“Do you have a girlfriend?” Dakota skips around the equipment room like a tiny pixie, while I stack helmets on the shelf in front of me.
Since the boys’ locker room isn’t exclusive to the hockey team—it’s also the one used by every other male student at Hastings Elementary—that means all the hockey gear needs to be stored in this equipment room. As assistant coach, it’s my job to put it all away.
“Well, do you?” she demands when I take longer than two seconds to respond.
I glance at her over my shoulder. “No, I don’t. And shouldn’t you be doing your homework right now?” Not that I mind her company. Dakota is highly entertaining.
She hops up onto the closed lid of a large storage container and sits cross-legged. “Don’t have any homework today.” Twirling the end of her blond ponytail, she chews loudly on her gum, blows a big pink bubble, then says, “Why not?”
“Why not what?” I shove the last helmet on the shelf and turn toward her.
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
“Because I don’t.”
“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”
“Sure. I’ve had lots.” Well, not since I started college, but I don’t tell Dakota that. It probably isn’t appropriate to reveal to a ten-year-old girl that I’ve been single for the last few years because I was busy screwing my way through Briar.
Speaking of screwing, if I don’t get some action soon, I swear to God my balls will explode. I didn’t end up seeing Allie on Sunday, and she wasn’t able to meet up yesterday either. She’s been busy with rehearsals and mentioned something about needing to make an audition tape, but I’m starting to wonder if she’s dodging me. She’d better not be, because I’m not ready for this…fling? Sure, fling. I’m not ready for this fling to end.
“You know my brother Robbie?” Dakota asks in a hushed voice.
I snicker loudly. “No, kid, I don’t know Robbie. I just coach his team.”
A sheepish flush blooms on her cheeks. “Oops. Right. That was a stupid question.”
“Ya think?”
Giggling, she says, “Anyway, you can’t tell anyone, but Robbie has a girlfriend!”
I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah? And how do you know that? Are you spying on your big brother?”
“No, he told me, dum-dum. Robbie tells me everything. Her name is Lacey and she’s in eighth grade.” Dakota shakes her head in amazement. “That’s a whole grade higher than him.”
I stifle the laughter threatening to spill over. “Landed himself an older woman, huh? Good for Robbie.”
Dakota lowers her voice to a whisper and proceeds to tell me every single detail about her brother’s eighth-grade girlfriend. I listen obligingly, all the while trying to pinpoint exactly when it was that hanging out with middle-schoolers became the highlight of my days.
Don’t get me wrong, the time I’ve spent at Briar has been awesome. My hockey team won three national championships, and academically I’ve always been at the top of my class. The only course I had trouble with was an incomprehensible politics class in sophomore year, which I finished with a B+. But I don’t like to think about that grade, because it’s tangled up with a lot of other bullshit I’d rather forget. Despite that, I can’t deny I’ve had a successful academic career. I knocked the LSATS out of the park. I got into Harvard Law on my own merit instead of relying on my family name.
But I don’t remember ever being excited about my courses. I didn’t jump for joy when my LSAT scores came back. And I’m certainly not doing cartwheels at the thought of going to Harvard.
It was always assumed that I’d go the law school route. It’s not something my folks pushed me into, but I can’t pretend it’s something I’m passionate about. Not like my brother, who lives and breathes the law. He loves his job at the firm, says that every time he steps into a courtroom, he feels alive. It’s the same way Garrett and Logan feel about playing hockey.
Me? I’ve never had that feeling before. Loving something so hard that it buzzes through my blood and makes my entire body come to life.
Or at least I hadn’t felt that way before Friday night, when I witnessed the Hurricanes utterly dominate the division leader. And then again today, when I set up a passing horseshoe drill and watched every boy on the ice absolutely kill it.
“Dean, you’re not listening!”
Dakota’s aggravated voice jerks me from my thoughts. “Sorry, kid. I spaced out. What were you saying?”
“Nothing,” she mutters.
She’s obviously upset about being ignored, which tells me she must have said something important. I drag a metal chair toward her, twist it around, and straddle it, resting my forearms on the backrest. “Talk to me.”
Her bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “I was asking you a question.”
“Okay, then ask it again. I promise to listen this time.”
“Will you…” The rest flies out in a hurried rush. “Teachmehowtoskate?”
“Can you slow that down?” I ask with a smile.
“Teach me how to skate,” she repeats.
I furrow my brow. “You don’t know how to skate?”
Dakota slowly shakes her head.
“Why the he—heck not?” I’m aghast. Who lives in New England and doesn’t know how to skate? That’s just blasphemy.
