Page 57 of The Puck Bunny

“Then you’ll have to stop calling me sweetheart.”

“Sorry. You’re right.”

“Does this mean we won’t be talking on the phone anymore?”

“Probably not. Unless it’s business related.”

“What if it’s friendship related?”

There’s a long pause. “I’m not sure I’m up to it. You’re testing my conscience as it is.”

I laugh. “I’m confident your conscience will hold out. You’re a tough guy. Besides, I’m only talking about a phone call. What could happen?”

He laughs and I turn pink. “Oh yeah, besides that. I mean, I can promise it won’t happen again.” I tangle my fingers into a double cross and I’m sure my face is crimson now that I’ve turned into a no-conscience tramp.

This is a classic example of a big ol’ fat genie being let out of a bottle and the bottle being smashed to smithereens, never to be repaired.

Besides, phone calls are safe. No one at work can ever find out if we keep the calls out of the office.

“You’re right,” I say. “No more naughty phone calls.”

“Back to co-workers?” he asks.

“Sure.” Is there such thing as co-workers with benefits?

We end the call and I’m exhausted. With my heart still pattering faster than it should, I fall asleep.

* * *

Not surprisingly, after our call I have a dream-filled night and a big-O filled shower before work. I get through the day in a good mood, and even though Billie Mae is suspicious, I manage not to share my secret. Besides, she’s too caught up in her romance with my brother, Bobby. Not that she’s admitted it’s Bobby. She’s referring to her new heartthrob as Mr. Mysterious.

But the dead giveaway is all the phone calls—and I can guess exactly what kind of calls they have at night, given my recent experience. Not that I want to imagine her and my brother—No. But she’s seemed deliriously happy all week.

Tonight is the last game of the Brawlers’ six-game road trip and Quinn has been true to his word not to call.

It’s three a.m. my time and I’m ready to talk to him. I can’t go another minute without consoling him, giving him a virtual hug of support after the disaster of tonight’s game. The game was in L.A and the media made a big deal of it. He didn’t play well and some of the local and national press were brutal. I’m not sure if he’ll be in bed or out with his L.A. friends, but in spite of the shake in my hand, I hit the button and let it ring because I want to tell him something supportive, like a friend would. Of course. The phone rings twice.

“Sara. Your sweet voice is exactly what I need tonight.”

“Is that right? I wasn’t sure if you’d mind me calling. Sorry about the game.”

“Let’s forget about the game. What about you. How was your day?”

I laugh. “No way are we talking about my day. You’ll fall asleep in ten seconds.”

“You called me in the middle of the night. What did you want to talk about?”

I don’t miss his suggestive tone. Heck, I’m already halfway there thinking about it. I lick my lips, tighten my grip on the phone, and lower my other hand down into my panties. I should have learned and come prepared without panties, but I hadn’t planned this.

“Let’s talk about what I’m wearing.” I proceed to make up the most outrageous outfit I’ve ever seen in a porn video.

He sucks in his breath. “You’re being naughty. You called to torture me?”

“Anything to keep your mind off the game.” There’s a teasing note in my voice that I hadn’t planned and it surprises me.

It surprises Quinn, too. He groans. “Fuck. Okay. Let’s say you really are wearing a red rubber bustier… tell me, does it cover your nipples?”

I look down at my nipples and they are hard and straining for attention through my t-shirt. I put the phone on the pillow next to my head and give them something to remember.