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

CHAPTER

TWO

FORD

The room smelled like food storage. Or, at least, it smelled a lot like the back stockroom at my work, where we kept all the pallets of dry grains and flour.

There were boxes stacked against most of the walls, but there was a very big couch that looked like it was made from terry cloth and a TV in the corner next to a coffee station.

“Is this their breakroom or something?” Ian asked as he spun in a slow circle.

My hip was aching, so I made my way over to the couch as carefully as I could and sat while he wasn’t watching. That was also awkward. I was used to maneuvering with metal hinges instead of joints, but it always drew attention.

Once I kicked my foot up on the edge of the coffee table, the rest of my body relaxed.

Ian turned back to face me, and I could just make out the curve of his smile behind his thick facial hair.

He carried himself like a man who was hiding.

His shoulders stayed hunched, and when his hair fell in his face, he let it sit there like he didn’t want to be seen.

“Come sit.”

He looked a little startled before clearing his throat and walking over and dropping beside me. We weren’t touching. Not yet. But I could feel tension radiating off him in waves.

“I’ve never done this before,” he confessed. “I have no idea what the social etiquette is.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure etiquette got left downstairs at the bar. I mean, this is kind of an anonymous hookup.”

“Ford?” he said.

It took me a minute to realize why he was saying my name. Reaching over, I grabbed his hand and slotted our fingers together. His breath stuttered in his chest, but he didn’t pull away. “Sounds like a fake name, doesn’t it?”

He laughed very softly. “I wasn’t trying to say anything, but…”

“It would be easier if my name was like, Fordrick or Fordstopher.”

His brows lifted, and his fingers twitched against mine. “Would it? Those are definitely weirder than Ford.”

“My parents are whatever hipsters were before the name hipster was invented. My sisters are Coral and Rain.”

He chuckled very softly. “My brother and I have different names too.”

“I don’t know who told you Ian is different, but they lied,” I said.

I could see the faint outline of a blush around his beard line, which went high up on his cheeks. “Well, his name is?—”

There was a knock on the door, cutting his words off, and I felt a tiny surge of panic because it was obvious he wasn’t going to get up. This was when he’d notice. I gripped the arm of the sofa and hauled myself up as smoothly as I could…which wasn’t smooth at all.

But I managed to keep my balance, and I made my way to the door, pulling it open just enough to see Max standing there with a tiny smile on their face.

“Am I interrupting?”

My ears heated, and I shook my head. “Not yet.”

They lifted the tray, which was piled high with fried goodness, two bottles of water, and two bottles of what looked like a very fancy ginger ale. “It’s not steak or oysters, but the food we serve has definitely gotten people in the mood.”

I opened the door wider and took it off them. “Thank you. I owe you.”

They winked. “Have fun, honey.”

Shutting the door with my knee, I turned back to see Ian leaning over his thighs, staring at me. There was no point in trying to be anything other than myself as I walked back over, set the tray down, then lowered back to the couch.

“You’re hurt,” he said.

I quickly shook my head. “Not right now. It hurts sometimes, but not today.”

“That’s not a football injury.”

I burst into laughter. “No. I’ve never played football in my life.” I took a breath. “I was trampled by a horse when I was a kid. Bunch of surgeries later, and it left me with about an inch and a half of leg. The rest right now is all titanium.”

“Shit,” he muttered.

I bowed my head. “I know it’s weird, and I swear I won’t judge you if you want to bail.”

His hand shot out, and his finger hooked under my chin, drawing my gaze up. “Who told you it was weird?”

“Sweetheart, no. We’re not going to play the two-legged savior game tonight, okay?

My body is different, and it freaks people the fuck out when they see me naked.

Most of the time, I just take my dick out when I’m fooling around with someone and leave the rest tucked away.

It is what it is. There are people out there who won’t be bothered by it, but I don’t want to hear some bullshit lecture about how all bodies are beautiful and everyone deserves to whatever and blah, blah, blah. ”

He blinked at me, then pressed his hand over his mouth. For a second, I thought he was holding in a sob, but then his eyes squinted, and I realized he was laughing.

