Page 52 of Pucking Only

SKYLER

That afternoon,I’m sitting in the apartment at the desk by the window, trying to work even as my mind spins with everything that happened between Carson and me last night. I still can’t believe I suggested we be fuck buddies. It was just an idea that popped into my head and I ran with it. I just wasn’t ready to give the sex up. Besides, it’s not as if he’s ever wanted or was offering more, so why not offer up a chance for the two of us to have some fun. I’m a grown adult. It should be easy to keep feelings and sex totally separate.

I don’t know if it’s the love-hate tension that’s been burning between us for years or what, but fucking Carson is mindblowing. This should be okay, right? I can have this fling with Carson, no strings attached, and then go back to California and resume my life as if nothing happened.

Yeah, this is okay. This can work. Scratch the itch, go back home. No big deal.

Suddenly, my phone rings, the buzz snapping me out of my obsessive thoughts. I glance at the screen and see Mr. Ferguson’s name flashing. I hesitate for a moment, not reallyin the mood for a conversation. I know I can’t avoid it. With a deep breath, I answer the call.

“Skyler, how’s it going?” Mr. Ferguson’s voice is brisk and to the point, as usual.

“Pretty good,” I reply, trying to match his tone. “I’ve made some solid progress on the game.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says. “Let’s go over what you’ve done so far.”

I pull up my notes and the latest version of the game, walking him through the updates I’ve made. As I explain the new features and improvements, I can feel a sense of pride building. I’ve worked hard on this, and I know it shows.

“Everything sounds good so far,” Mr. Ferguson declares when I finish giving him my update. “I’ve looked over what you’ve sent so far as well. The gameplay looks smoother, the graphics are sharp, and the character development is solid. You’ve really outdone yourself, Skyler.”

His praise sends a warm rush through me, and I allow myself a small smile. “Thanks, Mr. Ferguson. I’ve been putting in a lot of hours to make sure everything’s just right.”

“And it shows,” he continues. “However… ”

The word hangs in the air, heavy and ominous, instantly cutting through my moment of satisfaction. I brace myself, knowing that whenever there’s a “however” involved, it’s never good.

“I’ve noticed something in the game that I think we need to address,” Mr. Ferguson continues. “The players’ celebrations after they score…they’re a bit too flashy. We don’t want to overdo it, you know? It’s just a game, after all.”

I blink, trying to process what he’s just said. The celebrations? Too flashy? Is he serious? I spent days building unique code for the custom movement rigging so the code would match our new animation perfectly. This way we could makesure they were dynamic and exciting, just like real hockey players’ celebrations. It adds to the authenticity, the thrill of the game. How can he not see that?

“Uh, Mr. Ferguson,” I say carefully, trying to keep my voice steady. “The celebrations are meant to reflect the excitement of scoring a goal. It’s a big moment for the players, and I wanted to capture that energy. I think it adds to the overall experience.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and I can feel my frustration starting to simmer. How can he not understand this? It’s such a small, yet crucial, detail that brings the game to life.

“I get that, Skyler,” he finally replies, his tone annoyingly calm. “But we don’t want to overdo it. The focus should be on the gameplay, not on these over-the-top celebrations. Let’s tone them down a bit, make them more subtle.”

Subtle? Subtle?! I grip the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. How can he ask me to strip away the very elements that make the game feel real? It’s infuriating, especially when he doesn’t seem to grasp the impact these details have on the player’s experience.

“Right,” I manage to say through gritted teeth, trying to keep my cool. “I’ll, uh, look into that.”

“Good,” Mr. Ferguson replies, clearly oblivious to my growing irritation. “Keep up the great work, Skyler. I’m looking forward to seeing the final demo.”

“Thanks,” I mutter before ending the call, my fingers trembling with barely contained anger.

Seriously? He’s complaining about the celebrations? It feels like he’s just looking for something to complain about. As if he can’t stomach just complimenting my work and letting it be. Would he give Samuel the same feedback? I highly doubt it. Ferguson would probably shower Samuelwith praise for the same thing. That’s all he’s ever done before.

Fuck, why am I doing this? Why am I bending over backwards only to have my work nitpicked in the most ridiculous ways?

Sucking in a deep breath, I set my phone down and sit back in my chair. It’s okay. Of course Ferguson is going to give me feedback, even if it’s nitpicky. He wants this game to be as perfect as possible, and so do I. Making the changes he’s suggested might take some time, but won’t be that big of a deal. I just need to remember that all my frustration right now will be worth it when I get promoted. This is my dream. I’m not going to let it slip away from me because I lose my patience.

Bending my neck from side to side to loosen up my tensed muscles, I pull the game up on my computer and get back to work. I’m going to nail this fucking thing if it’s the last thing I do.

Sometime later, I’m still hunched over my laptop, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I try to focus on the work in front of me, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the lingering frustration from my call with Mr. Ferguson. His voice still echoes in my head, nitpicking at my work like it’s something to be downplayed instead of celebrated. I clench my jaw, trying to push the irritation aside, but it’s like a thorn lodged deep under my skin and I can’t dig it out.

Suddenly, I hear the lock jiggle on the front door and it opens.

“Sky!” Grace calls out as she walks into the apartment. “I’m sorry to bother you. I just need to grab a few things from my closet.”

Startled, I lean back in my chair and clear my throat before replying, “No problem! It’s your place, after all.”