Chapter 10
Puck can’t decide whether this girl is a welcome sight.
Is she here to say that what happened back at the sauna shouldn’t happen again?
This wouldn’t be the first time that an ostensibly straight girl has gotten buyer’s remorse.
Usually, Puck doesn’t mind when it happens; in fact, it seems like those women typically expect Puck to be more broken up about it than they are.
But this time, Puck is surprised to find themself bracing for a disappointment they shouldn’t feel. They’d hate to admit to Robyn how badly they want to pick up where they left off. For all they know, though, the maid of honor is just here to yell at them some more.
“Is this another ambush?” Puck jokes, procuring their key card from a pocket. “Should I call security?”
Robyn gives a mock laugh in reply: “Ha ha.”
Puck brushes past her to open the door and Robyn follows them into their room without a word. “Well, I guess we know you’re not a vampire!” Puck calls over their shoulder, emptying the contents of their pockets onto an end table with a clatter.
“What?”
Robyn is apparently unfamiliar with Victorian literature, but on the other hand, that probably means she ended up with some kind of legitimate job after college. What did Mia say she did again? Medical sales? Business-to-business marketing?
“Vampires have to be invited in,” Puck explains, turning to face their sexy trespasser and deciding they’re too tired to try guessing her true intentions.
Robyn says nothing, looking unamused as always, leaving Puck to fill the silence. “So are you, like, queer or what?” they ask with a yawn. Their evening sandwich with Zander became an impromptu movie night after they realized Heat was on cable, so Puck could easily turn in right now.
Unless, of course, Robyn has other ideas. Bluntness seems like the right approach with her—the only way to actually pin her down. Her intensity can only be met with intensity, an equal and opposite reaction.
“I made out with you, if that counts,” Robyn answers, as she walks past Puck and sits down in the leather armchair, clearly expecting to stay awhile.
Puck’s curiosity is piqued by the vagueness of her response.
Robyn looks about as straight as they come, with flat-ironed hair and no visible piercings beyond her ears.
Then there are those eyebrows, which are the most vexing of all.
Usually, Puck can tell a girl’s sexuality by her brows alone, and the shape of Robyn’s is giving Kinsey zero.
She looks like a woman who would unironically say she wants to marry a man who “reminds me of my dad.” If Mia and Zander had dared Puck to try to make out with her back at Emory, even they would have demurred.
“No, but I mean, have you done anything like that before?” Puck asks, realizing how invasive the question might be midway through posing it.
“And would you like to volunteer your entire sexual history?” Robyn responds. “Or do you think having a shaved head means no one gets to doubt how gay you are?”
Puck is taken aback. “It’s just that you don’t look like anyone I’ve ever … you know …”
“What’s the matter?” Robyn interrupts their stammering. “I thought it was your favorite word.”
“Made out with!” Puck locates the words they want to land on. It’s annoying how this girl keeps getting the better of them. “Jesus! You know what I mean.”
“Some of us dress for the weather, you know,” Robyn says, crossing her legs. “I’m living in North Carolina in the Trump era. I kind of like flying under the radar right now. But I could show you my AO3 account if it would assure you that I’m into some freaky stuff.”
Puck sits down on the velvet couch, reassessing what Robyn wanted out of this secret meeting. They had assumed she either wanted to fight or fuck, but now she’s bringing up assimilationist politics and fan fiction? This conversation is inscrutable so far.
“And that’s how you think of me?” Puck asks. “Freaky?”
Robyn rolls her eyes and leans forward in the chair.
“You really need to get over how radical you think you are,” she says.
“Do you think you’re the first person in history to use they/them pronouns or have sleeve tats?
Like, half my friends back in Raleigh are nonbinary.
You walked into this hotel like no one’s ever seen one of you before. ”
“One of me?” Puck asks, but even as they balk at the phrase, their eyes are inadvertently drawn toward Robyn’s cleavage, plainly exposed by the way she’s positioned in the chair now. Is she not wearing a bra underneath the zip-up?