“Fuck you,” I blurted.

His grin widened as he dropped his hand. “Are you done?”

I shook my head, then leaned back and pulled my pant leg up toward my knee. “This is Carol-Ann.”

“Like from Poltergeist ?”

“Mhm.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Why?”

My usual answer danced on the tip of my tongue. I usually gave some “they’re here” bullshit, and the moment they looked entirely lost, I changed the subject. For some reason, tonight, I couldn’t.

“My dad—my stepdad—” It felt weird to call him that, even though that was the technical truth.

I just didn’t find out he wasn’t my real dad until I was eleven.

“He wanted me to be as normal as possible, so he insisted I have an implant in what was left of the bone. It…didn’t go well. I almost died.”

Sepsis was no fucking joke, and though my memories of it were foggy, it still gave me an ugly, queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I talked about it.

“Did you start seeing dead people after your recovery?”

I dropped my pant leg and stared at him. “Uh, no. That’s the wrong movie.”

He held up two hands. “Technically, she did see dead people?—”

“She saw a poltergeist. Hello? That is an entity, not a dead person, first of all?—”

“Pretty sure that house was full of dead people,” he countered, not missing a beat.

My heart sped up in the best way. “And while the whole trope of angry Native American burial ground ghosts is kind of high-key racist,” he added, “I’m pretty sure that ancient ancestors buried beneath HOAs with water parks would love to scare the absolute shit out of a bunch of middle-class suburban white people. ”

I blinked. “We are so off topic.”

He snorted and reached for what looked like a chicken strip before settling back. He took a massive bite, and then his cheeks pinked again, and he chewed slowly. “So. Why Carol-Ann?”

I snagged a mushroom and bit into it, ignoring the way searing hot oil flooded my mouth.

“Uh. Um…” My eyes watered as I swallowed.

“Uh, well, I was in a rehab hospital for a while after the sepsis infection. It was lonely. Like…really fucking lonely. But on Thursdays, this overnight nurse would come in and sit with me. I later found out she was my surgeon’s wife, and he told her to spend time with me because he could tell I had terrible parents.

She had the most wild taste in movies. Like old-school horror, you know?

She showed me Poltergeist and then told me about the little girl who died while making it, and…

I don’t know. It was fascinating. Something about naming my leg after her felt appropriate. ”

“That’s morbid,” he said, eyeing the plate.

I sighed and lifted it, putting it in the space between us. “Eat as much as you want. I got it for you.”

“I look that pathetic, huh?”

“You looked hungry and really fucking sad,” I told him.

His laugh was hoarse as he picked up another chicken tender. “That sums me up right about now.” After another bite and a thick swallow, he said, “So Carol Anne inspired you?”

“I think it was the idea of her being immortalized in the movie. I mean, it’s a fictional character and shit—I know the difference.

But I was a kid in a lot of pain, afraid to die, and I thought, who would remember me if I didn’t make it through the sepsis?

This girl? Everyone knows her decades and decades after she was gone.

I wanted someone to remember me if I passed.

I didn’t think my parents would. After a while, I would be easy to forget.

” I fiddled with a few more mushrooms before grabbing another one, happy it had cooled enough to taste it.

“People always think there’s a more interesting story to my leg than there is, so I never tell it.

The few people who know got all disappointed when they realized the truth. ”

“Just tell them your leg is haunted,” Ian said

I stared. “I think I might love you.”

His hoarse laugh was more charming than ever as he set the plate aside and leaned closer to me. “Bold words. I don’t believe you.”

“Probably wise, but we could pretend for the night if you want.”

His hand touched my thigh, then crept higher. “I’ve been playing pretend for years now. I’m pretty good at it.”

“And?” I pressed. My cock was thickening now. I wished I could see more of his face, but his gorgeous eyes were enough, and I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

He licked his lips, then leaned in even closer. “And I think it sounds like fun.”