Not the Puck Bunny (Lowball Bay Sea Dragons #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Andi

Contrary to popular belief, vodka does not, in fact, cure everything.

By ‘popular,’ I mean my sister, Pia. She means well, but I had to hold the phone away from me to keep her shrieking from having an adverse effect on my eardrums.

I wondered if calling her was such a great idea after all.

“Are you crazy, Andi?” she asked, her voice still in the same high pitch. She tended to question my sanity on a relatively regular basis, so this was nothing new. “The best way to get over a broken heart is to go out and have fun .”

If anyone knew about broken hearts, it was Pia Welling. She was basically an expert, having left a string of them behind her. I adored her, but she couldn't stick to anything or anyone for longer than a handful of weeks at a time. She changed boyfriends as often as she changed her underwear.

“I wouldn't exactly say it's a broken heart,” I said with a sigh. “Xander and I have been growing apart for a long time.”

We'd gotten comfortable, like an old pair of scuffed shoes. I thought we'd get married, settle down and live in the suburbs. Have two point five children, a dog and a cat.

All the stuff expected of the elder of the Welling sisters.

That was what I always did. What was expected. If I didn't, I could look forward to that expression of disapproval on Mom's face. She didn't need to give a lecture on responsibility, a glance alone would make most people quiver in their socks.

Dealing with my mother was another on a long list of things vodka couldn't cure.

“He moved out,” Pia pointed out. No one would accuse her of sugarcoating anything.

“Two weeks ago,” I said.

It wasn't that I hadn't noticed he'd moved out, not exactly. It's just… We were so busy, we barely saw ea ch other. I figured, sooner or later we'd bump into each other in the kitchen, or in bed.

Okay, in the back of my mind, I knew he'd gone, but hadn't wanted to accept it.

“Only my sister would fail to notice her boyfriend moved out two whole weeks ago.” Pia’s tone was drier than the sandtrap in Dad’s beloved golf course. “You know what the problem is? You work too much. If you didn't work so many hours?—”

“Don't tell me I was too busy to have a proper relationship with him,” I interrupted. “He was as absent as I was.”

“I was going to say, you would have noticed sooner that he was gone,” she said. “What made you realize? The lack of his toiletries in the bathroom? The toilet seat was always down? No one stole the blankets in the middle of the night?”

I cleared my throat softly. “It was Laverne.”

Silence.

Then, “Another woman told you?”

I pictured her frowning into her phone, while she walked through the small town of Highball Creek, an hour inland from Lowball Bay, trying to find things to photograph, to add to her portfolio.

I sighed. “No, Laverne is our orchid. Xander was the one who watered her regularly. She started to look dry. I wondered why. Then I realized he wasn't there anymore.”

Pia snorted. “I'm sorry, but that is tragic.” She sounded like she was holding back a laugh.

“I know, I know, but the word you're looking for is pathetic . He and I should have been able to talk about this before he just packed up and left. Am I that unapproachable?”

“Um…"

I rubbed my temples with my fingertips. “That would be a yes.” Ouch. “I'm busy, okay? Welling is expanding so quickly, I can't take off and have a break whenever I feel like it.”

Our father was CEO of Welling Developments, one of the biggest real estate developers in the state. He built it from the proverbial ground up. It was his passion and his legacy. He passed that same drive on to me.

I was proud to work with him, in my own, tiny office, with my personal assistant. Someday, I'd take over from him. My father, not my assistant.

Rafe would have found this whole situation hilarious. Too many times he’d told me I worked too much and should spend more time practicing my blow job skills.

“Of course you can,” Pia said. I could almost feel her eye-roll through the phone. “Tomorrow is Friday. I'm coming down to the Bay and we're going out. You need to have fun, and drink too much of that vodka we were talking about.”

“Y ou were talking about vodka,” I reminded her. “I was saying I don't need to go out. I have a million things to do?—"

“Andrea Clarissa Welling, you're coming out with me whether you like it or not." She sounded like our mother. “You need this and I want to spend time with my sister. If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me.”

“Why do you need a night out?” I turned away from my ten foot long kitchen island, towards the view over Lowball Bay.

Recently named one of the fastest-growing, most livable cities on the east coast of the continental United States, my father's company developed at least half of it. It went from a seaport to a cosmopolitan city in a couple of decades. You couldn't walk around downtown without practically falling over an on-trend restaurant, or gallery. The waterfront precinct was one of my favorite places to be. And, let's face it, be seen.

“Because I haven't seen you for weeks,” she said. “When was the last time we did anything fun? ”

“The last time you were here, we went to the beach,” I said. I was reaching here and we both knew it.

“Riiight. Where you got so burnt you looked like a lobster,” she said, with unapologetic amusement.

“Thanks for the reminder.” My sarcasm was equally unapologetic.

I swear I applied at least fifty layers of sunscreen. Being a pale-skinned redhead, the sun laughed hysterically at my attempts and burnt me to a crisp anyway. Next time, I was wearing clothes from head to toe. Or maybe I'd stay inside.

