Sunny isn’t in the living room when I come out. I detour to the kitchen; she isn’t in there either. After a tour of the main floor, I come up Sunnyless, so I hit the stairs. I hope she hasn’t gone to bed. That would suck. I don’t like unresolved issues, especially before bed—it interferes with sleep. Her door is open a crack.

I peek around the jamb in time to get a glimpse of side boob before she pulls a sports bra over her head. Then she goes back to digging through her drawer to find a shirt.

Sunny isn’t one of those super-skinny girls. She’s got curves, and she’s taller than average. I still have a good head on her, but she comes up to my chin. She’s active, always out biking or hiking or teaching yoga, so she’s in awesome shape, and she’s extra bendy. I haven’t had a chance to find out exactly how bendy, but I plan to. Hopefully soon. Maybe this weekend. Shit. I’m getting hard. The blood in my head needs to stay where it is so I can have a conversation. I move out of her line of sight and knock, calling her name.

“Just a sec.” The rustle of fabric makes me sad. A few seconds later she opens the door.

She’s changed into some loose, sporty, sheer tank-top thing. It’s meant to be worn with something underneath it. Her chest is significantly flatter than usual, thanks to the sports bra. I’m not a boob man. Well, I guess that’s not true. Every heterosexual man loves boobs. I don’t care about the size of them. As long as there’s a nipple and something to hold on to, I’m happy.

My favorite part of a woman’s body is legs. Sunny’s still wearing loose shorts that come high up on her thigh. I glance down, all the way to the floor. Her toenails are painted bright orange, except for the big toes. Those are painted blue with a palm tree on the beach.

I’m about to step inside her room, which I’ve only been in once before, when Sunny puts a hand on my chest. She doesn’t seem as angry anymore, instead she looks sad and guarded. “We can talk downstairs.”

“Right. Sure. That’s cool. I couldn’t find you; I wasn’t sure if you’d gone back to bed.”

“I wanted to change into something more comfortable.”

This is Sunny’s version of real clothes. I’ve only seen her in a pair of jeans once. That was the first time I met her. Mostly she wears skirts and flowy dresses if she’s leaving the house. The rest of the time she’s in athletic wear, like she’s always ready for a spontaneous workout. It’s so fucking hot.

She closes her bedroom door and steps around me. There’s nothing for me to do except follow her downstairs to the living room. On the up side, I get to stare at her legs. Sunny has nice calves. I want to bite them. She sits on one of the uncomfortable pink floral wingback chairs.

I sit in the middle of the couch and pat the cushion beside me. “Come on, Sunny Sunshine. Talk to me.”

She pulls her legs up and tucks her feet under her. “I can do that from here.”

I keep patting the cushion, and she keeps glaring. Eventually I abandon the couch and go to her, kneeling so we’re at eye level. “I know you’re mad, and I don’t blame you, Sunny, but you know how things look through social media. Think about all the pictures of your brother floating around out there.”

She twists her hands together and sighs. “It’s not the same, and you know it. All that stuff about Alex is garbage, and all the stuff about you is true.”

“Used to be true. That’s not how it is anymore.”

Up until the last few months, the pictures that appeared on the hockey fan sites and gossip columns had been just what they seemed. I’ve been with a lot of bunnies. I tried to keep Sunny from finding out an exact number—not that I can give her one—but she looked up my history after her friend Lily, who hates me, told her she should be careful about dating me.

Sunny wasn’t all that concerned at first. She’s a free spirit. She liked my aura, and that was enough for her. Then reality smacked her in the face like an unwashed dick. And the pictures in the media have kept happening, but not because I’m taking girls home—I’m not. I just don’t want to be rude to my fans.

Unfortunately a lot of my fans happen to be women who dress slutty.

I need to find a way to convince Sunny I’m not full of shit. It’s gonna be a challenge.

Sunny sighs. “How do I know you weren’t joining the Kilometer-High Club in the airplane bathroom with some hooker bunny?”

“I didn’t even use the bathroom on the plane. They’re disgusting. I try to go before I get on.”

“So maybe you waited until after you got off the plane. Maybe you did it in the rental car. Maybe you stopped at her house on the way here. And then maybe you had a shower so I wouldn’t suspect anything and then had sex again in the shower with her, and I bet she gave you her number and—”

“Who are you talking about? Is there some rumor or something that I don’t know about? I didn’t meet any bunnies on the plane. No one even sat beside me, and the flight attendant was a dude.”

Sunny throws up her hands. “I’m being hypotheatrical.”

“Do you mean hypothetical?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth! Didn’t you land around eleven? You were supposed to be here hours ago, even with your missed flight. How do I know you actually missed the flight in the first place?”

“You can ask Violet. She dropped me off at the airport.”