactly? I'm not even sure anymore.”
I shook my head. “No. See, you don't know how bad it is for me.” I climbed off the bed and pulled the trunk out from underneath the bed. “Here. You were asking me what's in here. You really want to know?”
She looked at me and gave an uncertain dip of her shoulder. “Er … I don't know … I don't know what you're trying to tell me.”
“It's proof of how fucked up in the head I am, Ella.”
She gulped. “It's not like, dead body parts, is it?”
“Of course not. I'm not a murderer.” I unlatched the locks and opened the lid.
Ella peeked in at my shame. “Um. Well, I see … a jumbled pile of women's panties? Are you a cross-dresser?”
“What? No! It's a panty collection.”
“And what is a panty collection, exactly?”
I sighed and explained it to her. Every last mortifying detail. Each pair represented a girl I'd slept with. They were almost all puck bunnies from MeatMarket, the hook-up app I used.
“… How did this get started?” she asked, her brows furrowed with uncertainty.
“One of the first girls I hooked up with, once I went pro, accidentally left her panties in my room. I texted her the next day and told her, in case she wanted to pick them up. But she said, 'add them to your collection.' I told her I didn't have one. She said,'start one then,duh.' And so … I did.”
She had more questions, and I had answers:
No, I didn't steal any damn panties; the puck bunnies always willingly gave them to me because they knew about my collection and were more than willing to help me add to it.
Yes, of course they were all clean; every pair went through the wash before I placed it in the box.
No, I never did anything weird with them … besides collecting them, anyway.
After I answered all her questions, Ella didn't look at me like I was a monster. In fact, she started to look—amused.Like she were biting her cheeks to keep from breaking out into a laugh.
“I guess I'm just confused why you …ah…” she stifled some giggles, “ahem,why you would want all these panties in the first place?”
“Wait, are you laughing?” I asked, appalled.
“Yes! I am! It's sort of funny, okay! Some people collect stamps, or bottle caps, or baseball cards, but you collect panties.” More giggles.
“I collect them because … I don't know.” I looked into the stupid box and gave it a shake. “It's kind of dark.”
“Tell me.”
“I've always had this idea that, as long as I was an athlete, I should never settle down and date anybody. Because, first of all, there's all these girls who just want to fuck me because of my name and profession, right? But that's a double-edged sword. How can I ever trust that someone I meet is actually interested inme,the person, and not just 'Radar' the hockey player? All these panties areproofthat women only like me because I'm a pro athlete.”
She nodded while my words sunk in. “I get it, Ryan.”
To say I was shocked doesn't even begin to explain my surprise. “You do?”
“Yeah, I think so. I'll be honest, it's a little weird, but I still get it. I've got sort of the same problem going on, don't I? I mean, I don't collect the boxers of men I've rejected or anything,” another stifled giggle, “but I have the same fears about finding a guy who actually likes me and isn't just trying to get laid. It's the same problem, it just manifests itself differently, right?”
“I never thought of it like that …”
She shut the panty box. I took her cue and tucked the box back under the bed.
