Page 83 of Friends that Puck

Dylan: Fuck, your ankles are kind of hot.

I smirk, trying to hold in my laugh at his stupidity. That’s so dumb.

Cecily: You can practice your fetish on me.

Ten minutes later.

Dylan: I’m coming over right now.

I know he’s joking, so I don’t reply. I sit at the dining table and smash out a few assignments. Homework and projects are sometimes worse than my own business negotiations and meetings. Those are always to the point; college seems opinion-based. If the professor is a dickwad, then the best grade depends on how much I kiss ass or beg. Hate it.

It’s after midnight when I finally fall into bed, but I’m still restless. I stay in bed anyway and mindlessly scroll until I fall asleep.

Friday is a few days away, and I need to tell Dylan I’m coming to the party.

19

Dylan

The way that Rocky is wrapping his stick has me concerned, but I know better than to say anything.

Scott gives me a death glare, so I know whatever the fuck is going on with those two, I need to stay the hell out of it.

Westley never has drama, so I nod at him.

He just looks at me, too, and I don’t think I want to know what the fuck is going on anymore. I focus on putting on my gear and hype myself for the game.

I have a bit of downtime, so I check my phone, surprised to see Cecily has texted me.

Cecily: Coming to Rocky’s tonight

Cecily: See you there

That’s not fucking normal, but I don’t think much about it. Maybe she wants to suck my dick again. The thought of coming in her mouth again makes me put my phone away. I shake off the thought, leaving the locker room to hit the ice and do somestretches. My ankle’s not fully healed, so I’m warming the bench for the night.

I can tell Rocky has some shit going on. During the game, I watched him throw punches with a few guys and score three times. He’s on fire, but not in a good way. He’s got demons, and I know we’ll see them come out to play at the party tonight.

Just as I assumed, Rocky is screaming for the entire party to hear. He’s taking body shots off of Michelle Swift, and when he starts munching on her cleavage, I drink the rest of my beer and ignore it.

Hands cover my eyes, and instead of panicking, I relax. I smell her perfume, the softness of her palms.

“Guess who?” she whispers.

“A cow,” I say, and she pushes me. I laugh, turning around. “Hey, Moo.”

She has a tall blonde friend analyzing our interaction, unamused. Then our eyes meet, and she smiles.

“You must be Dylan,” the blonde says.

I glance at Cecily, then back at her. “Want a drink?”

“Yes.”

“Ce?” I question, raising a brow at her.

She shakes her head, and her friend tugs on her hand. “Ce, you promised one drink!”

Cecily closes her eyes. “I did, but I’m breaking that promise.”