Page 2 of Absolutely Pucked
“So someone’s living in their car.”
I stared at her flatly. “Or it’s a ghost.”
“Or it’s a person who lost their home and is sleeping in their car.”
My heart twisted in my chest because, yeah, thathadbeen my first thought, but that was a sucky thought. I’d been homeless more than once, and I remembered that feeling. The weight of it was…a lot. The heaviness never quite went away.
Even today, I had the worst habit in the world of constantly buying food and keeping my pantry stockedfloor to ceiling with nonperishables because the times I’d spent hungry left scars.
I needed to find some kind of balance, but my life had never felt stable. I’d been working at the grocery store for almost six years now, avoiding all sense of responsibility like the plague. Every time they pulled me into the office to talk about promoting me to general manager, I faked food poisoning, so last winter, they quit asking.
And I was fine with that.
Except I was getting a little tired of stressing over bills and borrowing money from the gremlin twins to make sure my heat didn’t get shut off. I knew I was as fucked in the head as I was in the body. I just…didn’t know how to fix it.
“Listen,” Alessia said, cutting into another one of my thought spirals, “I have to take off. My flight is at three, and I have a meeting tomorrow at ass o’clock in the morning.”
“Okay, Miss Corporate America.”
Alessia gave me a flat look. “Miss Corporate America is responsible for those high-thread-count sheets you love so much. Gotta make that bread so I can keep spoiling my favorite friend.” She leaned over the table and set her hand next to mine, giving me a long kiss against my cheek. “Love you. Don’t do anything foolish before I see you again.”
When she stepped away, I saw a small stack of cash that was more than what the lunch and tip was worth. My heart sank to my stomach, but I wasn’t too proud to take it. I needed bread and eggs.
I counted off a fat tip for our server, then boxed upwhat was left of my food before shuffling out the door and glancing around. A storm was in the air, fat grey clouds hovering in the distance with the promise of heavy rain and cold nights.
Tugging my jacket around me, I thought about my car ghost—or the homeless man. I didn’t know what to say or do about it. Did I knock on the window and ask if he was okay? Did I offer him a warm place to hang out and maybe some food?
That felt like the start to a serial killer movie.
Or a porn.
Or a serial killer porn.
I could live with a little spontaneous sex with a stranger, but I didn’t want todie.
Christ, I needed to take my mind off of everything. Sliding behind the steering wheel, I stared at my gas tank. I had enough for the week and then some, so yeah. One town over had a cute little queer club that I’d used a few times over the years to hook up when my hand and toys weren’t enough for me. I wasn’t an overly sexual guy, and I was usually enough for myself, but sometimes I needed a warm body and a soft mouth and…yeah.
I think it was about that time. The thing with Tucker and Amedeo was obviously fucking me up, and while Boden would rather be set on fire than admit there was anything more to his feelings about Hugo than hate, I could sense the tension between them.
They were either going to fight or fuck, and if he chose the second one, I’d be the only one left amongst us that was alone. And lonely. And kind of pathetic.
Christ, I did not need to throw myself a one-manpity party parade. There wasn’t enough confetti in the world for how damn fabulous it would need to be. So yeah, a little dick sucky-sucky and a few drinks to forget, and things would be fine.
Sitting back in my seat, I pulled up my bank account, transferred a little more from my savings—did my best not to wince—then ordered a Lyft. Mental health, damn it. I needed an orgasm for mental health.
The only person who would probably buy that was Alessia, but that was fine. One person was better than no one, and if she’d let me self-destruct just a tiny bit, she could keep being my best friend.
The club was sorry and pathetic on a Tuesday night. The music was blaring as I approached the doors, but when I stepped inside, there were fewer than two dozen people milling around, and a good half of those were at least three times my age if their grey hair and overly Botoxed foreheads were anything to go by.
I never said no to a little silver fox here and there, but these ones were the hungry ones. The desperate ones. Too often, the married ones trying to hide their little secret from their wives. That was so not my jam.
Hooking up was difficult enough when I had a prosthetic leg that almost reached my hip. Half the time, the guys who liked it had athingfor guys like me, which always gave me the biggest ick. With jeans on and the promise to only take my dick out, I was usually able toavoid those and get my rocks off. Enough to take the edge off, anyway.
Hooking up always gave me better respect for Boden though, who couldn’t hide himself between a well-placed pair of jeans. I don’t know if that made me a shitty friend or not, but…whatever. He loved me as I was.
I slid up to the bar and took a deep breath before making eye contact. The bartender was gorgeous, with perfectly applied makeup, a mesh shirt sporting a pin that said “they/them” in rainbow glitter, thin braids that were woven with bright blue, and dark brown skin that was covered in some kind of body glitter that made them look holographic under the club lights.
They were too gorgeous for a useless weekday where they were probably making nothing in tips, and I was too fucking poor to make their night.
