“Don’t let me do anything stupid, ’kay, man?” I put a hand on Randy’s chest to stop him before he gets in, too. “Whose lap am I sitting on?” He throws himself into the limo. He shrugs and holds on to the door frame, sticking his head inside. Going back to Lance’s is not a good plan, but I’ve already said I would, and he has a point about my car being at his place. I’m definitely not getting in beside her. The last one bends over, and her micro-mini rides up, giving me a full shot of naked beaver before she sits down. As drunk as I am, I still have a few manners left. I mumble something even I can’t understand and lean on the limo so I don’t have to hold my own weight. “Come on, man, you’re gonna be away for a couple weeks. Lance smiles-all horny bastard-and pats me on the back. The three girls Lance has convinced to come back to his place are fixing each other’s hair and messing with each other’s makeup while I debate making bad choices. Plus Buck Butterson has a nicer ring than Miller Butterson-too many “ers” in it. One of Lance’s puck bunnies uses the nickname I’ve answered to since I was a kid.

“Then I don’t have to call you fifty times to get your ass up,” Lance adds. “You can roll out of bed and right into the pool.” “The trainer’ll be at Lance’s at ten-thirty, remember?” Randy says. “Just get in the limo, man.” Lance looks to Randy, another teammate and one of my closest childhood friends, for backup. “I can get it in the morning.” My words run together, but he seems to understand.

Lance puts a hand on my shoulder, his grin sloppy. I take an unstable step toward the line of waiting cabs outside the bar. “I’mma go home.” In my head those are the words I’m speaking, but in reality I think it comes out more like a groan. Like, messed up to the point that Lance, my teammate, has two sets of eyes.

Pucked up helena hunting