Full Contact

by ANDIE J. CHRISTOPHER

  Poor kid, she should get out of this town. She was only a few years younger than Dahlia, but she’d never left town, never been on a plane before. She always knew she wanted to stay in Tofte and raise a family. Only thing she needed was a guy to do that with, and this wasn’t exactly the best place to find a husband.

  Thunderbay Cove was an upscale resort, but it was mostly families. And low-key bachelor parties. The only guys around for more than a few days or a week were there to work at the resort for the season. The only permanent people were ones they’d known all their lives. And, unfortunately, they were accurately represented by the mullet brigade from earlier.

  Lilly went behind the bar and played bar back until all but two of the bachelors stumbled back to their rooms.

  “You want me to stick around?” Lilly pointed to the stool where Anders had sat. She hesitated, as though she’d already thought about it as his stool.

  Weird.

  She shook her head. “You want me to go?” Lilly sounded confused. Usually, if Dahlia had a group of guys at the bar or the kitchen closed, she always wanted Lilly to stick around.

  “I want you to stay. I was just—uh—thinking about this guy that was in here earlier.”

  Lilly squealed and hopped on the stool. Dahlia turned to grab her cousin some wine and collect her thoughts.

  At the last second, she grabbed a second glass. She didn’t normally drink on the job, but her nerves were so jangled from thinking about a guy. She hadn’t had the time or energy to think thoughts like these since she’d come up here. Since Dylan had dumped her and tanked her career.

  “Tell me about this dude that’s knocked you out of your silly man fast.”

  Dahlia rolled her eyes and poured them both a generous glass. “Nothing is going to threaten the man fast.”

  Saying that, she didn’t believe herself. That wasn’t to say that Anders was her type. Hockey players had not been her thing since high school, since she’d been dumb and drunk and wanting to feel like she fit in. And professional hockey players were also professional man whores. She’d probably get herpes from thinking about touching his penis.

  “He’s not a threat to the man fast.” She hadn’t had sex or gone on a date since breaking up with Dylan and losing her restaurant. She wasn’t here to get seasonal dick like Lilly. She was here to save up enough money so she could go back to Europe, apprentice in a three-Michelin star kitchen and get her good name back. “No.”

  “Come on. You have to have a little fun.”

  Dahlia shook her head. It didn’t matter how hot he was. Hot wasn’t going to get her out of town any faster. Even though everything about him totally worked for her—the massive height, the blond- and twinkling-blue-eyed-Viking thing, the aw-shucks bullshit dimples—none of that changed that she was taking a break from dating. She had to focus on getting her career back; that was the true love of her life. As long as she worked hard and never let a man get in the way again, her career would never let her down. “Fun isn’t going to get my savings account replenished.”

  She took a gulp of wine and walked back over to the remaining members of the bachelor party to see if they needed another round. Both of them were leaning heavily on the bar, and each other, they still needed another round.

  “Dude, I almost crashed my car when I saw Anders Sorenson walking up the boardwalk when we got here,” one of the guys said. Though she hated guys who started sentences with the word “dude” more than anything other than typical dipshit hockey players, her ears perked up.

  “Too bad, man, about that fall he took in Game Six.” Another one of the guys shook his head slowly, as though he was explaining that someone had died. “Without that knee thing, he would have been a fucking legend.”

  She felt even more righteous in her plan of staying away from Anders. The only thing worse than a typical dipshit hockey player was probably a legendary dipshit hockey player. Who started sentences with “dude.”

  Unfortunately, Lilly moved down the bar toward the bachelor party. Dahlia must have telegraphed her interest in their conversation. Or, she’d taken too long to get back to Lilly to spill her guts out about Anders.

  “There’s a pro hockey player staying here?” Lilly turned to Dahlia. “Is that the one who was in the bar today? He was hot, but I had no idea he was a celebrity.”

