Over the next week, I take Hannah’s advice and try to turn off my brain. Dean and I start going out together as a couple. Nothing explicit is said. We don’t wear little badges, but our interactions make it obvious.
When we’re out, he’s always touching me, but not in a way that makes me feel like he’s trying to mark his territory or show off. He’s just super physical. If I’m near him, his hand is somewhere on my body. Usually his palm is glued to the top of my ass, but sometimes he brushes my hair back or dangles his fingers over my shoulder. He kisses my temple and cheek. Not once do I feel like he’s holding me back.
Of all of our friends, Garrett is the most concerned. Hannah wants me to be happy and as long as I’m smiling, she’s smiling. Garrett, on the other hand, waffles between worry and wary acceptance. He’s convinced that Dean is going to break my heart, which will therefore create a rift between his girlfriend and one of his best friends.
I’ve tried to reassure him that I’m all grown up and can handle any heartbreak that comes my way, but then the conversation winds its way back to Sean, who I just want to forget. Dean makes that pretty easy.
Any time he’s not in class or on the ice, he’s with me. Sometimes he’s reading a book while I rehearse my lines, sometimes he helps me out by reading a part with me. His high-pitched fake female voice has me dying with laughter so it usually takes a few tries to get through an entire scene, and by the time we’re done he’s horny. From my laughter, he says. Although I get the impression that I could do just about anything and Dean would be ready to go.
The most important thing is that we’re happy—way happier than I’ve felt in a long time. Which is fucking mind-boggling. If someone had told me six weeks ago that Dean Di Laurentis and I would not only be dating, but happily dating? I would’ve laughed my ass off.
“What do you have going on after rehearsal tonight?” Dean asks from the bed. He’s lying against the pillows, hair tousled, looking like the sex god that he is. I refocus my eyes back to the mirror and away from him so I don’t accidentally stab myself with the mascara wand.
“Nothing. I’ll probably just grab dinner in one of the meal halls. Why? What are you up to?”
“I’ve got an errand to run and then I rented some ice time for the Hurricanes.”
My stomach falls a little. Not see him tonight? I force myself not to show any disappointment. Just because we’re together doesn’t mean we need to be joined at the hip.
“Want to meet for dinner after?” he adds.
My heart flips over. “Sure.”
“Cool. Can you come to the arena? There’s this restaurant nearby that I think you’d like. It’s an Italian place, but it’s got all this fun old-time movie memorabilia.” His hand wanders underneath the blankets, which are pulled down to his waist.
I poke myself in the eye. “Would you stop touching yourself?” I drop the mascara tube on the table and pick up a tissue to wipe the smear of black I just made at the inside corner of my eyelid because I can’t keep my fricking eyes off Dean.
“What’s wrong, baby? You jealous? I was thinking of how hot you look.” He rolls to his side. “You make a little circle with your mouth when you put your eye makeup on. It’s basically begging me to stick my dick in there.”
Nope, there’s nothing warm and squishy about my relationship with this guy. I shoot him a disbelieving glance. “We just got done having morning sex,” I remind him. I apply two quick swipes of the mascara before Dean’s hand can do more damage under the bed sheets.
“That was thirty minutes ago. Since then, you’ve showered, waved your tits and bare ass in front of me getting dressed, and then made little blowjob circles with your mouth. So yeah, I’m horny again. Sue me.”
I throw my coat on and lean a knee on the mattress to kiss him goodbye. “You’ll have to jerk off then because I have class and I don’t want to be late.”
He curls up and kisses my neck first, then my lips. “I’m going to rub one off now so that I can last longer tonight.”
Damn it. Now I’m horny.
*
Dean is on the ice when I arrive at the small arena across from Hastings Elementary. I always thought coaches sat on the sidelines and barked out orders, but he’s in the middle of the rink, his attention fixed on one slight figure wearing pink skates. Pink? I thought the Hurricanes were a boys’ league.
“You’re getting too high. Stay low so your weight is better distributed.” He crouches low enough that his own head is barely higher than the miniature player and his butt is skimming the ice.
I watch in amazement as he actually skates a few yards before stretching out a leg and spinning around. His smoothness on the ice is pretty amazing.
“Come on. Give it another try.”
The skater wobbles forward.
