Puck Shy (Carolina Comets)

“Just one more…”

I trap my tongue between my lips, something I’m well aware I do when I’m concentrating extra hard, and give the project at hand all of my attention.

“There!” I say to nobody at all when I complete the last stitch I’ve been painfully gluing on the zombie girl I’ve been working on for the last four hours.

I sit back to admire my work. They’re gorgeous, maybe some of my best pieces yet.

It’s a custom order for a customer who lives in Canada. She wanted a matching zombie king and queen for her and her fiancé who are getting married next month. They’re doing a Halloween-themed wedding, and she wanted to surprise him with them.

I set them aside to sleep on before I decide if they’re finished or not. It’s the same thing I do with every project. I believe every artist needs to walk away from their craft and look at it with a fresh eye in the morning. Sometimes letting it settle shines a light on the problem areas.

And sometimes it shines a light on the parts you never thought could be your favorite.

I click my work lamp off, then grab my coffee, which has long since turned cold, and shut down my studio for the night.

I don’t have any plans and could keep working, but I promised myself when I started my business that I’d set office hours and stick to them.

I dump my cold coffee out, rinse the cup, and refill it with some white wine before heading to my bedroom to change into my pajamas. I swap my leggings for shorts and my paint-covered shirt for a camisole, then make my way back for my wine.

I sigh when I finally settle onto the couch with my drink and a bag of cheesy popcorn that I plan to devour while I watch more of The Haunting of Hill House.

Most people react to my love of horror like Ryan—confused and not into it.

But sometimes people like Collin come along and embrace it.

Collin.

I’ll admit it—any time I’ve left my apartment over the last few weeks, I’ve been looking for him. It’s silly, really. The chances of running into the guy are so slim it’s unreal, but I can’t help but let my eyes wander, seeking him out.

I thought I might have seen his face on TV the other night when Ryan forced me out to dinner, but the channel had changed before I could do a double take.

Besides, why would Collin be on TV?

I pick up my phone while I munch on my popcorn, the Crain family saga playing in the background while I scroll through social media. Ryan insisted I set up an account for my business. At first, I resisted because I’ve always been wary of social media, but—much like she always does—she convinced me to give it a shot. Honestly, I’m glad I did. My sales were good before I had any accounts, but since I began posting regularly, my orders have really taken off. Now almost half of my custom orders are a result of posts I make.

My eyes slide up to a notification that comes through, then shift back to the task at hand.

Wait a minute…

I click the notification from BeeMine and my stomach does a little flip.

HockeyGuy69: So since you were honest with me about your disdain for hockey—something we’ll come back to later—I have to confess something to you.

HockeyGuy69: I’m 27 years old and I’ve never taken a bath before (obviously not counting being a baby), and I’m currently sitting in a tub full of bubbles.

HorrorHarper: Did you light a candle?

HockeyGuy69: What is it with baths and candles?

HockeyGuy69: And yes.

HorrorHarper: Do you have relaxing music playing?

HockeyGuy69: I do.

HorrorHarper: Have alcohol present? (assuming you drink)

HockeyGuy69: I do, and yes.

HorrorHarper: And are you eating pizza?

HockeyGuy69: I have an Oatmeal Creme Pie.

HorrorHarper: Ding Dongs are better, but I’ll allow it.

HockeyGuy69: *barely resists making a dong joke*

HockeyGuy69: But thank you. So glad I have your approval. I was worried you’d judge me.

HorrorHarper: For bathing? It’s more than most men do.

HockeyGuy69: I’d be offended, but yeah, you’re right.

HorrorHarper: Honestly, it makes me a little jealous. I wish I could be in the tub with you right now.

HorrorHarper: WAIT.

HorrorHarper: NO.

HorrorHarper: ABORT ABORT!

HorrorHarper: I meant in the tub too. Like in general. And alone. But like…still with you because we’d be messaging.

HorrorHarper: Yeah, that’s totally what I meant.

HorrorHarper: Wow. This conversation is already going really well.

HorrorHarper: Scare you off yet?

HockeyGuy69: Not even close. I kind of like it when you get yourself all worked up over me.

HockeyGuy69: Oh shit. I think you’re rubbing off on me.

