Pucked Love (Pucked, #6)(49)
“I second that!” Violet says, and we pour out onto the Toronto street.
We stop at a breakfast place that has vegan options. Violet orders a full breakfast and a side of bacon and devours everything. We stroll down the street, stopping at a candy store, and then of course we find a sex shop, so it’s imperative that we go inside, at least according to Violet and Skye.
Violet’s eyes light up as she rummages through the penis-themed party favors. “Oh! Poppy, we need to start planning your bachelorette party!”
“I don’t think that’s necessary quite yet since we’re not getting married for at least another year, maybe two, depending.”
“Unless Lance knocks you up,” Lily wags her brows.
Poppy rolls her eyes. “He’s not going to knock me up. I’m on the pill.”
Sunny raises her hand. “I was on the pill, and I got knocked up.”
“Yeah, but you were on antibiotics and forgot that makes the pill ineffective,” Lily reminds her.
“Oh, right. Oh well, at least this time around it was planned. Might as well have them all now so they can grow up together.” She pats her tummy.
Lily smiles softly, but there’s a sadness there, too. Her mom got pregnant by an NHL player when she was eighteen. He took zero responsibility and never paid a dime in child support. Randy’s dad, a former NHL player, had a bad habit of sleeping with women who weren’t his wife while he was on the road.
While Lily and Randy seem to have a great relationship, they’re both a little skittish about marriage and kids. She’s still young and not in a rush to start a family of her own, but I think part of her is sad that if she does end up having kids, they’ll be much younger than Sunny’s.
I can relate, I guess—not that I want to get married and have kids. I mean, I guess maybe I would eventually consider the kid part, but marriage seems a lot like a prison sentence from my experience growing up.
On the way back to the hotel, we’re forced to stop again because Sunny needs more food. The game doesn’t start until seven, but we arrive back at the hotel around four in the afternoon. It appears housekeeping has been by to tidy up, and Darren has come and gone. On the bed is huge black box tied with a red ribbon and a small black card with my name written on it in silver ink.
The ache between my legs that finally dulled into something tolerable this afternoon becomes sharp again as I consider the contents of the box.
I’d message Darren, but I don’t like to distract him before games. I pick up the card and flip it open.
I shiver at the memory of what he said this morning when he left me hanging. It’s been a long time since he’s brought me to the edge like that—twice even—and kept me wanting all day. What if it’s some kind of sex toy in there? How the hell am I going to make it through the rest of the night without an orgasm?
I’m still standing at the edge of the bed, staring at the box, when there’s a knock at my door.
I glance through the peephole, thinking maybe he organized room service—which is totally something he would do—except it’s Violet standing in the hall with the rest of the girls.
I flip the lock and open the door. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“We’re getting ready for the game, and you weren’t answering your messages, so we all came to you,” Violet replies.
They file into the room toting bags. Lily has champagne, and Sunny is carrying a bottle of that sparkling grape juice she’s in love with.
All of them are already dressed and ready for the game, wearing their jerseys and leggings.
“Ooooh! You have a present!” Violet picks up the box and shakes it around. It doesn’t make a sound, so clearly there’s nothing metal in it. She thrusts it at me. “Open it!”
“Uhhhh . . .” I look around at their expectant faces.
“Oh, come on, we already know you and Darren aren’t nearly as freaky as you pretend to be. How bad could it be?” Violet reasons.
“Remember you said that if it’s something you don’t expect.” I take the box from her.
“You don’t have to open it in front of us if it makes you uncomfortable,” Poppy says softly.
I wonder if it makes her uncomfortable. She was pretty quiet when we were at Sexapalooza, and she mostly looked at the funny condoms when we were in the sex shop. For as horrible a reputation as Lance had with women, he’s incredibly tender with Poppy. He treats her like she’s a delicate flower, even though I think she’s kind of a badass with the way she handles him.
I take a seat on the end of the bed and pull the red ribbon, then nervously flip open the box. I press my fingers to my lips and suppress a grin. Now the note card makes more sense.
Inside is a brand new jersey to replace the one I’ve had for nearly two years. There’s also a pair of leggings covered in a team logo and WESTINGHOUSE 26 pattern. He even went so far as to get matching socks. But it’s what I find under the jersey and leggings that makes me fight back a thick swell of foreign emotion. I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry.
I pick up the small card sitting on top of the bra and panties set and flip it over.
I run my fingers over the pretty pale yellow cheekies, edged in lace and decorated with not only the Chicago logo, but a tiny firefly print. I have a feeling they might be glow in the dark. I flip them over and laugh. They read WESTINGHOUSE on the butt. The bra is the same fabric, minus the text.