  Jesus Christ. Although Dahlia might be a hockey atheist, Lilly certainly was not. All three of her brothers played from pee-wee until high school. Sean even played for the Johnnies while he was in college. Lilly had been a hockey cheerleader, for fuck’s sake. The last thing that Dahlia needed was a walking, talking hockey boner instead of a head server.

  “Tell us why he’s legendary?” Lilly was like the family dog; she could never leave a tasty morsel on the ground.

  “Lilly—”

  “Don’t give me that. You had your I-want-to-fuck-him face on. I know that face.”

  “Good luck.” The other bachelor party dude snorted.

  His friend punched him on the arm. “He’s a good hockey player.”

  The first dude pointed at Dahlia. “But he’s not going to fuck her.”

  A pit formed in Dahlia’s stomach, the kind she was familiar with. The same kind of pit that had formed when she’d realized that everyone in the senior class knew about her passing out and getting passed around at homecoming, the same kind of pit that had formed when Dylan had told her about his fiancée. It was the familiar kind of physical reaction that she liked to describe as “this is why I can’t have nice things.” For fuck’s sake, she couldn’t have a crush on a guy for a few hours without someone ruining it. Didn’t matter that she didn’t know why she couldn’t have it; it was enough that she knew she couldn’t.

  “Dude, she’s hot. Of course he’d fuck her.” Of course he would. He was drunk, and very much a bro. She was irresistible to the male version of “basic bitch.” But she was a tiny bit relieved that she hadn’t morphed into being unfuckable as a matter of course in the past six months.

  “You must not read Deadspin regularly, man.”

  “At least I don’t read it to jack off, dude.”

  “Man, I can’t believe you’re getting your dumb ass married next weekend.”

  “What does knowing about sports have to do with me getting married?” “Dude” had a point there.

  By now, even Dahlia wanted to know why Anders would obviously never fuck her. She and Lilly watched this tennis match; it was riveting as well as stupid at this point.

  “Dude’s a virgin. He does not fuck.” Man could have said that Anders was an alien from a planet where the men were physically incapable of copulation, and she would have believed him more easily than she would believe what she said.

  Unless—maybe he noticed her swearing so much because he was some sort of Jesus freak. “Is he like Tim Tebow? Married to Jesus until he’s married to his sweet, Christian, beauty queen of a wife?”

  That wasn’t unheard of, especially around here. Dahlia thought it was maybe lack of exposure to new and interesting genitals that made staying a virgin easy this far up North, but she hadn’t thought about it a lot after she left her baggage and reputation behind.

  Dude pointed at her and laughed. “You’re funny. I’d totally fuck you if I wasn’t engaged.” He pointed at Man. “He’ll still fuck you, though. And I can guarantee he’s a tender lover.”

  Man saw that as a moment to interject. “He doesn’t know that I’m a tender lover firsthand, so you know.”

  Lilly, deadpan, said, “She’d actually be more interested in fucking you if your friend knew for a fact that you’re a tender lover.” Lilly was right. That was the only way Dahlia would ever get the kind of threesome she wanted—if she found two dudes who liked kissing other dudes. “But, let’s get back to the point here. Is he impotent?”

  Man shrugged, apparently not that keen on having sex with Dahlia—just offering, as one does. “Well, the article posed several theories, but he’s apparently not religious. They
did post some unfortunate pictures of him from high school that his teammates got a hold of.” He puffed out his cheeks. “Total chubster and a pizza face.”

  Dahlia wanted to slap him so hard it would look like he’d been branded, but she managed to keep her calm because she wanted more information. “But he plays professional hockey now.”

  Even butt-ass ugly pro hockey players could get laid because—money. And Anders was anything but ugly.

  “It’s the bounty.”

  “What bounty? What are you talking about?” At this point Dahlia was yelling at the guys. The looked stunned, so she grabbed them two more beers. “Last call. Finish the story. Use your words.”

  “His teammates put a bounty on his virginity. Sorenson wouldn’t talk for the story, but rumor has it that he won’t sleep with anyone until they lift the bounty.”

