Page 1 of The Puck Player

Have you ever had the urge to tell a man to shut the fuck up? Who am I kidding, of course you have! Now, how about five of them all at once? Again, probably highly likely. They don’t just hunt in packs, they talk shit in them too. Even the copious amounts of alcohol running through my veins isn’t enough to numb the bullshit pouring from their mouths, and there’s only so much polite nodding you can do to a bunch of frat jerks when you have no fucking clue what they are talking about.

I try to peek over their shoulders to search for my best friend, Malorie, but she’s at the bar flirting with some tall asshole, and I stare daggers into the back of his stupid, blond head for distracting her. She was only supposed to be grabbing us a drink, leaving me for a minute at most, and now I’m stuck here. Forfuck sake, can’t she sense I’m in crisis here? I thought we had some sort of twisted sister, fucked-up bond where she could sense my peril, but apparently not.

The worst part is that coming out tonight was my idea, one last hurrah before I have to accept my fate and start fresh, and instead of enjoying myself, my ears are being assaulted by some kappa douche and his four friends. I’m sure by now they can tell I’m not listening to their pissing contest, a fact only proven when the one in the middle leans in even closer.

“What brings you out tonight?” he purrs, smirking in a way that tells me he thinks he’s God's gift to women, and I have to refrain from rolling my eyes.

“My mom dropped dead, followed by my grandma, so drowning my sorrows felt like a good idea, until you got here,” I reply in a sweet, sardonic tone, and his entire face drops, along with his friends.

It’s comical really, but there’s nothing like a dead mom to make you feel like getting completely fucked up. With alcohol I mean, my head is already pretty fucked up all on its own. Most people would find it ironic that three months ago I had never had a drop of alcohol, and I spent most of my nights on my knees in church. Praying that is, get your head out of the gutter! I was a good girl. I followed all the rules, kept to my curfew, got decent grades, and never once got myself into any trouble, and now here I am. Using a fake ID to sip tequila, in a bar filled with frat guys enjoying their last few free days of winter break. I’m sure if dead people could feel things, my mom would not be feeling particularly proud, but hey, good thing she’s dead, right?

At least I’m still wearing my purity ring, much to my boyfriend’s dismay. He’s waited four years for me, as he so often likes to remind me, but apparently grieving a parent and a grandparent doesn’t factor into Ben’s plans for us. Nor does memoving to another college over two hours away, but hey, maybe the space will do us some good.

“Well, I bet I could give you a distraction,” the guy finally responds, his eyes solely on my ample tits, as if some mediocre making out could solve my grief, and I almost laugh.

This time I do roll my eyes at him, trying again to get Malorie’s attention, and finally her stare meets mine. I do that thing we do, where we communicate silently with one look, and she says something to the guy distracting her. I see the asshole follow her line of sight, but before I can get a look at who she is currently ditching me for, one of the frat guys gets in my way.

“Maybe we could both give you a distraction,” he whispers, like he thinks two dicks are better than one, and a threesome might magically make me better, and I internally groan.

No wonder so many women become lesbians, when this is the alternative.

I open my mouth to respond when an assertive new tone hits us all, pushing past all five of them with ease. “Excuse me, gentlemen, you have something that belongs to me,” he purrs in a smooth British accent, before setting his sights on me. “Shall we, love?” he asks, and I’m momentarily stunned by what I can only describe as a blond Prince Charming.

Hair so blond it’s almost white, a jaw that could cut glass, and a physique these frats guys could only dream of having, and don’t even get me started on his smirk. It’s both determined and possessive, as if no one has ever said the word no to him, and from the custom fit of his clothes and expensive watch on his wrist, I can only assume they haven’t.

I open my mouth, about to tell all of them to fuck off, but as if anticipating it, or my best friend has told him I’m a flight risk, he just winks, before leaning forward, picking me up, and effortlessly tossing me over his shoulder.

“Gentlemen,” he says by way of goodbye with the tip of his head, as if he really is some highly fucking prince, and god, he pisses me off more than the fucking frat guys.

“Put me down this instant,” I demand, and I swear I feel his whole body move in a laugh. A body that is hard and firm everywhere, and not for one second showing any signs of being weighed down by my curves, and trust me, there’s a lot of them.

“Damn, Valerie was right, you are a little viper,” he muses, tightening his grip across the back of my thighs, and I have never felt more humiliated in my life.

“Her name is Malorie, you jackass,” I spit, punching him in his ridiculously muscular shoulder, but he doesn’t even flinch.

He marches us right over to the bar, the five guys he just stole me from still staring after us in dull shock, before coming to a stop next to Malorie. “One best friend delivered safely and soundly.” One of his hands moves to my hip, the other the small of my back, as he bends down and deposits me back on the floor, our bodies colliding the whole way down, and I feel him everywhere. When I finally look up at him, he is staring at my tits, as he purrs, “You’re welcome, Trouble.”

I glance down, noticing my chest is practically now spilling from my dress thanks to him, and I scoff in disgust. “Yeah, thanks you fucking asshole,” I snap, quickly righting my dress, and he stalks my every move, unnerving me completely.

Ignoring him I turn to Malorie, grabbing the shot she is now holding out for me with an apologetic smile, and slam it back.

“It’s Alexander by the way, not fucking asshole,” the blond prince taunts, leaning on the bar beside me, his flirting with my friend now completely forgotten, as he places all of his attention on me.

It’s always the same, guys see the big tits, wide hips, brightly colored hair, the dresses and bows, and think I’m easy. It couldn’t possibly be that I just enjoy being girly and having a fullface of makeup and feminine clothes. No, clearly I am catering to the male gaze and in desperate need of attention. I roll my eyes again, because it’s just so laughable.

“Whatever, just go away,” I grit, signalling for another shot from the bartender, and I feel Malorie’s stare on us both with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Say it,” he whispers against my ear, getting even closer to me, and I curse him silently, as his expensive and masculine scent assaults me, the back of my arms littering with goosebumps at his smooth tone.

For fuck sake, why can’t he just fuck off?

“Say what?” I demand, turning to meet his stare, faking more bravado than I feel, and his icy blue eyes burn into mine.

“Say my name,” he commands, curling a lock of my pink-tipped hair around his finger. “Say thank you for saving me, Alexander.”

I flick my stare back to Malorie as if to ask if this guy is for real, but her attention is now lost to the cute bartender, and I sigh, focusing back on the prince of players.

“Do girls actually fall for that bullshit charm,Alexander?” I emphasise his name in an attempt to piss him off, but all it does is make him smile even wider.

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