“Remember, when you’re perfectly straight, you’re actually standing on the inner and outer edge of your blade. The middle of the blade is scooped out.” Dean makes an upside down u-shape with his finger. “You want to use your edges to keep your legs from spreading too far out. It feels weird at first but I promise you’ll get the hang of it.”
One pink skate pushes forward tentatively, followed by the opposite one, and the whole motion is repeated again until the figure glides past the crouching Dean.
“Is this okay?” a little girl’s voice calls out. “Am I doing it right?”
“You sure are.” He watches her intently as she floats along the ice. “You’re a natural, Koty.”
“Who’s Koty?” she asks.
“You’re Koty. Or wait, maybe…Dakota-y? Everyone needs a nickname.”
“What’s yours?” Dakota puts her tiny fists on her non-existent hips.
“Awesome. I’m awesome.” He winks at her and then pulls her hands into his, and the two of them skate together. Or I should say Dean skates backwards and Dakota clings to him. Her eyes are fixed on his face, two adoring spots savoring his every movement.
Despite the chilly air in the arena, I’m completely warm. Dean’s patience toward this young girl is making my ovaries explode. This is a side of him I’ve never seen before, never thought I even cared about.
Sweetness unfurls inside of me, filling in the cracks and holes I didn’t realize existed, taking me completely by surprise.
“Are you in love with him?”
“No. I don’t have that squishy feeling…”
I think back to my conversation with Hannah, and…fuck. What am I feeling then? How is it that everything he does makes me smile? Why was he the first one I turned to when I was desperately upset? Why—
An ear-piercing whistle cuts off my silly thoughts, and I’m grateful for the interruption. The sound of what seems like a hundred sticks pounding against the ice fills the arena. I notice a line of pint-sized hockey players on the other end of the rink.
Dean gestures for them to skate forward and they all race to do his bidding, sending up a wall of shaved ice when they stop at the center line.
“While Dakota practices her skating, I want you to break into two groups. The first group will carry the puck, head up from the blue line and back again. The second group stands in the middle of the ice. No reaching or trying to steal or checking. Just stand there. Once the first group returns to the blue line, switch. Most important part of this drill is keeping your head up.”
Dean arranges the boys who serve as the obstacles at varying points along the ice and then remains in the middle of the action as the team splits into two and starts racing up and down the ice, swerving neatly to avoid their teammates.
“He’s doing a great good job with them,” a deep male voice tells me. I turn to find an older man joining me on the bleachers.
“Dean?” I ask. The man nods. “Yeah, he looks like he’s enjoying himself.”
“He is. I’m Doug Ellis.”
We shake hands. “Allie Hayes. Friend of Dean’s. He was bragging about how well the Hurricanes are doing this year. Better than his team.”
Ellis chuckles wryly. “Briar’s not going to get another Frozen Four appearance this year, which is too bad. How’s Dean taking it?”
“All right, I guess. He wants to win, but…I don’t think hockey is his life. He plans to go to law school next year.” Dean hasn’t spoken of the pros at all, not the way Garrett does. From what I can tell, he loves the game but the game doesn’t define him, which I appreciate. Sometimes Garrett’s hockey talk gets really tiresome. I’m not sure how Hannah handles it, but I guess when you’re in love you overlook things like that.
Beside me, Ellis sighs. “Seems like a damned shame, this law school thing. He’s got teacher written all over him.”
We watch the players run their drill, while Dean takes the time to speak to a few of the skaters who aren’t as fast or as smooth as their teammates. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the kids listen intently. He pats them on the head or back before he lets them go.
“Do you have a kid out there?” I dip my head toward the ice.
“Not anymore. I have a son who played on the Hurricanes but he’s in high school now. One of the other PE teachers offered to take over for me after Wyatt moved on, but I wouldn’t give up this coaching post for anything. Kids at this age are special. They’re hungry to learn, still think an authority figure is there to help them, not hold them back, and just the threat of discipline works as effectively as the actual act of punishment.”
“It’s all downhill from there, I take it?”