HorrorHarper: As long as you’re not rubbing off on me, we’re fine.

I stare down at my phone in disbelief.

NO!

No, no, no.

What the hell is wrong with you, Harper? This is why you can’t find anyone to date. You’re awkward. You say the first thing that pops into your head. Get a grip, woman!

HockeyGuy69: Well, that took a turn.

HockeyGuy69: Now I’m really wishing I made that dong joke after all.

HorrorHarper: To be fair, you started this conversation off on the wrong foot.

HorrorHarper: Messaged me just to brag about you being naked.

HorrorHarper: I’m onto you.

HockeyGuy69: If only you were ON me instead…

HockeyGuy69: There. Now we’re even.

HorrorHarper: You did that on purpose to make me feel better.

HockeyGuy69: Did it work?

HorrorHarper: A little.

HockeyGuy69: Change of subject…

HorrorHarper: Are you supposed to warn about those? Or just glide right into it?

HockeyGuy69: *scrapes mind out of gutter*

HockeyGuy69: We’re naturals at this.

HorrorHarper: Totally not awkward at all.

HockeyGuy69: Not one bit.

HockeyGuy69: So, you mentioned last night that you’re an artist. What kind?

HorrorHarper: Finally! A safe subject!

HorrorHarper: My medium is YES and my specialty is horror. Shocking, I know.

HockeyGuy69: Medium?

HorrorHarper: Yeah, what I use to create my art. Like for a painter, their medium is what they paint on or what types of paint they use. A sculptor would be stone or clay. Mine is a little bit of everything.

HorrorHarper: I make a lot of props, sometimes for low-budget movies or displays for haunted houses. I sell stuff online and make custom orders too. And whenever I’m feeling in the mood, I paint and put those up in a local gallery that sells creations from artists in the area.

HockeyGuy69: Wow. You do all that? I feel kind of lazy now.

HockeyGuy69: *sips beer in bathtub*

HorrorHarper: It’s really nothing that impressive.

HockeyGuy69: Somehow, I doubt that.

HorrorHarper: What about you? Any artistic abilities?

HockeyGuy69: Not really.

HorrorHarper: What do you do for a living?

HockeyGuy69: Sports industry.

A sense of déjà vu hits me.

Sports industry? Where have I heard that response before?

HockeyGuy69: Sorry. I know you’re not a sports fan. I won’t bore you with the details.

HorrorHarper: Well, it’s not really fair that I get to talk about my hobbies and you can’t talk about yours.

HockeyGuy69: It’s fine. I’d rather find out more about you anyway. Did you always want to be an artist?

HorrorHarper: No. I used to want to be a country singer. Then I realized I couldn’t sing for shit.

HockeyGuy69: I’m sure it’s not THAT bad.

HorrorHarper: When I was a kid, my parents took my sister and me to this local bar that did family karaoke on Sunday nights. I literally got booed off the stage.

HorrorHarper: I was 12.

HockeyGuy69: They booed a 12-year-old off stage?!

HorrorHarper: Someone even threw a sugar packet at me.

HorrorHarper: Either they really hated “Tim McGraw” or I was that bad.

HockeyGuy69: That sounds traumatizing.

HorrorHarper: I swear I still have stage fright because of it.

HorrorHarper: My parents also paid me to not audition for American Idol because they didn’t want to be embarrassed when they inevitably played my awful audition on TV.

HockeyGuy69: That’s oddly sweet of them.

HockeyGuy69: I was Peter Pan in my middle school play and farted when I was lifted by the harness to fly.

HockeyGuy69: IN A SILENT AUDITORIUM!

HockeyGuy69: They called me Peter Fartknocker until tenth grade.

HorrorHarper: 10th grade?! That’s a commitment.

HockeyGuy69: Yeah, I finally hit my growth spurt and had like four inches and twenty pounds on everyone. They shut up after that.

HorrorHarper: How tall are you?

HockeyGuy69: 6’3”

I rub my thighs together.

I’ve always had a thing for tall men.

Not that it’s shocking. I’m only five foot four. Practically everyone is taller than me.

HockeyGuy69: You know what they say about tall hockey players, right?

HorrorHarper: I’m honestly not sure if it’ll be worse for you to say big dicks, socks, or shoes.