“My mom only had enough money to send one of us to skating lessons, and Robbie’s older so he got to go. And he’s gonna be a famous hockey player one day so he needs to know how to skate.”
Although Dakota’s tone is defensive, I don’t miss the note of hurt beneath the surface. My heart does a painful little somersault. My siblings and I never had these kinds of problems growing up. Our family had plenty of money, which means we didn’t have to make any sacrifices. Summer got her ballet lessons and swimming certificates. Nick and I got our skating lessons and hockey camps and all the equipment we ever needed.
I hadn’t lied to Allie the other week—the Life of Dean is pretty fucking sweet. I’ve always gotten whatever I wanted.
Now, seeing Dakota’s upset face, I feel like a spoiled, ungrateful brat.
“I guess that means you don’t own skates?” I say slowly.
She gives another shake of the head.
“What size are your feet?”
“I dunno. Small?”
I chuckle. “Let me see one of your shoes.”
She quickly pulls off a neon-pink sneaker and holds it out for me.
After I check the size tag, I hand the shoe back and wander over to the large metal cabinet that holds the boys’ skates. Most of them are far too big for her, but after some rifling and digging around, I find a pair of Bauers on the bottom shelf that might fit her.
I hold up the scuffed black skates. “Try these on?”
Horror fills her big blue eyes. “But those are boy skates! I want girl skates.”
Another laugh tickles my throat. When her expression collapses, I sigh instead. “Okay. Don’t worry, kid. I’ll see what I can do, okay?” I tuck the evil boy Bauers back in the cabinet and firmly shut the door before she bursts into tears.
Coach Ellis chooses that moment to poke his head in the room. “Your mother’s here,” he tells Dakota.
I’m afraid he’ll notice her stricken face and have me arrested for upsetting a minor or something, but when I glance back at Dakota, she’s all smiles.
“Bye, Dean!” She hops off the crate and darts out the door.
Ellis grins at me. “Sweet kid, huh?”
I follow him out of the equipment room and we spend a couple minutes discussing what we want the boys to work on next practice. Once we wrap up, I leave the arena and check my phone on the way to my car. There’s a text from Garrett saying he’s crashing at Bristol House with Hannah tonight, but that he left his Jeep at home, so he’ll need a ride back from practice tomorrow.
When I stride into our kitchen ten minutes later, I find a note from Tucker on the fridge, informing us he’s spending the night at a friend’s. His mysterious non-girlfriend, I suppose.
And then? The trifecta. Logan wanders in to grab a bottle of water and says he won’t be home til late.
“Where’re you going?” I ask as I rummage around in the fridge.
“Boston. Grace’s dad got us tickets for this orchestra thing. Neither of us really want to go, but she says he’ll be hurt if we don’t.”
I grin over my shoulder. “So you’re spending your evening listening to classical music?”
“Yup,” he says glumly. “But there’s an intermission, so Grace promised we could fool around in the coat closet during it.”
“Sounds like a good tradeoff.”
“I know, right?”
Logan leaves a couple minutes later, and my in-dire-need-of-sex libido springs to life at the thought of having the house to myself tonight. I don’t waste any time contacting Allie, who must be as horny as I am, because she answers right away.
Her: YES! 3 days of stress = coming over right after my workout. Gimme a couple hours, tho.
Me: Favor to ask.
Her: ?
Me: Bring Winston.
The request earns me a laughing emoticon and a winky face, which could either mean “That’s hilarious but no” or “That’s hilarious and yes I will.” I hope for the latter.
*
I flip through a Sports Illustrated at the kitchen counter while I scarf down my dinner, which consists of leftover chicken and broccoli. The team nutritionist emails us a weekly list of suggested meal plans, but Tucker, our resident chef, seems to think the word “suggested” means “mandatory” because he refuses to keep any junk food in the house. Since he’s the only one who remembers to go grocery shopping and the only one who actually enjoys cooking, this is the healthiest house on the fucking planet.
After dinner, I shower, shave, and do a little bit of manscaping, because I’m nice like that. Then I settle at my desk to start my International Relations paper, which I’m still working on when Allie rings the doorbell. I save the file, close the laptop, and go downstairs to let her in.
She’s on the phone when I swing open the door. She mouths, “Sorry” and holds up one finger to indicate she’ll be a minute.
“Want dinner?” I murmur as she enters the front hall. “We’ve got leftovers.”
Allie covers the mouthpiece for a second. “Thanks, I already ate.” She lifts her hand, “No, I’m still here, Ira. And yes, I sent you the tape. I don’t get why you needed it this fast, if they’re not making any casting decisions until February.”
