Forever Pucked(48)

Boxes line the wall in neat rows with Sunny's flowery printing on them,  indicating the contents. On the coffee table are several magazines, most  are hockey, but there are new ones with babies on the front as well.  And there's a parenting book with little Post-it notes hanging out like  tiny pink tongues.

"Sorry about the mess. You know how it is. You guys want a beer or something?"

"Sure, thanks."

Miller grabs beers, and we join Lance and Randy in the living room.  Lance is setting up the Xbox, and Randy is sending texts while smirking.  I'll bet my left nut it's Lily getting the messages.

"You two gonna play?" Lance works on untangling the controllers.

Darren checks his phone. "Nah. We're not staying long."

"We're just having a quick game. Then I gotta go home and get ready for a date," Lance says.

"A date?" Randy sounds as shocked as the rest of us look.

Lance doesn't look up from the controllers he's still messing with. "Why is that such a surprise?"

"Uh, maybe because you don't date."

"I set up a Tinder profile so I don't have to go to the bars since all you assholes have your dicks nailed down."

Randy chokes on his beer and puts a protective hand over his balls. "Dude, not a nice image."

"Shit. Sorry, man. Bad choice of words."

"I'm going to point out that Tinder isn't a dating site. It's a hook-up  site," Miller says as he roots through the cabinet in the entertainment  center.

Lance shrugs. "This way I'm guaranteed no bullshit. I'm gonna get naked  and come, hopefully more than once, and in as many holes as I can."

Darren coughs. "You're a classy bastard, Romero."

Lance smiles, but it's stiff. "The classiest." He turns to me. "Anyway,  it looks like you're really going through with this whole wedding thing,  aye?"

"The date's set. We're just finalizing details and ironing out the guest  list." I glance around the room. "Obviously you guys are all invited."

Lance goes back to messing with the controller. "You uh … invitin' Tash to your shindig?"

I figured the Tinder hook-ups meant he was over that, but maybe not.  "Violet still talks to her, so she might extend the invitation. You  gonna be okay with that?"

"For sure. We're long over." The tips of his ears go red, and he chugs  the rest of his beer in three long swallows. I have a feeling there was a  lot more going on between them than Lance ever owns up to.                       
       
           



       

"Found it!" Miller holds up a CD case.

On the cover is a picture of Sidney and Skye in their wedding outfits.  Skye's dress is … very Skye. It's off-white, short, and tight. Violet gets  her body from her mom. They're both petite with big boobs. Skye wasn't  doing much to rein hers in for this picture.

"What's that?" Randy asks.

"My dad and Skye's wedding video." Miller passes it to me.

"Just put it on."

"Uhh … are you sure you want me to do that?"

"It's fine. You were teenagers, right? It can't be that bad."

"If you say so." Miller slides the CD into the slot, and we wait for the  video to cue up. He fast-forwards through most of it until we get to  the speeches.

"Nice tux, Butterson," Lance says. "Where are you, Balls? Didn't you two hang out in high school?"

"I was already in Toronto then. I got drafted to the farm team out there in my last year."

Miller pauses the video on a grainy image of a much-younger Violet. "You sure you want to watch this with everyone here?"

"It's fine." I should know from Miller's repeated questions that it's  not fine. But I keep telling myself it can't be that bad, and they're  blowing it out of proportion. Violet can be dramatic at times.

"All right. Don't say I didn't warn you." He hits play again.

The camera pans in on Violet. Her face is softer, rounder. Her long hair  is pulled up into an intricate ponytail, and curled tendrils frame her  face. I totally would have wanted to date her in high school. I bet all  the guys had boners over her. I'm conflicted by the reaction in my  pants, because she's way underage in this video. She's wearing glasses.  They're purple with little rhinestone decorations on the side.

"Holy shit? Is that Vi?" Lance asks.

"Yeah."

