“Brett, did you take my last fucking Twix?” I shout toward his room from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry!” Brett apologizes as he walks into the room.
“Bro, I was looking forward to that all fucking day today,” I exclaim.
“Hold on. I can fix this,” he says before pulling his phone out of his pocket.
That Twix bar was literally the focal point of my thoughts today. Practice was exhausting this morning. Scrimmaging, on top of lifting weights, kicked my ass more than usual.
“Uber Eats will have your bag of Twix delivered in forty-two minutes,” he announces with pride.
I laugh at his enthusiasm and effort. “Thanks, man. What’s new with you?”
He shrugs. “Nothing at all. Same old, same old. You?”
I can’t help the smirk that forms on my lips. “Well—”
“Holy shit. Does Costy have a crushy?” he teases.
“Brett, don’t forget that I can beat your ass.” I pause and smile at him before continuing, “I’ve been talking to someone.”
“Is this Costy-level talking?” He places his hands on the back of his head and thrusts his hips, humping the air.
“Not exactly,” I say, knowing a shit-eating grin is stretched on my face.
Brett slaps the counter. “Well, goddamn, I didn’t think I would see the day when Cam Costello developed … oh my God … are those … feelings?” He breaks into laughter.
“Brett, my foot is about to go into your ass in five seconds if you don’t stop playing around,” I tell him.
He holds his hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay. She must be something special to have you all wound up. I’m just giving you shit. I’m happy for you, man. What’s her name?”
Leaning backward against the counter, I grip the edge. “Nikki.”
“And why haven’t I met her yet?”
“Because she lives in Duluth,” I say.
“Minnesota? Fuck, that’s a hell of a road trip for a date night,” he says with a furrowed brow.
Stretching my neck from side to side, I respond, “True. But I’m actually going to fly out on our next two days off to see her. She called me drunk off her ass last night and asked me to come visit. She’s actually the girl who kissed me at Fireflies.”
“With the white mask? Phewww.” He whistles. “She was a fucking dime. Good for you, Costy,” he says.
“Thanks. I’ve got a picture if you want to see what she really looks like without a mask,” I offer.
He books it around the kitchen island and leans against the counter beside me. “Um, yeah, no shit.”
I lift my phone to unlock it and swipe up, and Brett spots her photo as my background immediately.
He places his hand on my shoulder and sighs. “Her photo is already your home screen? Tsk, tsk. Goddamn, man, you’ve lost it for her, huh?”
I roll my eyes. “I haven’t lost it. I do really like her though—a lot. I know we don’t get real mushy with each other. But, yeah, I don’t even find myself looking at other girls anymore, no desire whatsoever. If it isn’t her, I don’t want it.”
He pats my back. “Well, you know she is going to have to meet the family soon enough.”
“Why do you think I’m dating a girl who lives states away? You fuckers would run her off.” I laugh.
I don’t know if I realized how much I have come to care for Nikki. When I’m not texting or talking to her, I miss her. And I just told Brett I’m dating her. Can I even say that? We technically did go on a date when I was in Duluth. That counts, right?
I wonder what she tells Chloe about us. Does she say we’re dating? Or am I way in over my head for this girl?
“I’m sure if she can put up with you, she will fit right in. Invite her out for a game or something. I’d really like to meet her, as would the whole team once they find out about her. Not from me—unless you want me to tell them,” he assures me.
I’m not sure if I’m ready for their nonstop questions and ridicule.
“All right, man, I’m going to bed. I’m fucking beat,” Brett tells me before walking off to his room.
“Good night, bro.” I push off the counter and walk toward my own bedroom.
My phone pings when I get inside of my room and shut the door. I pull it out of my pocket to see it’s from Nikki.
My cheeks hurt from smiling so big when I see her name on my screen.
Nikki: Are you still up? I can’t sleep.
I type out a quick response, but before hitting Send, I change my mind and opt for something a bit more intimate.
Falling backward onto my bed, I call her. She answers after the first ring.
“I’m going to take that as a yes?” she asks.
Placing my hand behind my head, I hold my phone up to my ear in my other hand. “That would be a yes. God, I knew I liked you for your smarts.”
She scoffs, “You are always such a brat.”
I gasp, “Me? A brat? Never.” I pause, and she remains silent. “What’s up? What’s on your mind?”
She sighs, long and heavy. “I can’t sleep. I am just really anxious tonight, I think.”
Now, that, I can understand, especially alone at night. “How can I help?”
She quietly says, “You can distract me.”
I bite my bottom lip as a thousand ways to distract my Little Dove flash into my mind. “We could play a game,” I offer.
“Like what?”
I smirk. “Truth or Dare.”
“What are we, twelve?” She laughs.
