by Aja Cole
“I need you, baby.”
I feel the firm press of his lips on mine and I forget to hold myself up, falling into…
“Mmf!” I catch myself on the floor just before my face slams into the carpet. Blowing hair out of my face, I bat the wayward covers away from me and sit upright, huffing.
This bed and I haven’t been getting along at all. I sleep terribly until I adjust to new spaces, and this one has been no exception. I sleep wild until I get used to my “spot” in bed, and I’m still in the finding state of sleeping in this one. It’s the first time I’ve fallen off the bed, though. This plus the bad sleep…I don’t know how much longer this is going to work. I can’t keep sleeping like shit. Being sleep deprived and dick deprived is probably one of the worst combos a girl can be.
I’m horny, I’m hungry and I’m sleepy. It’s going to be another one of those mornings where I creep around and wait for Dylan to leave the house, because if I have to look at him; I might just lick him, too.
We can’t have that.
There’s a knock on the door, and I wrap the sheet around me, very conscious of that fact that all I’m wearing is a bralette and panties. Before I can call to come in, the door flies open and instead of a person, there’s a…rack?
“Doesn’t matter if you’re naked, that’s what I’m here for.” The voice comes from somewhere in the midst of all of the clothes on the rack and I rise from the floor, kicking my feet free from the sheet.
“Uh…Do I have somewhere to go?”
“There’s always somewhere to go, girl. Places to be, people to see, and all that, honey.” The head finally reveals itself, and surprise - it’s attached to a body that matches her voice to a tee.
She’s a statuesque, brown-skinned woman of indecipherable age. If her own clothes are any indication, then I'm pretty nervous to see what she has inside of the garment bags. I don't usually do a lot of colors for anything but shoes. She has on wide-legged, high-waisted pants with a pattern that you might find on dashikis, but I'm not sure what it’s called. All I know is that hers seems to have every color under the sun. She's wearing a bright green cropped tee and I can see the peek of platform heels just under her pants leg. Her hair is swept into a top-knot, but unlike her colorful person, her makeup is pretty subtle.
I instantly like her, but I'm still nervous about what she might pull out of those bags.
"You look scared," she laughs, beaming. "Don't worry, Dylan told me a little about you and I think you'll like what I brought." She waves me over with a ringed hand, her bangles jingling merrily. "Get over here so I can show you my goodies."
Tucking the sheet inside at the top of my boobs, I help her unzip the bags and by the time it's all finished - there are so many clothes that I'm dizzy just looking at them all. I'll splurge on a pair of shoes impulsively, but I'm pretty one-note with clothes. If I find something I like, usually in a neutral color, I'll buy a few of them so I don't run out and I wear it until I can't anymore. I have a hard enough time picking what shoes to wear on any given day. I've never wanted to add too many clothing options.
I would never make it out of the house!
"Is anything calling your name?" I realize then that I don't even know the name of the stylist. It seems to be a habit lately, not getting the names of strangers, and yet - she's in my bedroom.
That’s exactly how you got into this predicament.
"Is there something I can call you?" I finger a white dress with flowy bell sleeves. It's simple but whimsical. Carefree. A trait that people wouldn't really attribute to me.
"Oh, duh. I know you're Shayla, I'm Callista. Everyone calls me Cali. I know Dyl through his sister." She snatches the white dress off the rack, along with a few other things and pushes them into my arms. "Now get to strutting girl, I've got all day."
So, I do.
Cali is one of the best audiences I've ever had. She tells me what looks bad without being cruel, gives standing ovations for what looks amazing and pretty much just takes away all my nervousness at meeting a new person and trying on things I'd never pick out for myself.
About half-way through, I stopped thinking so much and started to have as much fun as she seemed to be having. Music started pumping, drinks appeared seemingly out of thin air, and by the time I've picked a few things that I really love - I'm a little buzzed and a lot grateful for her.
Plopping down in the middle of the floor, I blow out a breath and shake my head.
"Damn."
"Damn is right," she giggles, sipping from what I think might be a long island. I really don't know where the alcohol came from, but you won't find any complaints from me. "You looked amazing in damn near everything."
"It's a shame I can't keep it all. What's the event, anyway? There's something for everything." Sleepwear to casual
"Oh there's no event, girl. Dyl just said that you hadn't brought much with you and he wanted you to have some new stuff."
“Did he tell you to cut the price tags off, too?” I’d noticed the lack of them when I tried searching for one on the first dress I tried on. Lo and behold, everything that followed was the same.
She puts her hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Listen, if my man wanted to buy me a bunch of things, I wouldn’t even care about the price.”
It’s not hard to imagine what the costs are considering markups, materials, and the designer labels. There’s definitely thousands in clothing in front of me, and the uneasiness slides in the more my liquor buzz wears off.
“I can’t keep most of this. That would be insane.”
“Okay, well choose one thing and I’ll take the rest back.” She relents, crossing her arms and plopping into an armchair.
I hesitate, my eyes running over a few of my favorite things that she brought. The jeans that actually fit my hips and waist…that dress that made my legs look amazing…the other that gave me just the right amount of cleavage without being obscene…the t-shirts that felt like literal silk on my skin…
Okay, just one thing, you can do this.