  “How much?” Dahlia couldn’t quite reach Lilly to slap her, but that made her want to.

  “It’s up to like $150,000 now.”

  Dahlia’s eyes bugged clear out of her head. She looked at Lilly, and they were wearing the same expression for a split second. Until Dahlia’s conscience kicked in. She couldn’t, could she? No. That would make her an actual whore instead of just the whore avatar in the imaginations of all the men in Tofte.

  “How does one collect?” Lilly didn’t have that much of a conscience. And she also had student loans from the University of Minnesota-Duluth that weren’t going away fast enough on her salary and tips.

  A hot streak of jealousy flared up Dahlia’s skin at thinking about Lilly touching Anders. She liked the guy—she could admit that. She’d known it couldn’t go anywhere while she was flirting with him in the bar earlier. Now, it really couldn’t go anywhere. Even if the idea of being his first—being a little bit special to someone like Anders—appealed to her.

  Why was she thinking about this? Maybe because he was hot, had kicked some ass on her behalf, and looked like dessert to her. She gulped down her wine. “You can take those beers to go. It’s closing time.”

  Dude and Man thanked them both as they walked out, distracted at that point by a debate about who the greatest living hockey player was, Gretzky or Lemieux.

  “You have to sleep with him.” Of course Lilly would jump to that conclusion.

  “No.” Dahlia opened the drawer to count the evening’s till and change out her tips for bigger bills. Maybe, but maybe, she’d made twenty dollars that night.

  “C’mon, you were already thinking about popping your secondary cherry to him. This is your chance.”

  Dahlia lost count and put down the stack of ones—her tips. “I can’t sleep with him, especially now. And if you don’t see that, you need some serious help.”

  “I do need serious help, but not as serious as the kind of help you need.” Lilly smacked the bar for emphasis.

  “Don’t scratch the mahogany. Your dad will blame it on me, and I get enough shit blamed on me.”

  “He thinks you’re trying to take his job, which you’re not. He’ll get over it.” Lilly pointed at her. “Don’t try to distract me. It’s not like you would actually hurt him. You’d get his teammates off his back so he could merrily bonk puck bunnies going forward.”

  “What if I don’t like the idea of him bonking puck bunnies?”

  “Because you like him, don’t you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Dahlia resumed her counting.

  “If you don’t like him, you could have sex with him. It would be a win-win.”

  “How would me having sex for money be a win-win? Everyone already thinks I’m a slut. Having sex for money would not fix that.”

  Lilly stood up. “Fine. Do what you want. But it’s not like regular having sex for money, which I also think people should be able to do.”

  “Really?” Dahlia put the cash in the drop safe under the bar and grabbed her purse.

  “Yes. I wish I could get paid for the bad sex I had with frat bros in college.” Lilly pulled a face that indicated some particularly bad memories. “I think you should have sex with him for him—so he can lose it and feel good about it. Because you like him.”

  Lilly was already walking away to her cabin when Dahlia said, “Do not.”

  Three

  Every step on the switchback reverberated up Anders’ calf and stung his still-healing knee. He stepped on a jagged rock and cursed. He shouldn’t be having this much pain months after surgery. Still, he couldn’t hike up a mountain—a hill really.

  The Temperance River swelled over the boulders, falling toward Lake Superior with a roar. The sound of the water moving over the stone, speeding, was remarkably like the sound of a crowd of fans filling the arena. He missed that sound, but he wasn’t sure the lure of the ice was enough to justify the pain.

  What if he was never the same? What if he went back and hurt himself worse? What if everything—even a hike on a sunny day—was painful every day for the rest of his life? Was playing a game really worth that price?

  He’d never had to contemplate the price of his dream before. His love for hockey had always seemed infinite. This wasn’t his first injury. He’d bounced back before, and he couldn’t figure out why it was so hard this time. He should be better now.

