Page 12 of Mister Hockey
Despite Mom’s disapproval,shitdidn’t come close to conveying the horror circulating through her bloodstream, turning her veins to acid. This was a screwup of epic proportions, even for her.
“What’s the matter, Bumper Butt?” Granny Dee briskly untied her plastic rain bonnet, finger combing her fire-engine red curls back into place. “Sorry to waltz in unannounced, but you know how much I wanted a peek at your new place.” She turned ninety in a few weeks, but moved like a woman in her sixties, as she bustled around the room, making approving noises over the curtain choices and knick-knacks on display.
Breezy ground two fists into her eyes with enough force to see stars.Think. Think.Two of the biggest hockey fanatics in the Denver metro area were pacing the room’s perimeter while fifteen feet away a certifiable Hottie McHotterson was in her bedroom discovering her secret trove of sex toys.
And to think she’d actually believed the day’s low point was ripping the ass out of her superhero suit.
What were her current options? Fake a seizure?
No. She gave her head an inward shake. Too dramatic. Plus, the last thing she needed to compound this situation were paramedics and a fire truck. A fake faint would be better. She could blame the episode on dehydration. Mom was always nagging her to drink more.
But in the end, she was too freaked out to manage anything other than the awful truth. At least the PG version.
She waved them close. “Jed West is here.” She moved her lips like a ventriloquist, trying to keep her voice modulated as low as possible.
“What’s that?” Her mom ignored her gesture, peering at the windows. She moved in short, graceful bursts with the energy of a hummingbird. Breezy always felt like a lumbering walrus in comparison.
“Oh, honey,” Mom made a tut-tut sound. “Look at this grime. Didn’t you promise that you were going to clean the tracks the last time I was here? How many times do I have to tell you that it only takes a sprinkle of baking soda and vinegar. Let it sit for five minutes and the gunk will wipe right off—”
“Enough with the tracks. Huddle up and listen.” Screw her mom’s anal clean freak obsessions. “Jed West is here,” she breathed.
“Huh?” Granny Dee stuck a hand behind her ear. “God hates a mumbler.”
A hard thud emanated from the bedroom. No doubt the queen-size mattress getting turned on its side. Stars danced on the edge of her vision.
Mom’s eyes widened behind her tortoiseshell frames as she blew back her bangs. “Who’s back there?”
“I’m worried about her coloring.” Granny Dee pinched Breezy’s cheeks. “It’s this lousy weather. Where do you keep the whiskey? A nice hot toddy will warm you up.”
Breezy strained her ears but silence reigned from the bedroom. At least Jed hadn’t bolted out of the room, arms windmilling in horror at her sexual depravity. Maybe they’d be adults about this. After all, masturbating was a normal part of life, a common to-do item on the ol’ weekly routine.
Shave legs.
Moisturize.
Use sunscreen.
Buy milk and eggs.
Get rocks off.
Studies showed it was better than melatonin for sleep.
But still... that didn’t mean she wanted to discuss her vibrator preferences or lube choices with the actual embodiment of these dirty fantasies.
Panic simmered in her stomach. This was all so awful that it couldn’t be happening.
Bump.Another hard thud. Followed by thesnickity-snickroll of something plastic across the hardwood.
“There. I hear it again!” Mom clutched her purse to her chest, eyes wide. “Someone is in your bedroom.”
Her mother had a gift for stating the obvious.
“Is it a man?” Granny Dee rubbed her hands with undisguised glee.
“Of course not!” Mom gave a disparaging shake of the head. “This is Breezy, not Margot.”
She didn’t mean those words as an insult. Still, Breezy flinched. She wasn’t a play-the-field girl like her bestie who had a different guy lined up for a date every single Saturday night. From the look of her friend’s Instagram account, her time in Mexico consisted of doing a lot of sun salutations and a lot, a lot, of very muscled surfers.