“That is so rude. I take Truth or Dare very seriously. So, what will it be, Little Dove? Truth or dare?” I ask her, smiling.
She hesitates. “Truth.”
“Hmm.” I want to ask her a good question to set the tone of the questions. “What is something you’ve always been too afraid to tell anyone? Dig deep. I want the secret-est secret of all time.”
Silence pulses between us as I wait for her answer.
“Do you promise to keep this secret with you and take it to the grave?” she asks sincerely.
“Whatever you say to me, at any time, is mine to hear, and I will never share anything without your permission, Little Dove. For always,” I say to her, meaning every single word.
“Chloe knows about my ex and almost all the things he did. But she doesn’t know everything.” She takes a deep breath.
“I won’t ever let him hurt you again, Nikki. I will protect you with my life,” I promise her.
“I was pregnant,” she whispers softly.
My stomach drops at the pain in her voice, and I patiently wait as she finds the strength to continue.
“I didn’t know. At least not until after that night I told you about, the one with the coffee table.” Her voice is shaky, and I wish she were here or I were there so I could hold her and comfort her through this horrid memory. “I think my body had just had too much. I started cramping really bad in the middle of the night, and when I went to the bathroom, I was bleeding. It felt like it would never end. I knew it wasn’t my period. I had never felt anything like this before. And it wasn’t. The next day when Trey was at work, I went to the clinic and they confirmed what I already suspected. I had miscarried.”
My fingers tremble with rage at what he did to her.
She continues, more anger than sorrow in her words this time, “I had to have been barely a few weeks along, five to seven at the most. If I had known—if I’d just known—I could have gotten both of us out. He took my baby from me, my poor baby that never even had a chance.”
Tears pool in my eyes from the pain she endured, but in addition, I’m sad for what she lost, for what my girl had to go through. I wish I could help her. I just have to prove to her every single fucking day that I am not him and I won’t ever become him. I don’t have a mask waiting to shift to show a dark and evil side.
I swear, if I ever get his name from her, I will find him, and I will break every single bone in his body. I want him to feel more pain than he could ever imagine. I want him to pay for what he did to her.
I can’t stop the wave of vulnerability from washing over me. “Thank you for telling me. I know how hard that must have been.” I wet my lips. I know the words might not mean much, but I offer them anyway. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Nikki. I wish you were here right now. I just want to hold you. I promise you that I will never—never—lay a finger on you that you do not ask for. I swear it. Do you understand? I will never hurt you in any way. And I am always here when you want to talk—always, Little Dove.”
She sobs, and her breaths are choppy. “I like you, Cam—I really do—and it scares the living shit out of me.”
I smile with a heavy heart. “Me too, baby. Me too.”
I take a deep breath, absorbing every second of the moment before saying, “Your turn to ask.”
She takes a slow breath to calm her erratic breathing. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Same question to you then,” she says.
I don’t have to think about what I want to share. She has been so open and honest with me, and I want to do the same.
“You already know the first part of this. My dad was abusive to both my mom and me. But if I took the whips he liked to give, then she wouldn’t be hurt. So, almost daily, I would kneel in front of the wall in our basement, and he would tell me what my lashings would be for. He would count them out and force my mom to watch.”
I shakily inhale and continue, “I had no escape from him other than school. Game nights were the worst. I would be punished for the errors I made and the ones he made up in his own head. Each error would total a different number of lashings. There’s almost no inch uncovered on my back. And I don’t let anyone touch them—I never have.”
“One night, after practice, the team and I grabbed a bite to eat, and I got home later than I should have. He was beating her. I tried to stop him, but he overpowered me. He broke my leg, and I couldn’t get to her in time. I couldn’t save her. He killed her… right in front of me. He is not only in prison for what he did to me. But he’s also in prison for murdering my mom.”
“Oh, Cam. It was not your fault at all. It wasn’t your job to save her. It was his job to not hurt you both. He is the failure—him. I can’t imagine that. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. No one should have to ever find their mother like that.” She hesitates. “I love that you want to protect me and keep me safe, Cam—I do. But please don’t burden yourself with the guilt of not being able to. The only person you can protect is yourself. And you did that. You protected yourself, and you made it out alive. And I’m so glad that you did, and I’m so glad that I met you.”
For a moment, we sit in silence after our trauma dump, no awkwardness at all, just respect for the pain we have survived.
“All right, let’s lighten the mood. Truth or dare?” I ask her with a more upbeat tone.
“Dare. And no more heavy stuff tonight.” she orders, and I obey.
“I dare you to tell me your favorite thing about me.”
She giggles and says, “Okay. Hmm. My favorite thing about you is … how tall you are. You can grab anything off of the top shelves that I can’t reach.”
