Page 42 of Pucking Only

SKYLER

After Carson is gone,I sit on my couch and stare at the door for several long moments. What the hell just happened?

I just had sex with Carson.With Carson!Have I totally lost my mind?

Dropping my head into my hands, I let out a long groan. This is exactly what wasn’t supposed to happen. It didn’t even cross my mind as a possibility that I’d jump from my date with Zander into sex with Carson.

This is a nightmare. A mistake. A disaster!

Lowering my hands, I shove to my feet. I need to stop thinking about this. If I don’t think about it, I can pretend it never happened. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do! Mind over matter. I’ll pretend it didn’t happen, and then I won’t have to deal with the unfortunate reality that I slept with my best friend’s brother.

In desperate need of a distraction, I rush to my computer. Work will keep my mind off Carson and the dirty, terrible, incredibly hot things we just did together. That’s right! Work!

I’ll work on the game for a bit until I’m calm enough to goto sleep. Once I’m able to focus on anything but Carson, I’ll be totally fine.

Hours later, I’m still sitting at my desk, my laptop glowing in the dim light of the apartment, the cursor blinking impatiently on the screen. The code in front of me is a tangled mess. I dive into it, hoping for a distraction. But Carson’s face keeps flickering in my mind, uninvited and persistent. It doesn’t help that his scent still clings to me. I should’ve showered as soon as he left. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to do so, even though it’s driving me crazy catching a whiff of his spicy musk whenever I move.

In hindsight, trying not to think about him while I’m working on a hockey game wasn’t the brightest idea. I can’t stop thinking about how awkward it was between us before he left. Like, as soon as we both came and the horny-haze lifted from our brains, we were forced to face the full reality of what we’d done.

Neither of us knew how to talk about it, so we each did what we do best… we bolted. Well, technically, he bolted, but I was ready to throw myself out the closest window to escape the situation if need be. I shake my head, trying to dispel the memory, and focus harder on the task in front of me.

“If I adjust this function,” I mutter to myself, “maybe I can get the player movement to feel more fluid…” My fingers move quickly over the keys, the clacking sound filling the silence. I tweak the AI’s response time, making the virtual players' reactions more lifelike. It’s tedious work, but it’s what I need right now — something that demands my full attention, something that doesn’t leave room in my mind for Carson.

No matter how hard I try to immerse myself, the thoughts keep creeping back. The way he touched me… the taste of his kiss… the feel of him buried deep inside me…

Flushing, I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay focused. This game, this code — it’s all that matters right now. I can’t afford to let my mind wander back to what happened with Carson. If I can just keep working, keep moving forward, maybe the knot in my chest will loosen. Maybe I can forget how his presence lingers in the back of my mind, no matter how hard I try to push it away.

Suddenly, my laptop dings. A notification box pops up, informing me that I’ve got a new email. Blinking, I open my email account and then groan when I see that the message is from Samuel.

Shit, what time is it? Grabbing my phone, I see that it’s almost seven in the morning. I’ve been working all night. Not again! I try to avoid all-nighters, but sometimes I just get lost in the work. I glance at the windows, impressed at how effective Grace’s blackout curtains are. Why is Samuel emailing me so early on a Saturday? What does this prick want now? Sighing, I open it, deciding just to get his bullshit over with.

Skyler,

I thought we’d moved past the issues from our last project, but apparently, I was wrong. I just reviewed the latest build of the game we were working on before this competition started, and guess what? There’s a major bug in the player progression system. And before you say it, no, this isn’t just a minor glitch — it’s a serious screw up that’s going to set us back.

I’m guessing this is another one of your “creative” codingsolutions? You know, the ones that somehow manage to break more than they fix? I thought I’d made it clear that we can’t afford these kinds of mistakes, especially not after the last time.

Don’t take this too personally, Skyler. I’m only try to help you so that you don’t keep making these kinds of mistakes over and over again. It’s just going to keep you from getting very far in this industry. You should listen to my advice if you want to move up.

Samuel

The arrogant motherfucker! Is he being serious? There’s a file attached to the email. When I click on it to open it, I see it’s a breakdown of the issue that Samuel is blaming me for. Wait a minute…this bug has nothing to do with me! Anger explodes within me and I hit the reply button on the email, ready to send back a scathing response. I stop myself before I actually type anything.

Flexing and unflexing my fingers over the keyboard, I slowly convince myself to close the email and not respond. It’s not like it would do me any good. Samuel’s never listened to me when I’ve tried defending myself before…why would he start now? Releasing a long breath, I close the email and then my computer. My hands are shaking and my blood is boiling. I’m proud of myself for not reacting irrationally, which I’m sure is what Samuel really wants.

Needing a new distraction, I grab my phone and dial my dad’s number. Whenever I need someone to vent to and lend a sympathetic ear, my dad is always there for me. He doesn’t always understand my problems, but he always tries to give me advice and make me feel better.

Biting my lip, I listen as the phone rings and rings and rings. Shoot… what if he’s someplace where he has no service? No… he always tells me when he’ll be unreachable by regular phone. Then I know to use his sat phone. Could he be asleep? Alaska is two hours behind Colorado, but dad is a ridiculously early riser and is usually up by five. My mind starts racing with different things that could have happened to him. Then, to my relief, he finally answers.

“Hey, kiddo!” my dad exclaims.

“Hey, Dad,” I reply. “Are you busy?”

“Oh, no. I was just sorting through some old trail maps,” he says. “The historical society wants some for this little museum they’re opening in town.”

“That sounds cool,” I murmur.

“Yeah, they want any really old maps we can find,” he sighs. “Like, from earlier settlers and explorers. I’m not sure how many of those we actually have, but I said we’d look.”