Page 7 of Pucked and Pregnant

My eyes roll back in my head when he’s fully inside me. I planned to draw this out and give him a goodbye neither of us would forget, but my determination crumbles. He peppers kisses across my breasts as I ride him, sending little sparks throughout my body.

“I’m so close,” I gasp.

He thrusts his hips hard against mine, causing both of us to come undone.

I’m flung into a fog of pleasure so dense I forget my own name for a moment.

When I drift back down, I’m collapsed against his chest, both of us breathing hard.

As soon as I catch my breath, I reach behind him and untie his wrists.

“We need to get to bed. My flight leaves early tomorrow.”

He presses a quick kiss to my lips then smiles. “I guess you’ll have to let me up then.”

We’re quiet during our shower. We’re quiet as we slide into bed and we’re quiet the entire drive to the airport.

Caleb doesn’t park and walk me to the baggage check counter. He just pulls into the drop-off loop, helping me with the few things I hadn’t shipped home, and gives me a quick kiss before driving off.

I don’t know if he looked back but I certainly didn’t.

I know some people might find that type of goodbye awkward or cold, but I don’t. I’d much rather have an honest goodbye, however silent, than any performative whispers of I’ll miss you’s or grand gestures.

He’s not my boyfriend. We started hooking up because it was convenient—that and we both get turned on by an argument. There’s no sense in pretending it’s something it’s not now that I’m leaving. It might seem callous, but the only thing I feel about it is frustration.

I finally got my ideal no-strings-attached relationship. No, “I want you to meet my mom,” or “Why are you spending so much time at work?” or worse, “I thought we had something special. Do you even want to be with me at all?”

There was none of that in the arrangement Caleb and I had. It was the perfect setup for both of us, and now, I’m going to have to start all over again in a town that worships the ground my brother walks on.

Do you know how hard it is to grow up with a brother who’s been famous in your hometown since he was fourteen? He skipped right over the JV hockey team and went straight to varsity.

But that wasn’t enough for Max. He led the team to an undefeated season as the youngest center the school had seen in decades. That same year, I was the head of the debate team and we made it to regionals. I was also on the mathletes and we won nationals by such

an incredibly wide margin it should have been a record. My physics experiment won third place in the school science fair.

Nobody wanted to talk about the things I’d accomplished, though. All they wanted to talk about was Max. It got to the point where one would believe my name was Max’s sister instead of Olivia.

As soon as the Sabers won their third game in a row, I had girls I didn’t even know pretending to be my friend just so they could get closer to Max.

My actual friends were no better. All they ever talked about was him, often in such graphic detail I had to walk away. Suddenly, they didn’t want to do anything with me other than linger around my house, hoping to spot him, and if they did, they threw themselves at him in such a pathetic manner I felt sorry for them.

The guys weren’t much better. I went from being relatively unnoticeable to constantly being bombarded with attention. At first, it made me feel like I was on top of the world. I thought I’d blossomed overnight into a swan.

It didn’t take long for me to realize I was either a conquest, or simply a way to get into Max’s orbit. Most of the time, it was a way to get into Max’s orbit.

Three games.

That’s all it took for me to lose all of my friends, and learn that people couldn’t be trusted, that they were only out for themselves.

I desperately wanted to hate him but I could never seem to muster the energy to feel anything more than annoyed. Aside from my parents, Max was the only one who noticed me and celebrated my achievements. Besides, it wasn’t completely his fault that people threw themselves at him. He never necessarily asked for the attention.

He always asked what was going on in what he liked to call the “geeky side of the universe,” often letting me bounce project ideas off him. He protected me from the creepy guys at school, and even rescued me from some dicey situations. He really was a good brother.

Part of me is pleased to know I’ll be living closer to him and my parents—no more three-hour flights. On the other hand, there will be no escaping his shadow in Boston. It’s going to be like high school all over again, except this time we’re adults, and the press is going to be even worse.

I growl in frustration as I rest my head against the cool window of the plane.

You made it through this mess once and you can do it again. You’re not a naïve wide-eyed girl anymore. You’re older. You’re wiser. You’re tougher.

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