  The state park was pretty empty, given that it was the middle of the week, and Anders trudged on until he hit more even terrain, and the sharp pain in his knee turned into a dull throb. It would be worse going down, so he paused on a wooden bridge that spanned the falls. He leaned on the railing and looked out over the vast power of the river, wishing he could let his thoughts fall out and go under the rushing water.

  He heard the patting footfalls of a runner coming from farther up the path. A pang of jealousy hit him square in the chest. God, he’d always hated running, tolerated it because it made him a better skater. But now, he’d give his left nut for a taste of the release he could find from running a few miles. He was supposed to be swimming every day to keep his conditioning, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t give him the high; swimming laps exhausted him so he could sleep, but it was a reminder of the things he couldn’t do.

  The footfalls came closer and closer until they stopped. He looked to his right, and there was Dahlia. Sweaty and wearing a sports bra and short leggings—like a moving, breathing embodiment of everything he wished he could do. In more ways than one.

  “Hi.” She brushed a strand of purple hair behind her ear.

  “Hey.” Anders couldn’t think of anything better. His teammates would make so much fun of him if they could see him now. He’d always been awkward when it came to talking to girls, more so since the bounty came into the picture. But this was ridiculous. “It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged. “I guess. I mean, I’ve lived up here almost my whole life, so it’s part of the tapestry, I guess.”

  “I never would have taken you for a runner.” She seemed more like the type to smoke marijuana or clove cigarettes.

  “Because of the tattoos and—” She pointed to her hair.

  “I figured maybe yoga or something.”

  She pressed her lips together and crossed her arms over her chest. He didn’t say anything else because everything he said seemed to dig him deeper and deeper into a hole he didn’t want to be in.

  “You know what happened when you assume things.”

  You make an ass of “u” and “me.” “I can’t seem to stop making an ass of myself around you.”

  “Not everything you’ve done since we met is stupid.” She uncrossed her arms and moved closer to him, leaning on the railing. The wind picked up and he caught her sweat on the breeze. Much better than marijuana or clove cigarettes, it made his groin tighten. He leaned farther away to conceal the effect she had on him.

  “Have I done anything smart?” Not looking at her seemed to help with the not saying anything stupid thing.

  “You’re fishing, but I’ll bite.” She nudged him with her shoulder, and he gasped from the contact. Like a fucking
schoolgirl. He could feel her eyes on him, but he stared straight ahead, as though he could dunk himself in the lake if he looked hard enough. “You did defend my honor against those neck beards from high school. Rumor has it they are very proud of the battle wounds they got from a professional hockey player.”

  “It was the least I could do.” He shrugged, and his arm brushed against hers. He didn’t imagine her shivering. Without thinking too hard about it, he shrugged off his hoodie and dropped it over her shoulders. “It’s too cold to be that naked if you’re not running.”

  He risked a glance at her then. She scrunched her nose up, and he worried for a second he’d offended her. Did she not want to wear something that belonged to him? Had he overstepped?

  Instead, she burrowed in, pushed her arms through the sleeves. “Thank you.”

  Her words floored him for a second. It might have been the first thing she’d ever said to him without a hint of sarcasm. And, now that her face had softened, he couldn’t look away.

  “I run because I have to—had to. I’m a chef, or I was until recently, and all the tasting adds up.”

  “Why aren’t you cooking anymore?”

  “My ex-boss, or partner, or whatever, took my share of our business after he told me that he actually had a fiancée.”

  “You were together.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Prick.”

  She put a finger to one side of her nose. “You’ve got it.”

  They watched and listened to the falls for a long moment. Now her standoffish attitude made sense. She didn’t want to be here, and she didn’t trust men.

  “I keep saying and doing the wrong thing around you.” Given what she’d just told him, it would be hard for him to say or do the right things.

  “I kind of like it.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, but you should stop staring at me. It’s getting weird.”

  He looked down at his hands. “I like looking at you.” Being able to talk to her without suspecting her motives made him happy. It made him feel like less of a sideshow and more of a person.