Page 121 of Pucking Matt
Her hand smacks her mouth as she spits, laughing.
Kudos to me for making her react like that and possibly making her imagination run wild. A small dick isn’t good for anyone, but neither is a huge dick. Let’s just say it’ll pique her curiosity and it’ll be our little surprise if she ever finds out the real size of it.
When we reach the fourth floor, Amber walks out first and says, “By the way, my shoe is a size 8.”
I nod. “Me too.”
We walk in unison next to each other as she looks down at my feet.
“You are not a size 8.”
I stop at our room. “I’m not talking about my shoe size, Amber.” I unlock the door with the keycard and watch her turn crimson. “After you.”
She hurries in and stares at the single bed in the room.
“I…” she trails off. “Matt…I…there’s no couch?”
I stand beside her. “I guess not.”
“I knew to expect this, but now that it’s actually happening…I don’t know.”
I place my bag on the bed and say, “You’re my girlfriend for the weekend. There are no solid rules to it, so when my mom booked the room, she assumed we would share the bed. You won’t even notice I’m next to you. It’s just a place to sleep.”
“First, I am yourfakegirlfriend. And second, of course, I’m going to know you’re in the same bed as me, you’re like twice my height and weight.”
I shrug because she’s right. “It’s only for one night. I won’t bite.”
“It’s just weird,” she says, walking to the other side of the bed. She places her bags on the nearby chair and says, “What time are we eating lunch with your mom?”
I check the time. “In two hours.”
“So,” she plops on the bed. “What are we doing until then?”
“I’m leaving that up to you. I don’t know if you like to relax on vacations or have a full schedule.”
She leans back on the pillows and says, “I like that you’re calling this a vacation and letting me call the shots.”
“That’s what girlfriends do, right?” I mutter.
She says, “What does the hockey prince want to do?”
I sit on the bed and shrug. “I could sit on this bed and watch hockey all day. Or I could get out and do something. It doesn’t matter to me.” I look over my shoulder. “I’m leaving it up to you.”
“Okay,” she says, thinking for a moment. “I think you have to help me.”
“Help with what?” I turn around.
She shrugs. “If I’m myself around you, I think your mom is going to know that I am so not into you.”
Now I’m intrigued, so I comfortably face myself to her and listen.
She continues, “I need help selling it. I’m not the best with moms, and from what I remember, she’s really protective of you. I’m not scared, okay.” She laughs. “But I know she’ll pick me apart, so I want to be your perfect girlfriend.”
I shrug. There’s a lot that I’ve learned about Amber, and people-pleasing isn’t her top priority but perfection seems to besomething she strives for, so this question is and isn’t surprising. I answer, “She wants to see me happy.”
Amber sighs dramatically. “And what does that mean exactly?”
I lean back. “You’re going to do fine.”
