Then Puck was pulling free, lowering me gently to the floor.
“I think you tore strips out of my back,” he said. I turned him around in the tiny space.
“Crap.” Sure enough, my nails had left bright red trails of blood dripping across his skin. “That’s a little gruesome. I’m really sorry.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I like playing rough, Becca. You push as hard as you want.”
I wasn’t sure what to think about that, so I decided to ignore it in favor of cupping water in my hands to rinse between my legs . . .
Oh. Fuck.
“We didn’t use a condom,” I whispered, horrified. “We didn’t use a fucking condom!”
Puck stilled.
“Didn’t even think of it,” he admitted. “I just wanted inside you. You aren’t on anything?”
“No,” I said.
We stared at each other, stunned.
“Huh,” he said finally. “You have any idea where you are in your cycle?”
“You know about that stuff?”
“I’m a grown man, Becca,” he said. “Not a twelve-year-old. Of course I know about that stuff. What are the odds we just knocked you up?”
I shook my head and shrugged.
“No idea,” I admitted. “I’ve never been very regular.”
“Then we’re probably just fine,” he said. “I don’t have anything, in case you’re worried.”
I blinked, trying to process what he said.
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Um, I think I need to wash my hair before I leave,” I said finally.
“That your hint you want me out of the shower?” he asked, a touch of humor in his voice.
“Yeah, I think so.”
Puck caught me close, one hand on each side of my head as he searched my eyes.
“It’s gonna be just fine, all right? You get ready, then go out and enjoy your dinner. Don’t worry about it.”
Yeah, right. No worries at all.
—
Earl’s huckleberry pie was still steaming when I left the apartment at five thirty p.m.—Regina served dinner at six, sharp, and she didn’t have a lot of patience for people who found themselves running late.
The rush was worth it, though, because I loved Regina’s cooking almost as much as I loved sex with Puck.
It wasn’t anything fancy but it was always good because Regina didn’t like to do things halfway. Nope. When she served mashed potatoes she boiled them herself, then used real butter, real cream, and a hint of salt to create something that bore no resemblance whatsoever to that shit you buy in the store.
After Earl’s heart attack, I’d talked to her about changing her ways. She’d looked at me like I’d lost my mind, declaring she’d stop using real butter just as soon as he stopped drinking and smoking. If he didn’t care enough about his own health to change, no reason she should have to eat food that tasted like Elmer’s glue.
Needless to say, real butter still sat on her table.
Tonight’s dinner was just as good as always—roast venison (compliments of Earl), veggies, potatoes and gravy, followed by the pie served warm with ice cream.
Regina and Earl never pushed me to confide in them, and I hadn’t intended to bring up my mom at all. Something about sitting at the table together always got me talking, though, and tonight was no exception. As I watched Earl cut the roast, I found myself sharing the phone calls and my afternoon visit to the Vegas Belles Gentlemen’s Club.
“I can’t believe I fell for her bullshit again,” I said, poking at my potatoes with a fork. “You’d think I’d be smarter by now.”
“We’re hardwired to love our parents,” Regina said. “It’s part of being human. Something went wrong in your mama’s wiring, otherwise she’d treat you better. That doesn’t mean you should beat yourself up for having a heart.”
“What did you think of that strip club?” Earl asked, his eyes bright. I choked.
“Nice try,” Regina said, smacking him with a serving spoon. “Our girl nearly found herself taking off her clothes for strange men. You really want a club description?”
Regina continued to mutter as Earl caught my eye and winked. I bit back a giggle—the man had always been a joker, and he loved messing with his wife’s head. She never saw it coming, no matter how many times he did it.
“Should I go get the pie?”
“Damned straight,” Earl said. “Ice cream, too?”
“Would I let you eat huckleberry pie without ice cream?” Regina asked sternly. “You may be a forgetful old fool, but I’m still playing with a full deck. Becca, come to the kitchen with me.”