“Just one,” I murmur to myself, shifting on my heels. “Okay…just one…”
A knock on the double doors of the room temporarily gives me a reprieve, and even though it's his house, I'm surprised to see Dylan poke his head through.
His very, very attractive head.
His dirty blonde hair is a little wet and I've noticed that it has a little wave to it in that state. It very much gives him a surfer boy look, and it's just one of the many ways I've discovered that he's too damn good-looking.
"Damn, y'all are still at it?" His mouth kicks up in a small grin and I squeeze my thighs together instinctively when I see that dimple pop out.
"Shayla's picking her one item." Cali says, smugness all over her demeanor. It's then that I realize that I've been set up, and she knew damn well that I wasn't going to be able to choose one thing.
"I can't keep all this stuff." I address Dylan since it's clear that Cali isn't on my side here. "I don't need them, so just let me know what kind of events you go to and I'll choose that way."
Dylan walks over to the racks of clothes and zeroes in on the same white dress that caught my eye initially.
"How about this...Cali can leave all of it here so you don't have to make a decision right now and we'll just start with something for dinner tonight."
I breathe an immediate sigh of relief. That sounds completely reasonable, and the extra time will let me decide what's really necessary to keep!
"This is the one for tonight." He unhooks the hanger from the rack, holding up a fitted, deep green dress and glancing at me, appreciation clear in his gaze. "Can I make that request?"
I twist the fabric of the robe I'm wearing in my grip, "Well, you did pay for it."
"It's my gift to you...an olive branch. I know this isn't ideal, but I want us to be friends, at least." Reaching for the dress, I drape it over my arm.
"This is one of my favorites anyway."
"I knew it was you w
hen I saw it." He murmurs, and then his face twists like he didn't mean to say the words.
"You picked these out?" I turn to Cali because she'd made it seem like she chose them based on hearing about me, and she clears her throat, looking away.
"You know, I definitely left some of the accessories I brought downstairs. I'll be back." She slips out the door, closing it behind her, leaving Dylan and me alone.
Immediately, the atmosphere completely changes.
The last time we were alone in a bedroom with the door closed, it was my bedroom.
"You make it a habit to go shopping for girls?"
"I have sisters, I've been stuck in a lot of waiting areas."
"So what, you felt like having your own personal doll?" I can't even pinpoint why I'm annoyed, and that annoys me even more. I think it felt...safer when I thought Cali picked things out. Dylan choosing things because he thought they "looked like me" is too...intimate. It's what I've been trying to avoid.
Everywhere except my dreams apparently.
Swiftly, he closes the distance between us until he's standing inches away from me. I feel myself swaying towards him before I can stop it and I pull in a deep breath. I can't describe the look on his face. It's somewhere between frustrated and tender.
"I don't want to argue with you, Shayla. It's the last thing I want to do. I saw some things, I thought you'd look amazing in them and I just wanted to do something nice for you." He rubs a hand along the back of his neck. "That's it. No ulterior motive."
Pathetically, I soften immediately.
Sue me! How the hell am I supposed to resist his big, green eyes and teddy bear demeanor? Coupled with that jaw...his body...memories of said body...
"Okay." I take a healthy step back, feeling like I was losing more air each second that he was too damn close. "Thank you. It was really thoughtful of you."
Nodding and pinning me with his gaze one last time, he moves towards the door. "I made reservations for dinner at 7. Meet you downstairs at 6:30."
"See you then." I watch the door close behind him and I fall back-wards on the bed, groaning.
I'm in over my head, and that’s only confirmed at dinner.
Before I know it, two hours have passed and I was charmed for most of it. Dylan is actually really funny, and he doesn't take himself nearly as seriously as I thought he did. It's clear that he's close to his family, breathes hockey and that there's a reason he's never had a shortage of women in his bed.
Just watching him talk about the things he loves...he's all passion. He's...larger than life. I'm drawn to him and by the end of dinner, we've made our way beside each other in the small booth instead of across, where we started. He settles the check and holds out his hand with a wink, and I lace my fingers in his without a second thought.
It's only when we get outside and I'm nearly blinded by the camera flashes that I realize I've been had. I give myself a hard shake and give my best smile even while I shield my face with one hand and grip Dylan's with my other.
I can't let myself slip into false comfort with him again.
I'm no more than the equivalent of his get out of jail free card, and he's just a damned good actor.
6
Shayla
It took some time to get used to cameras in my face at events, but now I almost feel like a pro. Dylan isn't only known for his on-ice acclaim, he's damn near a media bad boy - which means that paps love him.
I'm the worst person when it comes to knowing what's going on in the pop culture world, so it's no wonder that I had no idea who he was. Sports have also never been my thing, but now? Now I could rattle off so much useless shit just because Google has been my good friend. I've rolled my eyes at way too many celebrity stories that I've come across while trying to get up to date on all things Mr. Hunter.
I thought knowing more about him and his habits would help keep me grounded, and boy was I right.
