Grumpy Puck

6. Michael

Chapter 6

Michael

A fter I get home and eat, I work on the trickiest part of my secret project: attracting investors. The problem, as usual, is that you have to be cordial when you interface with rich fucks, but cordiality isn’t my strong suit. However, being polite is easier in written communication. I just sprinkle in a copious amount of “pleases” and “thank yous.” Unfortunately, for the really big investors, face-to-face meetings are unavoidable… and much dreaded by me.

But I’ll do whatever it fucking takes.

Once I’m done emailing, I walk over to my telescope and point it at the tallest tree in the forest preserve outside my window.

Whew. The family of hawks is still there, including Eye, the little baby who hatched very recently. Given the local eagles, snakes, owls, and raccoons, I’m always concerned about the chick—which is not something I expected from a hobby like birdwatching.

It was supposed to be fucking relaxing.

Well, it’s still relaxing compared to searching for funding, but it used to be more so when it was just the two hawk parents, Ethan and Mo, reinforcing their nest with twigs and leaves. But then Mo laid just one egg, and they took turns carefully incubating said egg for almost a month, guarding the nest and the like, and I got a little invested. Then after I saw them hunt and regurgitate food for young Eye on an hourly basis, I almost got myself a sniper rifle to help them keep predators at bay.

Mo and Ethan deserve to see Eye grow up. Despite their so-called “bird brains,” they’re much better parents than my human ones were.

My phone rings.

Hmm.

Who could that be?

Turns out, it’s Coach—and he’s video calling, which he rarely does.

“Hi, Coach,” I say, accepting the call.

“Hey,” he says. “Just wanted to check on you.”

“Why?” Did he not get the fucking clue in the parking lot?

“You got locked inside the arena,” he says. “And then there was that kiss with?—”

“I’m fine.” Or will be, as soon as people stop fucking reminding me about Calliope. “How are you? How are the kids?”

To my surprise, the attempt to deflect actually works, and Coach tells me about his son’s latest shenanigans in college, and that his daughter just got promoted to assistant manager. As he talks, I can’t help but feel jealous of said kids. Despite being decent people, they seem ungrateful—or at least unaware—of how amazing their father is. He’s probably the closest a human male can get to the kind of dad Ethan is.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Coach asks, and I realize I might have missed a few details about his daughter.

“I’m fucking fine, but I do have to go.” I don’t want to be rude to Coach, but that is what will happen unless he backs the fuck off.

“Sure. See you at practice tomorrow,” he says and hangs up.

Right. Fucking practice. I’d better rest for it.

I take my camera and attach it to the telescope to snap a picture of the hawks, then head into the shower to get ready for bed.

While I’m in the shower, I can’t help but remember the kiss, and my cock gets painfully hard—so I fist it and fantasize about every porn actress I’ve ever seen. I definitely don’t think about Calliope, with her green eyes, pink hair, and cotton candy taste. Nope, her graceful neck and the way her smooth legs looked in that jersey aren’t on my mind at all. Oh, and let’s not forget—I mean, I did forget—the fact that she was next to me wearing only a jersey and no panties. Or that?—

I grunt as I come, and my mind goes pleasantly blank, which is great because now I’m ready for sleep.

I get to the ice rink early in the morning, and Dante is the only one already there, his pale complexion hidden by his goalie gear.

“Hey,” I say. “Want to do some drills?”

He takes off his mask, his eyes wide. “You haven’t heard, have you?”

I frown. “Heard what?”

“You and the new mascot have gone viral.”