Page 101 of Pucked Up Plans
I pat him on the back. “I think you should stick to bunnies for now. Less baggage. More action.” He doesn’t miss the exhaled sigh complementing my words. It’s the complete opposite of how I feel about Tate. Since she and I have similar baggage, I’m in no position to judge her. And as far as action goes, it’s not like I want or need to go out every weekend and pick up some random bunny. Not my style.
Walking away from Cody, I sidle up to Tate, who’s studying the items up for auction. “See anything you like?” Goose bumps erupt on her neck.
Her hand flies to her chest as she swivels around, her relief palpable at recognizing me. “Walsh, you scared me.”
“Sorry, babe.” I pull her into me, my hand splaying her abdomen. Instead of melting into me, her body stiffens, and she tries to jerk away. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Can you just not?” Her tone is unfamiliar—high, pitchy, full of uncertainty yet underlined with indignation. I want to push her, ask for clarification, but two puck chasers arrive at the table.
“Hey, Keeley. Having a good night?” The taller of the two speaks. And by taller, I’m talking an inch or two. I’ve seen them around campus before but uncertain of either of their names. Bianca? Erica?
I’ll never understand the fascination of the revolving door of sexual partners from these types of girls. I don’t see the full effectof their behavior because I don’t live in the hockey house or on campus.
“Sure,” I mumble, trying to avoid too much conversation with them and also attempting to gain Tate’s attention. Tate’s entire body stiffens in the proximity of the two girls. Ignoring them, I turn her toward me, my hands on her shoulders to help relax her. She keeps her head down, her gaze cast toward something on the table. Even when I tip her chin up, her eyes dart around, never once landing on me. A sinking feeling weighs my stomach down. “Tate, talk to me. What’s going on?”
Suddenly more aware of the extra sets of eyes I don’t want privy to this conversation, I guide her away from the table. Thoughts swirl through my mind of what could have set her off and made her so uncomfortable.
I don’t stop until we’re in a corner of the room, away from most of the people enjoying their food. Trepidation hides in all areas of her face and posture, sending me into overprotective and “fix it” mode.
“Babe, I’m thinking the worst. Care to clue me in?”
“How many girlfriends have you had?”
Her out of left field question throws me off-kilter, but I rebound quickly. “One.”
“And girls you’ve slept with? I assume it’s been more?”
My brain circulates through the handful of girls there have been after Megan. “Six?” I should be more certain of the number, but they all seemed so insignificant after Megan. Until her. Tate.
“So there could be more than six?” she challenges, her laser gaze holding steady with mine.
“One, maybe two at the most. One-timers mostly.” I should probably shut up now. This conversation is better suited for her house later. Maybe not the bedroom, even though we’re not having sex tonight.
Her brow quirks at my use of “one-timers.” “Just a quick ride on the Keeley cockcycle?”
The what?
Was that even English?
Did she use my last name and some sort of bicycle reference?
“WHAT? What in the hell does that mean?” My voice pitches high, but I tamp down the emotion behind it.
Or, I attempt to tamp it down. Not sure my emotions will stabilize until I understand what she’s said.
“You tell me.” Her arms cross over her chest, the action drawing my focus there. I sense the way her heart pounds. She’s uncomfortable. I can’t tell if it’s because of the confrontation or the subject or me.
“Tate, I have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about. The Keeley…what did you call it?”
“Cockcycle.” Such disdain in her voice. Such disgust in her expression.
“Right. Cockcycle.” I run my hands through my hair, blowing out an exasperated breath. “And I’m supposed to know what it means?”
The first slip in her demeanor breaks through. The fact I’m shocked at this news surprises her.
“Something to do with hockey maybe? Sorry if I was too stunned to ask for clarification.”
Her snarky attitude does little to assuage the way I’m feeling, the way my pulse continues to throb stronger. “Where did you hear such a crude thing?” Perhaps that should have been the first thing I asked, but like her, the shock of hearing something so revolting rocked me.
