Page 1 of Absolutely Pucked (Punk as Puck #3)

CHAPTER

ONE

FORD

“So. I’m seeing the ghost of a guy who died in his car. And I really do not want to be the star of that I see dead people movie sequel.”

I expected the look Alessia gave me. The sort of what the fuck is wrong with you look.

It had become a very familiar expression on her face.

She wasn’t quite used to me, which was the problem.

She was starting to become one of my best friends since she was making frequent trips here to see Amedeo, and I was going to make sure I imprinted on her with my scent.

Like a cat.

Not in a weird sex way.

Eventually, she’d not want to leave Turenne anymore and find an apartment and stay instead of flying out every weekend. I hated when the people I cared about left. It made me feel scared and anxious, and those were not feelings I enjoyed.

“You’re not seeing ghosts,” Alessia said patiently, interrupting my internal panicking monologue. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

I stared at her, then picked up my fork, aborted my attempt to stab it through a piece of romaine, and pointed it at her instead. “You literally cannot know that.”

“Yes, I can. Through logic. And science.”

“Then how do you explain this?” I displayed my prosthetic and waved my hand up and down Carol-Ann’s glorious visage.

“I’m pretty sure your leg can’t see ghosts. Also, I’m pretty sure ghosts didn’t cause your accident. Didn’t you fall out of a tree or something?”

I had not. A lot of people thought I did.

It was probably a story I told once when I was drunk which was a lot better than the real story, so I usually let people believe it.

My stump twitched inside the socket, and I felt the same, single, dull pulse of nausea every time I had to think about what had happened.

Unfortunately for me, Alessia was very fucking observant. We’d only been best friends for a few weeks, but somehow, she could read me like a damn book. It was so annoying.

“Ford?”

Sighing quietly, I shrugged. “My parents used to own a ranch. Well, not a ranch ranch. We had four horses, and sometimes, if my stepdad was in the mood to take care of them, we had chickens.”

“Okay,” she said in her get-to-the-point voice.

My tongue felt heavy. I hated this part of the story.

I took a breath. “My stepdad scared a horse, and it fell on me.” I left out the part where he’d done it on purpose as a method of punishing me for my attitude that morning.

I also left out the part where my attitude had been because days before that, they dropped a huge emotional bomb on me that had all but destroyed my sense of self.

“It crushed both my legs, but this one took the worst of it.” I tapped my thigh. “They couldn’t save it.”

They could have saved it, but my parents hadn’t wanted to shoulder the cost that the insurance wouldn’t have covered.

Taking a hacksaw to the bone and muscle was easier.

Which, yes, was a total exaggeration. It was a bone saw, and while I was awake for it, I was ripped to the tits on Versed and didn’t remember a thing.

The only reason I knew I was awake was because the doctor told me I gave him a good lesson on Vampire Masquerade, and he was going to look into it with some buddies who were getting tired of their D&D campaign.

He’d been a pretty cool guy.

“Earth to Ford.”

I blinked. “Hey, babe.”

She rolled her eyes. “I asked why people think you fell out of a tree?”

“Oh.” I laughed and then took a huge gulp of the tea the server brought me—sweet instead of unsweet, which was a fucking crime against humanity, but whatever.

“It’s a better story than the one that blames my parents.

” I couldn’t meet her gaze. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore, but I also couldn’t bring myself to say that.

I didn’t want to be rude. I didn’t want to do anything that would make her not want to talk to me again. I was the kind of person who kept trying to set themselves on fire to keep everyone else warm, but my metaphorical burn scars were starting to itch.

“Alright, then.” I could tell by her tone that she was going to move on, and I appreciated her more than I could say. “And why do you think you have a car ghost?”

“Oh. That.” I set my salad aside—I’d ordered it to make Boden happy, but the fucker wasn’t even with us this afternoon, so why torment myself.

Leaning on my elbow, I dipped my head low.

“My apartment complex doesn’t give a shit about broken cars, so it’s been there for a few days.

But also, it’s a nice car. Like, a nice car. ”

“Jag nice, or?—”

“Please. No one in this fuck-ass town drives a Jag. It’s a Mazda.

” I think. What the fuck did I know about cars?

“But you know, it looks too nice to be abandoned. Anyway, one day, when I was getting home from work, there were sheets in the window. In the morning, they were gone. Then one night, I swear I could see a creepy glowing light from the floorboards.”

“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, that had been 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 stocked floor 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 up what 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 to die .

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-man pity 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.