I burst out laughing at the completely unexpected response. “You flatter me.”
She giggles. “Well, I have a hard time reaching things sometimes at grocery stores or shopping in general. You would be a great help.”
“I would love to go grocery shopping with you.” I laugh.
My phone dings and I check it quickly. It’s a text from Brett that my Twix have arrived early.
“Perfect.” She says with glee. “I also love your smile, and your eyes, and that you seem to be able to read my mind. Your hands are insanely attractive for no reason, and I swear, it’s annoying how pretty you are.”
My heart races, and I bite my lip to try to stop the full smile from breaking free, but it’s no use.
“Now, that is what you call flattery. I don’t usually like compliments, but, fuck, I love them, coming from you.”
“Truth or dare, Cameron?” she hums.
“Truth,” I tell her.
She hesitates then says, “What is the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”
“In what context?” I ask, my mind immediately going sexual, but I don’t want to assume that’s what she means.
She answers, “In whatever context you want it to be.”
“Hmm … the craziest thing I’ve ever done.” I tap my finger on my cheek. “I had sex in the locker room once after a game.”
“Shut up.” She laughs. “With all of your teammates there?”
“God, no,” I scoff. “It was after they left. I snuck her in.”
She mockingly says, “Wow.”
“Are you jealous, Little Dove?” I ask her, praying that she says yes.
“Definitely not.” She snaps the t at the end of the word.
Biting my bottom lip, I laugh. “It seems like that. Sure.”
She huffs. “Truth or dare?”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” I scold her. “It’s your turn. Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” she says confidently.
Blood shoots to my dick at the dare that enters my mind. “I dare you to take your clothes off.”
She grins. “Done.”
“Nikki, that wasn’t even a second,” I say, knowing that wasn’t enough time for someone to take their shirt off.
“I was already naked. Aside from my thong that I just kicked off,” she says with such casualness, as if she isn’t bringing me to my fucking knees right now.
“Truth or dare?” she questions.
“Dare,” I say with gusto.
She clicks her tongue. “I dare you to take your top off.”
It’s truly pathetic how easily she turns me on.
“Hold on,” I tell her before setting my phone down on the bed and stripping my T-shirt off.
I snap a quick photo and send it to her before letting her see me again.
“Done,” I tell her, lifting the phone back up to my ear.
She breaks out into a fit of giggles. “You did not just send me a douchebag selfie. I hope you know you’re not getting one back.”
“Imagination is a wondrous thing, Little Dove. I don’t need a photo to imagine how perfect those tits of yours are.”
Fuck, her being states away is hard. I need to touch her and kiss her and feel her body move in sync with mine. I want to connect with her on every level possible.
“Truth or dare?” I give her the choice and save her from responding to my comment.
“Dare,” she says, her voice breathy.
“I dare you to tell me your deepest and filthiest desire,” I challenge her.
“I don’t know that I really have one. You know, I’ve never really thought about it,” she admits.
We will be returning to this topic another time. I want to bring every one of her fantasies to life. Nothing is off-limits to me when it comes to her. If she wants it, it’s hers.
“Okay, then I dare you to name five of your biggest turn-ons.”
She blows a raspberry before responding, “I used to like my neck to be kissed and licked. My ass to be grabbed and massaged. I used to love being picked up. And I liked skin tracing. Like, if you took your finger and traced it anywhere on me.”
Maybe it’s for the best that she lives far away. Because I’m pretty sure if she lets me touch her and taste her and eventually fuck her, I’m going to last all of five seconds.
“Why did you say them all in past tense? Do you not like those things now?” I ask her.
“Hmm. I think I still do. It’s just been so long since I’ve been with someone, and it’s not like my ex and I had a wonderfully intimate relationship. Besides him, I only slept with one person before, and I think I might have been the first girl he ever touched.” She breaks into a fit of laughter. “Oh my God, it was so bad. Like, so bad, Cam.”
“I want all of the details, please, at some point.” I laugh, unable to stop myself from the contagiousness of the sweet sound of her own laugh. “Your turn.”
“Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” I answer.
“When was the last time you slept with someone?” she asks with feigned confidence.
I don’t hesitate to reassure her. “The night before I met you. I don’t want anyone else but you, and I haven’t since you kissed me.”
Silence echoes between us before she finally says, “I hate how much I like you, Blue Eyes. You were supposed to be my escape that night, a glimpse into a life of carelessness and fun. But here we are now, on the phone at—oh my God—two a.m., playing Truth or Dare.”
“In my defense, you called me.” I chuckle. “But if you hadn’t, I would have called you anyway. And I don’t want to stop calling you. I don’t want you to stop calling me.”
“What does that mean?” she softly asks.
“Whatever you need it to mean as long as it never stops.”