"Wow. I gotta say, Butterson, I'm surprised you didn't try to hit that. I  mean, convenience factor aside, she was a hot nerd! And look at her  boobs. Is it just me or are they bigger there?" Everyone turns to stare  at him. "Uh, let's pretend I didn't say any of that."

"Good call."

"But I'm still surprised Butterson didn't try to bone her. Or you." He points at Randy.

"Do you have a death wish, Romero?" Darren asks.

"I didn't meet Violet until this year," Randy says.

"Violet was too busy being a Mathlete to hang out with me when our  parents got married, and Randy was already in the minors getting his  bunny on," Miller says. "I was gonna set you up with her when she and  Alex were on the outs back in May."

I throw my hands up. "What the fuck, Miller?"

He shrugs. "You were being a dick and listening to your stupid agent.  Violet was fucking miserable, moping around, eating dairy. I thought she  might need a distraction."

"So you thought hooking her up with Ballistic was a reasonable option?"

"Hey, I'm a good guy," Randy says in his own defense.

"Calm your tits, Waters. She never went out with him, or anyone else,  while you were on your break. She couldn't even manage saying Randy's  name without thrusting."

I have to say, I'm damn glad Violet never went out with Ballistic. He is  a good guy, but from the stories Violet tells me, he and Lily have more  sex than feral rabbits. I'd like to think my bedroom skills are better  than his, but I'm very glad Violet has no firsthand knowledge as to  whether or not that's true.

"Oh! This is it." Miller turns up the volume.

There's a whispered conversation in which it sounds like Violet is  arguing with her mom. She huffs and takes off her glasses, folding them  neatly on the table before she pushes back her chair. She adjusts her  dress-there's a lot of cleavage-and stands.

"Jesus. How old is Violet here?" Lance asks.

"I think she was turning seventeen or something," Miller replies.

"Man, I wish the chicks in my Mathletes club had looked like that."

"Shut the fuck up, Romance, before Alex breaks your nose."

"Right. Sorry."

I grunt but say nothing because he's right. I would've given my left nut  to sit next to her in math class and pretend I didn't know what the  fuck was going on so I could look down her shirt while she explained  things. Violet's the kind of girl who would've been helpful like that in  high school.

She's wearing one of those super formfitting dresses, and it's  short-like, way too short for a bridesmaid's dress, hitting her high on  her thigh. It must be a guy on the camera because he zooms out so he can  get her entire, smokin' hot, highly illegal body to fit in the shot.  There's a long lace train thing hanging off the back of the dress that  drags on the floor.                       
       
           



       

Violet's wearing silver platform heels. She's obviously unaccustomed to  them. She teeters unsteadily and holds onto the back of the chair.  Signature red blotches break out across her chest-her very ample,  not-covered-enough chest. She brushes a fallen tendril out of her face  and squints, because she can't see very well without her glasses.

She takes a couple of shuffling steps before she squares her shoulders,  jutting out her chest. The dress seems to be slipping down. She hikes it  up again and stutter-steps across the stage. Those heels are way too  high.

Miller is standing at the bottom of the steps to the left of the podium.  His hands are shoved in his pockets as he waits for Violet to come  down. On the second one, her heel catches the lace train, and she  careens forward, head-butting Miller in the junk. He, in turn, stumbles  back. He might've been able to recover if Violet hadn't grabbed his  tuxedo jacket and rammed her shoulder into his knee.

"Wow, she's not very graceful, is she?" Randy mumbles.

Miller bumps into the table holding the three-tiered wedding cake. It rocks forward and then topples off the back.

As if this isn't bad enough, Violet scrambles to right herself, but her  heel is still caught in the back of her dress. It pulls the whole thing  down. And there they are: her boobs.

Miller hits pause instead of stop, so the video freezes on a shot of Violet's exposed chest.

"Shit! Sorry! I meant to hit stop before that happened!"

The young Miller on the screen is wide eyed and horrified, just like the  one currently in three dimensions. He steps in front of the TV to block  the view. Thankfully everyone is looking either at the ceiling or their  hands.