Page 20 of Lucky Mother Pucker

Leo Peretti.

A bunch of his photos appear at the top of the search results. One is an image of his ridiculously handsome face against a black and blue background. The corner of his mouth is tilted up in a sexy half-smile. That must be his student athlete photo for Hollis.

The rest of the photos are of him mid-game, in a jersey, wearing a helmet.

I skim the info about him. He plays defense and is one of the top players on his team. He got drafted by the professional hockey team in Las Vegas last semester, which means he’ll play pro hockey when he graduates from college.

I scroll down and see he has his own Wikipedia page. Oh, damn. Is he famous?

I bet he’s well known on the Hollis U campus. College athletes are treated like royalty at a lot of schools. But to have a Wikipedia page dedicated to you is kind of a big deal.

I skim his bio and learn that he was an elite hockey player in middle school and high school. His dad is Rocco Peretti, a former professional hockey player. His grandfather was Paolo Peretti, who owned a huge sports equipment company. He was also a philanthropist. I click a link and skim a short article about all the charities he donated to before he passed away.

As someone who doesn’t pay attention to any sports, those names don’t ring a bell. But no wonder Leo has so much money. His family has a background in professional sports and big business.

I exit the website, feeling kind of like a stalker with how much I’ve learned about him in the past ten minutes. I need to get some rest, not creep on a guy who’s practically a stranger.

I go to set my alarm on my phone so I can get a quick nap in before my next shift, but then it starts to ring.

When I see my stepdad’s number flash on my phone screen, my stomach bottoms out. I haven’t heard from him in more than a year.

I think about not answering. I hate that bastard for what he did to my mom. For what he did to me.

But I have to know why he’s calling me.

With shaky hands, I answer the call.

“What do you want?”

He scoffs. “Seriously? No hello?”

“You don’t deserve a hello.”

He grumbles. “Whatever. I don’t have time for this crap. Come pick up your mom’s stuff.”

“What?”

“I’m getting rid of some of your mom’s stuff. Do you want it or not?”

The gears of my brain slowly clunk together at the shock of what he’s saying. I haven’t heard from him since he kicked me out of my childhood home, and now he calls me out of the blue to tell me I can have my mom’s stuff?

“Richard, I can’t come right now. I have to go to work,” I say.

“Well, that’s too bad for you because your mom’s stuff is sitting on the curb in front of the house. If you want it, come get it. Otherwise, the garbage truck gets it in the morning.”

Anger spikes through my nervous system. Is he serious right now? He dumped my mom’s belongings on the curb?

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shout.

“You should be thanking me for even telling you. I could have just thrown everything in a dumpster.”

I grit my teeth, raging. “Richard, you can’t just dump all my mom’s stuff⁠—”

He hangs up, cutting me off.

Adrenaline fires through me as I start my car and drive to the house.

Chapter 9