The man that I've seen one-on-one and the man that the media talk about are two different people. The nonchalant playboy that said he'd call me without knowing my name or number is who they talk about.
It's hard to remember him because the first and last time I saw that side was the morning after and then inside the meeting with my bosses.
At the house, despite his olive branch, I've tried to maintain my distance. When he has people over, I make sure I have something to do. If he's home, I'm in my room. If he's in the kitchen, I eat later. I minimize all of our contact, and he's taken to simply texting me when there's something to attend.
Part of me feels bad because he said he wanted us to be friends, but after hitting reality hard after that first dinner in public...realizing that nothing can be real between us now...I don't want to take the risk of getting my feelings hurt when I turn back into a pumpkin at the end of this.
But when we're out like this? My game face has to go on. I'm here for a reason, and I don't do things half-assed.
"Shayla! Shayla! Look here!"
"Dylan!"
"Give us a smile!"
"Can we get a kiss?"
We're on the way inside of a club opening, and usually, we'd just ignore the requests and the calls. They're going to get their photos regardless.
But tonight, I'm feeling a little generous.
And maybe a little reckless.
I stop in the middle of walking and automatically, Dylan slows. He probably thinks I'm reminding him that his legs are longer than mine. When I tug him closer and snake a possessive arm around his neck, I can tell he's surprised but I push ahead, fusing our mouths together in our first kiss since our night together.
It's just as explosive as I remembered, as I've been imagining every time I'm alone. In mere seconds, his arms surround me and what turned into a show just for the cameras turns into something far more dangerous. When there are a few catcalls and encouragements from the large crowd waiting to get into the club, it snaps us both back to reality and we separate.
His eyes are almost liquid in their desire and I catch a breath, trying to find my balance again. Without addressing the cameras again or that kiss, we go inside and I settle into the VIP area with some of the other women, making small talk with my mind completely on him.
"You keep looking at Dylan like that, and his clothes are going to disintegrate." The voice comes from my side and I drag my eyes away from the man in question, not recognizing the voice. It belongs to a woman a few inches taller than me, with sharp features and a body that looks like it belongs in a centerfold. She has a deep blue/black pixie cut and colorful tattoos covering her arms. "I'm Whitney, Ben's wife."
"Dylan's best friend, right? Ben is the Thor lookalike over there?" I nod my head towards the guys, and she laughs.
"Yep, that's him. I'm exactly the match you pictured him being with, right?" Her red lips curve into a friendly smile and I laugh, because she honed right in on my thoughts.
"I'll admit that I am very curious about how you two met."
"My husband is a total wimp when it comes to pain, and I teased him relentlessly about it when he came into my shop after losing a bet. Turns out, he's a masochist and wanted me to talk shit about him forever, so he put a ring on it." She holds out her hand, the gorgeous ruby red stone on her finger glinting in the low light.
"I've always been too chicken to get a tattoo," I share. "I can never choose what to get, and I'm terrified that it'll hurt too badly."
"The secret is that all pain isn't bad pain," she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and I burst into laughter.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Come by my shop, we'll talk about it and you'll be in good hands if you decide you want to try something small to start with."
"To start with?" I scoff, finishing my drink.
"Look at me," she holds up her arms. "I grew up pretty religious, said I'd never defile my body with a tattoo. Oh, how the mighty fall." A new song starts pounding through the speakers and Whitney grabs my drink out of my hand, setting it on the table and d
ragging me behind her. "I love this song!"
I've had enough to drink that I don't feel self-conscious dancing around so many people, and Whitney's energy is infectious.
Maybe it's the liquor
Maybe it's the song
Don't know what it is
But you turn me on
Sweat is beading on my forehead and the strobe lights are blinding. I’m so caught up in the moment that it takes a second for me to realize the guys have joined us. Dylan's hands slide around my waist from behind and I rock my hips with his, time feeling like it's slowing with every second that he's touching me.
Let me satisfy you tonight
Go inside, sit on my couch, oh
I know what you like, just sit back
Let me ride, hear it all out, uh
His lips fall on my exposed shoulders and electricity sizzles through me. I drop my head to the side and he follows the line of my neck, lips brushing just barely over my skin and I bite my lip.
All night, since that kiss, I've watched him.
I've watched his lips, his body, his hands, the way he makes even a simple white tee look like it came off the runway. The way his muscles flex when he stretches, the way the line of his throat moves when he laughs.
That damn kiss cracked the walls I've been trying to keep up, and being so close to him is shattering what's left of them.
Not giving myself the time to think that I probably need, I turn around and grab his hand, tugging him with me without much resistance until we're in the back hallway. Hidden away in the shadows away from the cameras and the pretending and the extra people.
Here, it's just us.
There's nothing to say that we can't say with our bodies, and we do. I nip and lick at his lips, breathing him in and not letting him go. He grips my ass in his hands, hitching me up his body and I wrap my legs around him, my dress riding up and exposing me to the darkness. The dress I'm wearing isn't exactly underwear friendly...so I didn't wear any. His large hands slide over my bare skin and we both shudder.