Forever Pucked(5)

Getting up the stairs to the front door also isn't as easy as it should  be. I trip on the last step and fall, but thankfully the beaver acts as a  cushion, preventing me from hurting myself. I slap the snow off his  beaver face and drag him to the door. Punching in the code, I shoulder  my way inside. The front entry is dark, which is unusual. The lights are  timed at night, unless the system's malfunctioned. Maybe it has. Alex  will have to call the guy who fixes his ridiculous security system. I  heave the beaver into the foyer and hit something. I have no idea what,  as I can't see much.

Smacking the wall beside me, I shut the door, blocking out the frigid  wind. I finally find the light switch and flick it on. Which is the  exact moment I scream like a man with his nuts caught in a vice.

The foyer is filled with cardboard cutouts of Alex. His life-size condom  advertisement is front and center, followed by his sports drink promo,  the one for hockey sticks, the body wash advertisement, and even the one  for the gel that soothes muscle aches. All of my Alex cutouts are  welcoming me home, which would be cool, except it means someone has been  inside the house, rearranging my shit. That's freaking terrifying.

"I have a gun!" I yell. This is a total lie. I've never even held a damn  gun. Alex, who's from Canada where they don't even believe in guns, has  held a gun, but I have not. I'm petrified that I'll accidently shoot  someone, or myself, so I can't bring myself to go near one. Alex thinks  it's sweet.

Right now I wish I'd had the balls to hit the shooting range at least  once when Sidney, my stepdad, offered to take me this fall because this  feels like the beginning of a really bad horror movie. I move the giant  beaver in front of me, as if it's going to protect me from the goddamn  serial killer with an Alex cutout fetish.                       
       
           



       

A figure steps out from behind one of the cutouts, and I scream again.  This time it's blood-curdling. I shove the beaver away from me, knocking  over the first cardboard-cutout Alex. A domino effect follows, the  two-dimensional versions of my man dropping to the floor with a whoosh  and a series of low thuds. I turn around and start reefing on the door,  trying to get out, but I've locked it, so it's not opening. And I'm  freaking.

"Violet, baby, it's me." Alex's voice penetrates the haze of my terror. I  stop trying to escape and turn to face him. There he is in 3D, standing  in the middle of the fallen versions of himself.

"You scared the shit out of me!" I throw my purse at him.

He lunges to catch it before it can hit the floor. It was about three feet shy of hitting him.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to surprise you." He's smiling through his apology, which irks me.

I point at him. "It's not funny. You almost gave me a heart attack! I thought some psycho had broken into the house."

"I didn't mean to do that." His hands are raised, probably to reassure  me that he's not a hologram, but in fact my real fiancé, and that he  really is sorry. I'm not sure I buy it; he's still got a dimple popping.  He takes tentative steps toward me, just in case I decide to kung fu  him in the balls or something, I guess.

"Well, consider me surprised." It's a good thing I didn't have the dairy  or I would've shit my damn pants. "Why didn't you call me to let me  know you were going to be home?"

"It wouldn't have been much of a surprise then, would it?"

I replay dinner in my head: all the texts the girls were getting, their excitement at going home to dick-free beds.

"How long have you been planning this?" I cross my arms over my chest.

Alex's gaze darts down and stays there, despite the fact that I'm  wearing a huge winter jacket and my boobs are hidden. "Only since we got  stuck at the rest stop earlier today. I really wasn't sure if we were  going to make it home. Then we got back on the road, and I decided I'd  surprise you. I got here about half an hour ago. I had just enough time  to set this up." He gestures to the fallen Alexes, and then to the  beaver lying face down on the floor. "I see you got my present."

I give him my bitch brow. I spent the last three hours thinking my  beaver was sleeping alone tonight. I'm still getting over that, so I'm  not as nice as I should be. "Thanks for sending it to my work."

"You don't like it? The pictures you sent me seem to indicate otherwise."

I roll my eyes. "It's ridiculous."

