Home > Pucked Up (Pucked #2)(17)

Pucked Up (Pucked #2)(17)
Author: Helena Hunting

“You know how the fans are.”

“The fans? The fans? What fan draws a penis on your forehead? You were naked! And there was some hooker bunny in that bed with you! It’s all over Instagram. It’s on my Facebook now! Who is she? Were you with her?”

“I was passed out. I didn’t even know she was in there with me.”

“Who took the picture? What if that had been a tattoo? It would’ve been permanent.”

“I don’t think I would’ve slept through a tattoo. Especially not on my face.”

“Ugh!” She goes to shut the door, but I slide my arm in before she can.

Sunny’s a yoga instructor; she’s stronger than she looks. It’s a lot of pressure on my forearm.

“Sweets, come on. Things get taken out of context. I was hanging with Lance and Randy. He invited some friends over.”

She makes a disgusted sound.

“They’re not bad guys; Lance just likes parties. He invited a bunch of people by, and you know how that goes. You invite a few people who invite a few more people . . . I can’t control what he does.”

“Oh, right! Of course that explains why a naked hooker bunny ended up in your lap.”

“No one was naked, Sunny.”

“Pretty darn close!” She holds her phone up in front of my face. It’s the picture of the girl sitting in my lap. There really isn’t much to her outfit: a tiny bikini top and a pair of little shorts. The fact that I’m shirtless doesn’t make it look any better.

She turns the phone around and swipes angrily across the screen, then holds it back up for me to see. “And last time I checked, this counts as being naked.”

It’s the picture of me, asleep in bed with that stupid dick on my forehead. I’m definitely naked there.

“I wasn’t conscious.”

“Because you passed out drunk. Wanna know how I know?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “You called me last night. Do you even remember that? I bet you don’t.”

“I remember calling you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. I told you I wanted to hear your voice.” I’m guessing here, but it’s pretty safe. I always want to hear her voice. At least I do when she’s not pissed off at me.

“There was more to the conversation than that.”

“I’ve been on the road all day. Can I come in so we can talk about this? I rebooked my flight so I could get here tonight. You haven’t answered any of my calls. There’s two sides to every story. You haven’t even heard mine yet. Please.”

She takes several deep breaths. “There’s three sides to every story.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s your version, the other person’s, and then there’s the truth, which is somewhere in the middle of the two.”

I think about that. She’s right, in a way. But in the case of the dick picture, my version is missing the whole part where the event took place, being passed out and all. The girl in my lap is a case of her word against mine.

“Are you willing to hear my side?” I give her my best I’m-sorry face.

Eventually she steps away from the door and lets me in, locking it behind her.

Sunny still lives with her parents. She’s only twenty, and she’s in school. She’s already completed a diploma of general arts and science, and she got her yoga certification. Last year she started a Public Relations program. She’s great with people and animals and all sorts of stuff, so whatever she decides to do, I’m sure she’ll be awesome.

This summer Sunny’s teaching yoga part-time and volunteering at an animal shelter. Thankfully her parents, Robbie and Daisy, are out of town for the weekend, so I don’t have to deal with them. It’s not that I don’t like them. I do. They’re cool for parents, but they’re the only ones I’ve ever met on purpose, so I don’t have much of a basis for comparison. Her mom, Daisy, likes to be involved in everything, so her not being here means I can focus on making things better with Sunny without any interference.

I glance around the front foyer. The Waters’ house is dated. Most of the furniture is new, but the curtains are poufy, and there are a lot of knickknacks. None of the colors seem to belong together. Vi calls it a boxing match between a bohemian gypsy and a southern belle. I’m not sure what that means, but it’s hard to look at.

I set my bag down by the front door. Sunny’ll let me stay the night. I already know this. She’s too sweet to make me leave once she’s let me in. I think it might be the Canadian in her. The question is, where will I be sleeping? If I can say the right thing, I might get a spot in her bed. If I don’t, I’ll be taking the spare room.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I’ve had to go for the past hour.

“You know where it is.” She doesn’t make a move to touch me, or hug me, so I take off my shoes—something Canadians seem hung up about—and head down the hall.

The main-floor bathroom is small, so there isn’t much to help me out in the freshening-up area. I find mouthwash under the sink and rinse with that. I’ve been wearing my hat since I got out of the shower, so I have to wet my hair to fix the hat head I’m sporting. My armpits could use a shot of Axe, but it’s not as bad as it could be. Another shower would help. I find some Lady Speed Stick and rub it under my pits. I smell like flowers and cucumbers, but it’s better than BO, so I’ll take it.

   
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