We head upstairs, and I let her walk ahead of me so I can admire her ass. When we reach the second-floor landing, I can’t help but ease in behind her, rubbing my aching groin against her bottom as I bend my head to kiss her neck.
She shivers and swats me away. “I don’t know,” she says into the phone. “I’m still on the fence about this role.” She pauses. “Yes, I read what they asked me to read. My friend Megan read Zoey’s part off-camera.”
I notice that she keeps rubbing her lower back. Every time her palm touches a certain spot, her expression grows pained. Or maybe she’s just annoyed with whatever this Ira dude is saying to her.
“I overnighted it to you at the campus shipping center, so you should get it tomorrow afternoon.” She presses her hand to her tailbone, massaging absently. “If you think I need to redo it, I will. But I did the best I could with what they gave me…yes…yes, Ira…we’ll talk tomorrow.”
She hangs up and turns toward me. “My agent is driving me nuts,” she announces.
I hadn’t even known she had an agent, so I’m notably impressed. “How come?”
“He wants me to audition for this Fox pilot, but I’m not able to fly to LA for the casting session so I had to send an audition tape instead. Now he’s all worried that my ‘natural charm’ won’t show through on camera. Which is fricking stupid, because that’s what television acting is—conveying emotion on camera.”
I frown when I notice she’s still clutching her back. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” she moans. “I think I pulled something at the gym. I’ve been super stressed about this play I’m doing, and I worked myself too hard tonight. My back is killing me.”
“Want me to rub it for you?”
“God, yes. Please?”
I’m about to instruct her to lie on the bed, but then I have a better idea. “Get naked,” I order. “I’ll be right back.”
After years of playing sports, I’m no stranger to aches and pains. Tight muscles, sore ribs, busted knees…I’ve had it all, and I discovered a long time ago that nothing loosens me up more than a good soak. Since a visit to the team facility’s whirlpool or steam room isn’t an option, I do the next best thing by running a scalding hot bath.
As the water level rises, I rummage in the cabinet under the sink to see if there are any bath salts or oils I can dump in there. I find a bottle of bubble bath, which I assume belongs to Grace because Hannah has the luxury of using Garrett’s private bathroom. G, that greedy bastard, pulled rank on us and used the team captain card to claim the master bedroom when we moved into this house.
Logan, Tuck and I are forced to share the one in the hall, and it shows. The shelves are overflowing with dude products, the towels are forever on the floor, and the wastebasket contains an alarming amount of condom wrappers.
Sighing, I start collecting the discarded towels. Logan left a pair of khakis on the rack, but I just drape the damp towels over the pants, then grab two clean ones from the linen closet and set them on the closed toilet lid.
I return to the bedroom to find a very naked Allie sitting at the edge of the bed. My body responds, hardening to the sight of all that smooth, bare skin. Her nipples are pointed in salute. Fuck, I want to suck on them.
A grin breaks out when I notice what she’s holding. “You actually brought him?”
“You texted when I was still at the dorm, so I decided to grant you your favor.” She menacingly waves the dildo at me. “But if you want me to shove Winston up your butt, it’s not happening.”
I choke out a laugh. “Don’t worry. I’d prefer it if my butt stayed Winston-free.”
“Good.” She lovingly strokes the pink phallus. “Don’t get me wrong—I’ll totally shove whatever you want up there. Just not Winston. He’s special to me.”
Wait, what?
“Hold up. That’s your issue? You’re willing to peg me if I ask you to, but only as long as we don’t use your precious Winston?”
“Of course I’d peg you if you asked me to.” She says this as if it’s the most normal thing on the planet. “Why would I ever deny you all that prostate pleasure? It’s like telling a woman you won’t touch her clit.”
“As a man who has never experimented with his prostate, I can’t comment on the strength of that comparison.”
Her jaw drops. “Never? Really? Okay, we’re definitely going to have to change that.”
“Pass.” I tug her to her feet, enjoying the sight of her bare tits swaying. “Come on, I’ve got something that will make your sore back feel better.”
I lead her to the bathroom, and her face lights up when she sees the bubble bath I’d prepared. “Oh my gosh. This is awesome.”
Taking the vibrator out of her hand, I nudge her toward the tub. “Get in. But make sure to leave some room for me.”
“Ooooh, we’re bathing together? Kinky.” She delicately dips one foot in the water, then moans loud enough to wake up my dick. Not that he was asleep. He’s always on high alert when this girl is around. “Nice and hot,” she purrs.
I second that.
I set Winston on the edge of the tub, then strip out of my T-shirt and sweats. The water sloshes as Allie slides forward so I can get in behind her.