"Which is why you love it." He tucks my damp hair behind my ear, skimming my cheek with warm fingers.

I try to remain annoyed. "Where are we going to put it?"

"I was thinking we could bring it to the Chicago cottage. It can be our mascot."

Alex has two cottages. He likes to buy property. The Chicago cottage is  just as nice as his Ontario cottage and only two hours away, on Lake  Geneva, instead of a plane ride followed by two hours in the car. The  beaver would be appropriate at the Ontario cottage, since it's in  Canada, but I don't think they'd let it on the plane. The Chicago  cottage isn't a bad second choice. Not that this is relevant to  anything.

I haven't seen Alex in eight days. It's our First Real Date Sexiversary,  and I totally didn't expect him to be here tonight. Although my heart  still feels like it's going to explode out of my chest for a multitude  of reasons, all I want is to rub up on him like a bear on a tree, or a  beaver on some wood. Either way, there needs to be rubbing. Preferably  leading to an orgasm.

He pulls me close, wrapping me in his arms, and I sink into him. He's so  warm and solid and perfect. "I'm glad you're home, even if you almost  gave me a heart attack."

"Me, too. I missed you." His hands move to my ass, and he squeezes  softly. He bends to kiss me, which is when I get a whiff of stale,  oniony yuck.

I purse my lips and wrinkle my nose. "Smells like you made out with a Big Mac."

He grimaces. "That bad, eh?"

He's close talking, so even though I try not to breathe, I still get hit  with another shot of grossness. He smells like diesel exhaust, sweat  masked with deodorant, and fast food.

"What'd you eat? A plate of raw onions?"

"We stopped at a diner. I had a burger." He sounds apologetic. Our dinners matched.

As much as I've missed him, I'm not having sex with him like this. I  might have a year ago, but now I can wait until he showers and brushes  his teeth. I should probably do the same.                       
       
           



       

"Let's go get cleaned up," I suggest.

Alex picks me up in a frontwards piggyback-a piggyfront-and carries me  up the stairs. I don't bother trying to make conversation; I'm too busy  kissing his neck, which tastes salty, but otherwise fine. Alex adjusts  his grip when we get to the bedroom and pushes the door open. Candles  cast a dim glow around the room, and rose petals-real, not fake based on  the smell-litter the comforter. No wonder he hasn't had time to shower.  He's been setting up a romantic reunion    -apart from freaking me out  with the cardboard-cutout army, anyway.

Little does he know I have plans of my own for us, and all the important  stuff is downstairs in the living room by the fireplace. The rest is in  the fridge. It's okay, though. If we don't make it down there tonight,  there's always tomorrow, or the day after that.

He sets me on the bed and leans down, resting his head on my boobs so he  can nuzzle in. When he pulls away after what I feel is too short a  time, I clamp my legs around his waist.

He shifts so his chin rests in the valley of my boobs. His expression is  serious, but his eyes reveal his amusement. "I can't get clean if you  won't let me go."

He runs a gentle hand down the outside of my thigh, stopping at the back  of my knee, urging me to disengage. I can feel the monster cock. He's  already excited about being close to my beaver, so I'm reluctant to let  go. Alex has a point, though.

My skirt is pooled around my waist, but I'm wearing opaque tights, so he  can't see anything important. Like my undies. I can't remember which  ones I put on this morning, having been in a bit of a rush.

Alex straightens with his palms still hooked under my knees. His hands  are rough; I can hear the nylon fabric catching as he kneads the backs  of my calves. I don't care though, he's touching me, and it's been more  than a week, so I'm good with having to buy new tights. I can afford it.

His eyes move up my body, like he's studying a familiar map. He rubs his scruffy beard. "You want me to shave?"

"Please." My skin is extra sensitive in the winter. I don't want it to  get all chafed, otherwise it will put a damper on sexy times this week.  Whenever Alex comes home from being away, we have a lot of  make-up-for-missed-occasions sex.