“You have no idea.” He shakes his head in mock dismay. “The older they get, the more they think they know. Dean, though, he’s got the touch. I’ve had older kids hang around just to listen to him talk to the Hurricanes. And it isn’t just the boys that are drawn to him.” Ellis points to Dakota. “That little girl looks at him like he hung the moon, and she looked that way even before he gave her the pink skates. He’s patient and speaks to the kids like they’re important. You don’t see that in a lot of college students. Hell, you don’t see that kind of behavior in most adults.” Ellis shrugs. “If Dean took an interest in coaching, he’d be great at it, but I guess spending your days with middle-schoolers isn’t a glamorous job like being a lawyer.”
“Dean didn’t pick law because it’s glamorous,” I object, feeling the need to defend him again.
“Then you should talk to him about teaching, or coaching, anything that lets him work with kids. He’s made for it.” Ellis starts to get up but I stop him.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you also look at him like he hung the moon. And I get the sense he feels the same about you.” Ellis tips his head and then he’s gone, skating over to join Dean and the boys on the ice.
*
Dean
“What were you and Doug looking all serious about?” I tease, linking my fingers through Allie’s as we cross the parking lot toward my car. I click the key fob. “Please don’t tell me he was hitting on you.”
She blanches. “Oh, God no. In front of children? That would be so inappropriate.”
I can’t help but laugh. For someone who’s such a dirty girl in bed, her obsession with propriety and labels is kinda ridiculous. “So what did he want?”
We slide into the car. Allie still hasn’t answered the question, which brings a frown to my lips. Okay, now I’m starting to think she lied to me, and Coach Ellis was hitting on her. But she opens her mouth and startles me by saying, “He thinks you should be a teacher.”
My eyebrows fly up. “He said that?”
She nods. “A teacher, or a coach, or anything that lets you work with kids. Those were his words. Personally, I think you should consider being a Phys Ed teacher. Then you get to blow a whistle and wear those tiny gym shorts. Your ass would look great in them.” A slight smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Anyway, I guess Ellis saw your something.”
“My something?”
“That’s what happened to me when I was twelve,” she explains. “I went on my first casting call and the casting director told me she saw ‘something’ in me. It’s what convinced me to keep auditioning and pursue acting as a career.”
I scoff. “Yeah, but you were talented to begin with, babe. All I did today was give a kid a skating lesson and run some hockey drills with the boys.”
Which was a lot of fun, I can’t deny that. But the idea of making a career out of running around a gymnasium and blowing a whistle at little kids is…crazy. It’s crazy, right?
“I don’t know…” Allie says teasingly. “Maybe dodge ball games are your destiny. Or coaching, at least. You’d be amazing at that. You love working with those boys.”
True. But…oh, for chrissake, why is this even a topic of discussion? I’m headed to law school next fall.
I start the car and reverse out of the parking space, changing the subject before Allie can tease me again. “How’d rehearsal go?”
“Good, actually. Mallory memorized the final act, so Steven is happy. But I’m still a tad worried.”
“How come?”
“We’re taking a three-week hiatus for the holidays. What if she falls into an eggnog coma and forgets all her lines?”
I chuckle. “I’m sure it’ll be okay. When is opening night?”
“First week of February.” She pauses. “By then I’ll probably know if I got that Fox pilot, too.”
There’s no enthusiasm in her voice, and I glance over with a frown. She told me she’d sent an audition tape to the producers in LA, but other than that, she hasn’t mentioned the role, and I don’t think she’s even called her agent for an update.
But she ought to be clamoring for an update, right? I don’t know much about show biz, but a Fox pilot feels like a pretty big deal to me.
“Do you want the part?” I ask slowly.
Her hesitation is more telling than anything else she could’ve said.
I press my foot on the brakes as we near a red light. “Talk to me, babe. What’s bugging you about this project?”
Allie shrugs. “I’m just not in love with the role. And…well, lately I’ve been thinking I might want to stay away from comedies and find more dramatic roles. Or maybe stage work. Maybe in New York.”
The confession startles me, but when I stop to think about it, it becomes obvious where it stems from. “You want to stay close to your dad.”
She turns to me with sad blue eyes. “That’s definitely part of it. He’s getting worse, and I’m not crazy about the idea of living on the opposite end of the country from him. What if something happens and he needs me? I’d have to sign a contract—I can’t exactly walk up to the producers and say, sorry, gotta go to New York for a few weeks. Shoot around me.”
“What about hiring a nurse?” I suggest.