The steam rising around us smells like the strawberry flavor of the bubble bath. I make a contented noise, drawing her slippery, naked body against my chest. My legs are too long for this damn tub, so I have to prop my knees up, but I don’t care, because Allie’s round ass is pressed up against my cock and I’m perfectly willing to deal with some leg cramps if it means keeping her in this position.
“Okay, back to our butt talk. Are you really not the least bit curious to know what it feels like?”
I glide my hands down to her tailbone and start kneading her smooth, wet flesh. “Not in the slightest.”
“Oooh, that feels great…keep doing that…” She moans again as she sags into my touch. “What about a finger? Let me stick one finger up there and see what happens.”
I snort. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”
“Would you feel better if a guy did it to you? Because, sweetie, I have a few gay friends who would kill to get their hands on your ass.”
This time I give her a “Hell no.”
“I never took you for a homophobe,” she taunts.
“I’m not.”
“Liar.”
“I’m not. Seriously, I don’t care if you’re gay or straight or bi or whatever other category you fall under. I’m just not interested in bottoming for some dude. Dicks don’t do it for me.”
“How do you know?” she challenges. “What if you hook up with a guy and end up loving it?”
“Trust me, I won’t.”
“How can you be sure unless you try it?” I shrug, which summons a squeal from her. “Oh my God, you have tried it!” Water splashes over the edge of the tub as she twists around so we’re face to face. “Who was he? What did he look like? What did you guys do? Tell me everything!”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Bullshit.” She runs one hand over the tiny white bubbles clinging to my pecs. “I’ll make you a deal. If you tell me about your gay experience…” She pauses enticingly “…I’ll tell you about my lesbian one.”
Just like that, I’m harder than steel. “Deal,” I say instantly.
Her laughter bounces off the shower tiles. “Men. You’re so easy to manipulate.”
“Of course we are. It’s our fatal flaw—we’re ruled by our cocks.” I skim my hands up her soapy stomach to cup her tits. I keep catching tantalizing glimpses of her nipples peeking through the white suds, and I can’t help but seek them out with my fingers. When I pinch the rigid peaks, Allie makes a throaty sound and closes her eyes.
“Nuh-uh,” I chide, dropping my hands. “You can’t dangle a lesbian encounter in front of me and then not follow through.”
“Oh right. I forgot.” She shrugs dismissively, which causes droplets to fly off the ends of her hair. “I made out with a girlfriend of mine in junior year of high school. We got drunk at a party and decided to try it.” Another shrug. “It was all right.”
“Just kissing?”
“Yep.”
“And it was only ‘all right?’” I grumble. “Well damn. That’s disappointing.”
“Gee, I’m so sorry my experience doesn’t live up to your pervy standards. But that’s what happened. Okay, your turn. When did you go gay?”
“Also happened in high school,” I confess. “A buddy and I were on a double date and the girls dared us to kiss. We said we’d do it only if they kissed. Didn’t think they’d call our bluff, but nope, they actually started making out like porn stars. So Jason and I couldn’t back out.”
“Did you like it?”
“It wasn’t awful, but it didn’t get me hard.”
“Was there tongue?”
“Yup.”
“A lot of tongue?”
“I don’t know. A normal amount.”
She looks as dissatisfied by my tale as I was with hers. “And it didn’t go any further than that? You didn’t touch the tips of your dicks and pretend you were sword fighting?”
I laugh hard enough to make all the water in the tub eddy like a river rapid. “No, but now I kinda wish we did. That sounds like a blast,” I choke out between chortles. “Dick swords.”
Allie goes into hysterics too, but the way she’s shuddering with laughter causes her soapy thighs to slide up and down my crotch, which swiftly transforms my amusement into pure arousal.
She’s still laughing when I capture her mouth in a hungry kiss. But not for long. Soon she’s gasping against my lips, locking her hands at the nape of my neck as her tongue tangles with mine.
I clasp her hips and ease her forward until my shaft is lined up with her pussy. She whimpers when I glide my length along her wet flesh, rubbing my cockhead over her clit.
“Dean…”
Her breathy whisper barely registers. I’m too distracted by her warm, slippery pussy and the soft tits I’m now squeezing in my palms.
“Dean.”
“Mmmm?”
“Did you hear that?”
I suddenly notice she’s gone stiff, and her head is slanting toward the closed door. I still the slow movement of my hips and listen carefully, but the house is silent. “I don’t hear anyth—”
Oh shit. Wait. I do hear it. The unmistakable sounds of someone thumping up the stairs.
And then:
“Bro, you will never believe what happened!”
Before I can blink, Allie is out of the tub, her naked, dripping-wet body diving behind the door half a second before Logan throws it open.