HockeyGuy69: Big sticks.

HorrorHarper: Hockey joke? That’s the worst one for sure.

HockeyGuy69: I’m just glad you picked up on it. Maybe you don’t hate hockey as much as you claim.

HorrorHarper: No comment.

HockeyGuy69: I’ll woo you over to the dark side soon enough.

HorrorHarper: Is that what you’re trying to do? Woo me, Peter Fartknocker?

HockeyGuy69: *narrows eyes* Well, not anymore, Miss Not American Idol. I got a bucket and a perfectly good tune to put in it, unlike some people.

HorrorHarper: Ouch. That one kind of stung.

HockeyGuy69: Something tells me you can take it.

HockeyGuy69: Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m falling asleep.

HorrorHarper: Oh, yeah, totally not offended AT ALL.

HorrorHarper: *is totally offended*

HockeyGuy69: The bath kicked my ass. How do women take those all the time?

HorrorHarper: In our defense, we’re always exhausted because we have to deal with men. We’re used to it.

HockeyGuy69: Ouch. That one kind of stung.

I laugh at his repetition of my words.

HockeyGuy69: Can I talk to you again?

I smile down at my phone, loving how that’s twice now he’s asked that. Most guys wouldn’t. They’d just message asking what I’m wearing or use no pretenses and send a dick pic instead.

It’s…thoughtful that he asks.

HorrorHarper: That’s up to you.

HockeyGuy69: Then that’s a yes.

HockeyGuy69: Night, Harper.

HorrorHarper: Night, Hockey Guy.

HockeyGuy69: If you could travel anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?

I grin as I read the message from Wright, coming in right on time.

I’ve just curled up on the couch after declining an invitation to go out with Ryan and her friend from the salon. I know I’ll have to make it up to her later, but I’ve been so busy trying to get these custom orders done on time and keep putting it off.

HorrorHarper: To Scotland.

HockeyGuy69: Why?

HorrorHarper: Do you even have to ask? The accents, duh!

HorrorHarper: Also so I could bring home a hot Scot and my mom would finally get off my butt about finding love or whatever.

HockeyGuy69: Oof. Guess I’m out of the running, then. No accent here.

HorrorHarper: That’s too bad. I was kind of hoping you were an expat from Scotland. Or maybe even Australia.

HockeyGuy69: *don’t make a down under joke, don’t make a down under joke*

HorrorHarper: I’d almost be disappointed if you didn’t at least think of one.

HockeyGuy69: Because you’d expect nothing less from a guy with 69 in his handle?

HorrorHarper: Yes.

HockeyGuy69: You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.

HorrorHarper: Okay, Gretzky.

HockeyGuy69: Thought you weren’t a hockey fan.

HorrorHarper: Don’t get too excited. Everyone knows that quote. Just like everyone knows it was really Michael Scott who said it.

HockeyGuy69: *adds The Office fan to list of things I dig about you*

HorrorHarper: I want to hear more about this list…

HockeyGuy69: Nah. Haven’t earned it yet.

HorrorHarper: Boo. You suck.

HorrorHarper: What about you? Where would you go for vacation?

HockeyGuy69: Gonna sound lame, but I’d go back home. Not permanently or anything, but just for a breather. I visited recently and realized how much I miss such a slow-paced life and my family, especially my brother.

HorrorHarper: It’s not lame. It’s actually kind of sweet.

HorrorHarper: Are you and your brother close?

HockeyGuy69: Very. We’re less than two years apart and we’ve always been tight.

HockeyGuy69: Do you have any siblings?

HorrorHarper: One sister. She’s older by two years and a huge pain in my ass sometimes. She just recently got engaged and my mom is over the moon about it and won’t stop asking when it’s my turn next.

HockeyGuy69: I’d propose to help you out, but I just don’t think we’re there yet. Maybe next week.

HorrorHarper: Next week, huh? So sure we’ll still be talking then?

HockeyGuy69: I thought it was up to me.

HorrorHarper: Huh. I did say that, didn’t I?

HockeyGuy69: You did.

HockeyGuy69: And since it’s up to me, yes, we’ll still be talking then.

HockeyGuy69: Night, Harper.

HorrorHarper: Good night, Wright.