Robyn laughs. “I know you act hot and tough and in charge, but all you seem to want to do is catch me in some kind of verbal trap where you can prove I’m victimizing you. It’s not going to fly with me.” She puts her hands on her knees. “I promise.”
Puck isn’t used to people outmaneuvering them in conversation. And they’re feeling equally discombobulated by the way Robyn’s zipper is hanging on for dear life. If she just leans forward a little more …
And yet beneath all the horniness, something about Robyn’s statement pricks them.
Back at Emory, Puck stood out, which had its drawbacks, but the ego boost of being a big fish in a small pond outweighed most of them.
Being all but sequestered on Homewreckers hasn’t helped.
The world must have changed more than they know for people like Robyn to be completely unbothered by their existence.
But if they can’t impress her with their “radical” vibe, as Robyn puts it, how is Puck supposed to get her in bed, they wonder, their mind settling into a single shameful track.
They don’t want therapy; they just want to finish what they started in the sauna.
Puck stands back up to try to find a task they can busy themself with, mostly as a distraction. “I’m thirsty,” they announce, turning around and walking over to the minibar in the corner of the room. “Do you want anything? Reading me like that probably has you parched.”
Robyn ignores Puck’s pity parade. “Did you drink the Red Bull in there yet?” she asks. Puck squats down to peer through the glass door of the mini-fridge and sees the energy drink, a galling ten-dollar price tag attached.
Mystified by the decision to have caffeine this late, Puck reaches for the can anyway. “You want a Red Bull at midnight?”
“Yeah, I figure we’re going to be up for a while,” Robyn says.
Puck sorts through the contents of the fridge for another moment, remembering that the McLeods are footing the bill for the entire wedding, which changes their calculus. They settle on a spiked seltzer.
“For a while? Doing what?” Puck calls back to Robyn, peeling the sticker off the can. “Trying to prove to each other that we’re queer?”
“Sure. I can think of one way to do that,” Robyn says.
Puck stands up with the drinks in hand and turns around to find Robyn already topless, her crimson zip-up neatly folded on the glass inlay of the coffee table, a mischievous smile on her lips. Puck nearly drops the cans on the floor, but they disguise their shock long enough to play it cool.
Robyn’s intentions are nakedly clear now.
At least behind closed doors, her libido overrides her objections to Puck.
But they’re not going to perform for her on demand.
They already lost control once around her, and they’re determined to keep their composure from here on in.
Let her squirm for a second. Let her sit with the arrogance of her own presumptions.
“I’ve seen boobs before, you know,” they say, as nonchalantly as possible.
They resist the urge to pounce on Robyn and instead sit down on the couch, refusing to look at her breasts, and making direct eye contact instead. Robyn doesn’t flinch.
“So you’ve seen them all, is that it?” she asks, leaning back again in the chair, as if to prove how comfortable she is with the overture she’s making. When she folds her arms over her chest, Puck can’t help but steal a glance—and Robyn catches them in the act.
“I mean, yours are nice …” Puck admits, unable to pretend like they didn’t look.
Robyn is trying to torture them—and goddamn it, it’s working. Again.
“But you can do without them,” she finishes the thought.
Desire itself is hyperbolic, but still, Puck has never needed anything more than to put their hands all over Robyn’s body. Not that they can confess that. With enormous effort, they eke out a response—“Definitely”—knowing that they’re already losing. They’ve probably already lost.
“Oh, maybe I’ll take my drink to go, then,” Robyn says, and starts to rise from her chair.
Puck knows they should let her leave—or at least let her pretend to start making an exit.
That’s the only way to get the upper hand back.
But after getting cut off in the spa, Puck can’t let another opportunity slip out of their grasp.
It almost kills them to admit it to themself, but it would kill them more to not have her tonight.
“Don’t,” they say, their desperation too painful to spread across more than a single word.