Pia was the lucky one, with dark hair and skin that tanned more quickly than it burned.

“You're welcome,” she said brightly. “Going out is much safer than going to the beach. Less chance of stepping on a jellyfish.”

“It wasn't a jellyfish.” I unlocked and slid open the door that led to my balcony, shivered at the icy breeze that blew inside and, closed the door again.

“Riiight,” she dragged the word out again. “It was a condom.”

“Yes. Yes it was.” It had squelched under my foot, cold and squishy. I hopped straight off it and let out a squeak of disgust. Without stopping to think, and with Pia howling with laughter behind me, I'd run straight for the water to wash my foot. It didn't feel clean again for days afterward. Even after several showers and a bath, I could feel it there, under my heel.

I shuddered at the memory.

I'd gone to my doctor and got tested for every fuck-knows-what that might have come out of that abandoned piece of latex. Nothing, fortunately.

Like everything else in life, in my life anyway, Pia found it hilarious.

“At least your foot didn't get pregnant,” she said with a laugh.

“I told you that you should have studied more science at school,” I said. “If you had, you'd know feet can't get pregnant.”

“Not human feet anyway,” she agreed.

“What animal can… You know what, never mind.” I shook my head. “Even if that is a thing, I don't want to know about it.” How in the world had we gotten to the topic of pregnant feet?

“Don't be such a prude,” she scolded playfully. “You never know what you might learn. For example?—"

“I'll hang up on you,” I warned.

She laughed. “You wouldn't do that to me. You love me too much. That's why I'm coming down there tomorrow and we're going out. We're going to find a hot guy for you to hook up with, to help you forget Xander. That could be your used condom on the beach on Saturday morning.”

“I can't even begin to tell you what's wrong with that,” I said. “Let's start with the fact that littering is illegal, bad and icky, and it's too cold to have sex on the beach.”

“Depends how cold your partner is,” she said. “We'll find one hot enough that?—"

“I have an idea, how about you concentrate on your own love life?" I said. “Mom is starting to worry you're never going to give her a grandchild.”

“What about you?” Pia asked.

“I have Laverne,” I said. “Best damn grandplant this side of Highball Creek.”

Pia snorted so loud I had to pull my phone away from my ear again. “Grandplant my ass. If that was all it took, I'd be rolling in grandbabies for her. Out here, she could take her pick.”

I pictured the wide open countryside, mountains to the west. Clear air and a relaxed pace of life. Sometimes I envied her. Then I remembered I could have a cheeseburger ordered and delivered to my door within an hour. The city came with certain luxuries. That perk was one of my favorites .

“That will never be good enough for her,” I said. “You know what she's like. She's about as subtle as a…"

“Wart right in the middle of your ass cheek?” Pia suggested.

“Sure, let's go with that,” I said. “I'm assuming you have a lot of experience with this particular medical condition?”

“No, but in high school I went out with a guy that did,” she said. “Remember Kyle Coleman?”

“Yes I do, and I don't want to think about his ass cheeks.” I grimaced. “And I really don't want to know how you know what his ass cheeks looked like.”

The last time I saw him, he was a typical, gangly teenage boy with acne and a high-pitched laugh that sounded more hyena than human. If I remembered right, he didn't have much of an ass to speak of. Not compared to me. I'd always been curvy. Not to mention self-conscious as hell.

“Skinny-dipping,” she said anyway. “Right after prom. A whole bunch of us went down to the lake. After a few shots of cheap tequila, it seemed like a really good idea.”

I remembered that. Or specifically, I remembered hearing about it. I was away at college at the time, still getting over missing my own prom. My date broke up with me the day before, so he could take one of the cheerleaders instead. I decided not to go, and stayed home binge eating chocolate ice cream, while watching reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and hugging my plush vampire.

Don't judge me, that vampire got me through all those years of high school. Lucky for everyone, he couldn't talk, because I'd told him all the secrets I'd never tell anyone else. Not even Pia. Right now, he was tucked away in the back of my closet. If my mother knew he was there, she'd be horrified. Several times, she'd tried to throw him in the trash, only to have me pull him back out again. Count Bob—I was eight when I named him, okay—deserved better.

Pia left a string of broken hearts behind her, but all I seemed to have was a string of disappointments that always equated to the same thing. I was never good enough, no matter what I did. At work, yes, but not in love.

I’d settled for Xander, when I knew we weren't compatible in the short term, much less for the rest of our lives. Maybe I’d meet some hot guy and hook up for wild sex, but I wasn't going to get involved with anyone. Not again.

From now on, I'd focus on my job and trying to keep Laverne alive. If I couldn't look after a plant, then I had no business trying to look after anyone else.

“Fine,” I said finally. “Let's go out tomorrow night. I can tell you all about the new project Dad put on my desk. You won't believe it.”