Chapter 14
Robyn doesn’t issue any commands or orders after Puck ushers her into their room, first taking care to ensure that no heads are poking out of open doors.
After surviving the shower sex unscathed, they’d hate to be discovered in the hotel hallway.
No, instead of saying something surly or intimidatingly sexy, Robyn kicks off her shoes, walks over to Puck’s bed, and crawls under the covers, still in her clothes.
“I’m so tired,” she sighs. “Can I sleep here tonight?”
It’s a retroactive request, given that Robyn is already pulling the down comforter up to her chin—and a surprising one.
Puck was prepared to perform if Robyn were in her usual mood.
Babysitting a drunk Mia wore them out, but they’ve managed under worse conditions before, stifling yawns between thrusts until their duties were fulfilled.
But Robyn’s apparently not interested in any exertions.
Is she going soft on them already? Does Puck hope she might be?
When was the last time they cuddled someone without fucking them first?
But the truth is they’re too tired to search the memory bank for that answer right now.
Looking at Robyn curled up in bed, eyes already closed, Puck can see beyond all their charged quips for the first time: She is gorgeous and she is warm and that’s all they really need tonight.
They unlace their Docs, leave their pants on the floor, and climb into bed in just their band tee.
Even though Robyn has a few inches on them, they barnacle onto her back, making themself the biggest spoon they can be, wrapping an arm around her waist. Robyn grabs Puck’s hand and pulls it tight toward her belly, like she’s latching a seat belt.
All she says is “Mmm,” already fading into unconsciousness.
Puck smells her hair. It smells like bergamot, lavender, and honeysuckle—and Puck can admit that a woman as complicated as Robyn does deserve to have three aromas at once.
She’s gay but looks straight, she hate-fucks them but also randomly wants to snuggle, she’s annoyed anytime Puck slightly tweaks a wedding plan, and yet the second she crosses the threshold of Room 444, all is forgotten.
But Puck supposes she doesn’t have to make sense, the same way a Dalí painting can be riddled with internal contradictions but still be beautiful.
There’s a sorrow Puck feels at night sometimes, or maybe it’s always there and it just gets heavier when they finally stop moving.
Whether it’s hanging out with Zander or sharing a drink with Mia at the hotel bar, there have been flashes at this wedding of a time before Puck let Homewreckers consume their life—memories now buried under years of work.
The show can’t be all there is, can it? And yet it’s all they have.
Tonight, though, Puck has something else: a sphinxlike woman in their bed, her breathing slowing, her intoxicating perfume lulling them into slumber.
The morning birds will wake them both. But for now, Puck wishes they could stay like this forever and let the outside world move on.
Maybe the sorrow that comes with stillness wouldn’t be so bad if they could hold on to someone.