“God, no. He’d never be cool with that. I actually brought up the idea last year. It wasn’t something he needed at the time—we were just discussing options for the future—but he freaked the fuck out. He said he could take care of himself, thank you very much.”
I fight a smile, because I can almost hear Joe Hayes’ crotchety voice in my head uttering those words.
She bites her lip. “It’s true, right now he can take care of himself. But the numbness in his legs is so much worse than it was last year. So is his vision. He’s using the cane for now, but what if eventually he needs a wheelchair? What if we’re looking at paralysis? Blindness? If that happens, he will need someone. Maybe not round-the-clock care, but I don’t like the idea of him being all alone in Brooklyn.”
I reach over the center console to squeeze her hand. It’s cold. Trembling. She’s scared, I realize. Scared of losing her father, the way she’d already lost her mother. I’m not sure what to say to make her feel better, because truth is, she has every right to be scared.
Both my parents are healthy and active, so I don’t spend much time worrying they might die. When I’m with them, I don’t see a thundercloud of doom hovering above their heads.
But Mr. Hayes is suffering from a disease that’s slowly eating away at his nervous system. He’s dealt with it for years, while his daughter stood on the sidelines watching it progress, helpless to stop it.
Jesus. I’m suddenly floored by her strength. I hadn’t understood, not until this very moment, how difficult this must be for Allie.
“Let’s not talk about this anymore. I’m bumming myself out.” Her voice wobbles before steadying. “Tell me more about this restaurant you’re taking me to.”
*
After dinner, we drive to my house. Last night I stayed with Allie in the dorms, so tonight it’s her turn to sleep over. We’ve got a nice, fair arrangement going, except for the times when Allie plays the vagina card, in which case the arrangement becomes do what your girlfriend wants.
My girlfriend. Fuck me. It still boggles my mind. I ain’t complaining, though. Allie and I have a blast together. We also have wild, sweaty sex on the regular. So I’m trying to focus on that and not read too much into the rest of it.
Too bad my friends can’t do the same. Garrett is convinced I’ll do something to screw up the relationship and that it’ll end in a massive fireball that blows up in all of our faces. Sometimes I wish he gave me more credit.
Says the man who almost drove someone to suicide.
The painful memory grips my heart, conjuring up the image of Miranda, and her tears, and the harrowing late-night phone calls where she threatened to kill herself and accused me of ruining her life.
Christ. I feel sick every time I allow myself to think about it, so I shove the unwelcome reminders aside. She never accepted my friend request, I realize. I guess that’s not much of a surprise.
Allie and I walk into the cramped front hall of the townhouse, which smells almost as good as the restaurant we just came from. Tucker must be home.
“Tuck? Where you at?”
“Kitchen,” is his faint reply.
I shrug out of my coat and toss it on one of the hooks in the wall. Allie does the same before bending over to unzip her leather boots. I smack her ass, then grin when she scowls at me. “Whatcha making?” I call out to Tucker.
“Soup,” he calls back. “And baking some bread.”
I sigh. “Sometimes I worry about him,” I tell Allie. “The more domestic he gets, the bigger the risk of his penis falling off.”
She tsks in disapproval. “Sexist bastard.”
“I think you mean sexy bastard,” I say helpfully.
“No, I got it right the first time.”
We move toward the living room just as the front door swings open behind us. I turn around, and I literally have one second to react before a blond tornado flies toward me and launches herself at me.
“Surprise!” the tornado shouts, flinging both arms around my neck. “Guess who’s spending the weekend!”
I’m so dazed and taken aback that I return the hug on instinct. From the corner of my eye, I see Allie’s mouth twist in a deep frown. Shit. I know the conclusion she’s jumping to right now, and I need to squash it, pronto.
When Allie clears her throat purposefully, the intruder swivels her head and says, “Oh. Hi. And you are?”
“Dean’s girlfriend,” Allie replies tightly. “Who are you?”
Rather than respond, Summer whirls toward me again. “You have a girlfriend? What the hell, Dicky! Why am I always the last one to know these things?”
Allie makes a noise. I think it might be a growl. “Did you just call my boyfriend Dicky?”
“Yeah, so what?” Summer challenges.
I quickly intervene before a catfight breaks out. I mean, catfights in general are hot as fuck, but not when I’m related to one of the pussycats. “Summer, this is Allie. Allie, Summer.” I sigh. “My little sister.”
