Puck Block : A Brother’s Best Friend Hockey Romance (Bexley U)

 “What’s gotten into you tonight? You’re being awfully quiet.”

I meet Claire’s gaze in the mirror but quickly look away and continue to apply my favorite color lipstick–Fuck Me Pink, which seems fitting.

“Taytum,” Claire repeats. “I already yelled at you for hiding your diabetes from me. Don’t hide something else.”

Her hands land on my shoulders, and she spins me so she can get a good look at my face. She squints and steals the lipstick from my tight grip. “Is this about what we were texting about?”

I sigh and flip back around to run my fingers through my blonde waves before puckering my lips that will likely get zero action tonight. How do you tell someone, even your very compassionate best friend, that you’re obsessing over something so irrationally childish? Or is it irrationally childish?

Something Dr. McCarthy said to me struck a chord, and it’s been a constant loop in my head.

You’ve gotta come to terms with this sooner or later.

Sure, he’s right. I have diabetes, and it will never go away. It’s frustrating that a completely uncontrollable disease is controlling my life to the extent that it is. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t control the other things in my life that are controllable. Like dating and having fun at a party with some guy locked away in a bedroom, or doing everything humanly possible to act like a normal college student with a stupid monitor on her arm and an overbearing big brother and his sidekick.

Every aspect of my life is closely monitored. Between my parents checking in on my levels, having to report back to Dr. McCarthy, and Ford and Emory obsessing over their teammates wanting to date me, it feels like I hardly have any control.

When you’re touched with the kiss of death, it changes your perspective on things. Like letting your older brother determine who’s good enough for you.

Spoiler alert: According to him, no one is.

“Just forget it. I was being stupid,” I say, stealing my lipstick back. I slide it into the back pocket of my best jeans and grab her hand to pull her out of The Bex’s bathroom so we can avoid the conversation, but she puts on the brakes and stops us both.

She raises an eyebrow at me. “I wouldn’t be a good friend if I let you walk out of this bathroom like that.”

I look at my outfit.

Hot jeans, check. 

Tight shirt that shows off a sliver of midriff but hides the glucose monitor on my arm, check. 

Regular shoes instead of my ballet slippers, check. 

My shoulders slump. “I thought I looked good.”

She laughs. “You always look good, and you always have your game face on, which is why I’m confused about what you were telling me earlier. Where’s the girl who walks past the entire hockey team with her head held high, bleeding confidence?”

Claire spins me to look at myself in the mirror, and then her face pops up behind my shoulder. “I remember not too long ago when we were in this exact bathroom, and you were making me walk through a cloud of perfume, all while telling me how hot I was. You’ve always been my number one cheerleader, and you’ve always been there for me. Now let me do the same for you.”

I hesitate for a second, but she’s right. If there’s anyone I can tell this to, it’s her.

“I’m just sick of pleasing everyone.”

Claire nods. “I know the feeling. Do I need to remind you of Chad?”

I fake gag. “We do not speak that traitor’s name in this precious space.”

Claire briefly looks around The Bex’s bathroom and laughs softly. Charcoal-colored walls with chalk sayings surround us. There’s even a little scripture from yours truly that says, If someone doesn’t like you, it’s because they have bad taste.

“I’m going to go crazy if I don’t do something,” I admit, feeling myself get worked up. “I feel suffocated! And frustrated!” I pause and suck in a few fast breaths. “Maybe I’m sexually frustrated. I don’t know! But I’m sick of bending over backward to please everyone else. I’m wearing the stupid monitor, I’m injecting myself over and over again with insulin, but for fuck’s sake, I don’t want to die a virgin!”

Claire’s face switches from concern to shock to amusement in three seconds flat. “What?!” She laughs. “You won’t die a virgin…mainly because you’re not a virgin.”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“I might as well be! Do you know the last time I had sex or even snuck off with a guy without doing it just to piss the guys off?” I’m spiraling. The room spins, and my heart is jittery. I shut my eyes and breathe out through my nose because, for once, this isn’t my blood sugar tripping out.

“Take a breath. We’ve got this.” Claire squeezes my hands.

I force my eyes open, and she’s smiling.

“Screw pissing Ford and your brother off. We’re leaving them out of the equation. You’re going to find someone tonight, and you’re going to fool around with them, steal back your control and some confidence. You’re the hottest girl I know, even with diabetes. If anyone can pull off a glucose monitor, it’s you.”

I snort out a laugh.

“Stop it. I’m serious.” Claire spins me around and makes me look at myself in the mirror. Her heart-shaped face is beside mine, resting on my shoulder. Our wavy hair mixes together, mine the color of the sun and hers as warm as cinnamon. “I don’t know when I became your hype girl instead of the other way around, but tonight…we’re both getting laid.”

 I flatten my lips. “That’s easy for you to say. You have a boyfriend.”

All I have is an overprotective big brother and Ford. 

“Do you know what having a boyfriend means?” she asks.

I answer right away. “Unlimited sex with the captain of the hockey team?”

Claire’s smile grows bigger. “A wingman. We’re going to make it our mission to get you laid. And that doesn’t mean finding you someone…because you can do that all on your own. I’ve never seen someone flirt the way you do.”

I smile. It’s true. I’ve done my fair share of flirting.

It’s just what comes after that I’m lacking.

“Theo and I will distract Emory long enough so you can sneak away without him following you like a shadow.”

“Don’t forget about Ford. He’s just as bad.” If not worse.

Every guy on the hockey team, and mostly everyone who hangs out at the football house, knows that I’m off-limits. Emory has made it his life’s mission to decide who’s good enough for me, and his threats carry a lot of heat, considering he’s one of the best hockey goalies in the nation.

The only difference between now and the past is, all Emory has to do is look in someone’s direction, and they’ll back off. When he and Ford ruled the halls of our high school, they spread every rumor possible to keep me single forever.

They even went as far as telling everyone I had a rare disorder that would cause me to die if I had an orgasm. When challenged by the captain of the football team, Ford took it upon himself to mock up a fake medical article explaining the disorder and printed it out for “educational purposes.” The rumor stood that whoever made me orgasm and killed me would be charged for murder.

They say I should be thankful they’ve stopped telling people that.

I say I should murder them instead.

“So?” Claire asks. “What do you think?”

I grin. “I think we’re both going to get laid tonight.”