“Alex’s sister isn’t some random chick you’re sticking your wang in. She’s one of your teammates’ sister, kind of like I’m your sister.”
The lightbulb appears to be flickering, so I figure it’s safe to continue.
“There are hundreds of pictures of Sunny and Alex together. It’s no secret they’re close. She spends a lot of time under the scrutiny—” Buck frowns; maybe I’m using words he doesn’t understand. “The watchful eye of the media. If you make it seem like you’re all up in that, how do you think it will look?”
“I know what scrutiny means. I don’t want people to think Sunny is a puck bunny.”
He continues to stroke his beard as he ponders what I’ve said.
“I’m sure you don’t. Just like you don’t want people to think I’m one for sleeping with Alex, even though I’ve done a good job making myself look like one, anyway.”
“I thought we agreed not to talk about that. It was bad enough catching the end of it. I don’t like that you’re with him. Just because Waters isn’t taking puck bunnies home right now doesn’t mean he’s a changed man.”
“That’s like the yeti calling the Sasquatch hairy.”
He runs a hand self-consciously over his forearm. “What?”
“You do realize Alex thinks you’re after his sister to get back at him for me, right? Imagine how he feels believing you’re doing his sister, knowing the number of girls you’ve put your doodle into.”
“Yeah, ’cause Waters’ rep is so much better.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s not really a manwhore. It’s all just public misconception.”
Oh God. I don’t think I should’ve said that. Alex’s non-whoriness is probably something we should discuss, which is absolutely insane.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Never mind. Forget I said anything.” It’s the wrong thing to say because it evokes curiosity.
“What kind of bullshit is Waters feeding you?”
Buck’s face starts to get red as unnecessary anger sets in. He reminds me of The Hulk, which reminds me of my underwear, which reminds me of Alex’s mother walking into his room while his hand was in the flap. Stupid, humiliating unlocked door.
“It’s not important. Besides, this isn’t about Alex and me. It’s about you and Sunny, and you telling your boys you banged her so you can be the man. It’s immature. You’re making her look bad. Is that what you want?”
He hangs his head in shame. “No. Definitely not.”
“Then stop being an asshole. Now get out of my pool house. I have a date, and I don’t want you here when Alex picks me up.”
He points the cucumber at me. “I still don’t like that you’re dating him.”
“And I still don’t care.” I open the door and shoo him out.
Maybe Sunny can do the impossible and tame Buck. If he screws this up, it’s going to make things hella awkward for Alex and me.
Alex and I spend as much time together as we can over the weeks following his return, although constant practice, away games, and preparation for playoffs keep him busy. We don’t go out apart from picking up the occasional takeout; Alex is trying to keeps things low key after the fight and the locker room sex.
During his interviews to dispel the rumors, Alex is as evasive as ever, neither confirming nor denying anything. It reminds me of the Hat Trick interview. I understand the reasons for his non-answers and the omission, but it makes me nervous. While the pictures of him and I leaving the stadium after the locker sex are unclear, there are plenty more from later in the evening with us together.
When our relationship is brought up in one interview, he dodges the question altogether, as if it wasn’t even asked. I’ve gone from being no one important to the topic of speculation in the gossip rags. The attention is foreign. I don’t want to be seen as Alex’s puck bunny. Beyond that, I worry about how I’ll be perceived at work by my colleagues.
I can’t decide whether I’m being paranoid or if my fears have legitimate basis. He’s so considerate when we’re together; it’s hard to know how much is a result of my own insecurities.
Our weeks blend together, and the April thaw brings wet weather followed by the promise of May sunshine and warmth. Tonight is a rare evening without obligations, so we’re making use of his back porch. Not having sex. Yet.
I discovered his black onyx Scrabble board and challenged him to a word-off.
“Let’s talk about the rules,” he says as he sets up the board and shakes the bag of tiles.
“They’re right here.” I hold up the booklet that contains the rules as well as the list of two letter words I’ve memorized. Those come in handy at the end of the game.
“I have a few new ones.”
“New rules?”
Alex crosses his legs, getting comfortable. “Mmm. I’d like to up the stakes a little.”
“Is that so?” I’m just as good at Scrabble as I am at air hockey. The key to Scrabble isn’t creative words, it’s in the points.
“All words need to be a minimum of four letters, with no less than ten points, and they need to be dirty.”