Cross Stroke

by Elizabeth Hartey

  “It’s a long story, which we are not talking about. To moving on,” Nikki states again, although with a little less enthusiasm, and raises her glass.” Alex and I repeat her cheer.

  “Uh…most of the hotties?” My focus is on Alex’s statement regarding the bedroom antics of the hockey players. “They’re not all into vagin…uh, girls?” I ask, trying to sound as disinterested as possible. Because, why should I care? As I said, totally not interested in sexcapades, steamy or otherwise. At least, I’m not into acting upon my interests in them.

  Sex with Sean was more in the ‘otherwise’ category. I mean it was good, don’t get me wrong. Sean was gorgeous—on the outside. However, our sex sessions were more about him and his needs than about mine. He spent a lot of our intimate time telling me what he needed or wanted and how I should do things to provide him with those needs.

  It could be the reason my confused lady parts are craving the idea of a super attentive lover now, but since Sean, the fear of intimacy causes my chest to hurt and my stomach to tighten like it’s full of hard rocks.

  Nevertheless, the kind of fantasy lover they write about in books, the kind who puts the woman’s pleasure above his own, a guy who cares more about the girl’s needs and pleasing her in every way possible…mmm, yeah, that’s the kind of attentive intimacy I would love to be able to experience just once. Even if, at the moment, I’m an anxiety ridden mess when anyone tries to get too close.

  Alex snickers, pulling me out of my amorous thoughts. “My gaydar tells me there are a couple of those cuties who would love to play with more than just hockey sticks, but they would never let their macho teammates know about it.”

  “Uh, speaking of ho-ish,” Nikki teases. “Knock it off, Alex. Your metaphorical statement is bringing imagined visions of lust filled guy on guy scenes, causing hot wet stimulations between our thighs. Am I right, Trace?”

  “Oh shut up, Nikki.” Alex sticks his tongue out at her and then sweeps it around his lips in a seductive manner. Nikki throws her head back and lets out a loud laugh.

  Their insinuated scenario brings back visions of Sean and his running back companion, with me somewhere in the picture. Nope. Nikki’s wrong. The thought of two guys together, especially those two guys, isn’t getting my panties wet, not at all. Although, it is making my hands clammy and my chest hurt.

  “I’m serious,” Alex’s resolute voice invades my thoughts again. “This is my last year and I’m free as a bird. Therefore, I intend on doing some private investigating of my own into one particular hockey stud who has fucked me with his eyes on more than one occasion when no one was looking.” He nibbles hesitantly on one of his fries. Apparently there’s at least one figure skater at Bernard concerned with his daily consumption of grease.

  I’m dying to ask which hockey player eyed him over.

  Why should you care?

  I don’t. It’s none of my business. “I could probably help you out with that,” I mumble, before realizing I’m saying it aloud and not inside my head.

  “What was that?” Alex asks.

  Should I tell him if he gives me five minutes with the team my Ute-dar could easily hone in on his ‘teammates’ for him? Nope. Too soon to lay all that crazy on my new friends.

  “Oh nothing. Just saying how delish the Zeus burgers are.”

  I polish off the last sip of beer in my glass and stuff the rest of the burger in my mouth. In this case, Nikki’s assertion was right, the Zeus burger, with its herb sauce, mushrooms, and feta cheese, almost moistens my panties as much as the thought of the super douche’s wet, naked, rock hard body. Maybe not. I mean the burger is good, but his body was amaz…ugh. There I go again, lost in visions of the jackass known as Dak Andersen. Yup. Time to go.

  “Well, great meeting you guys, but I need to get going. Got some studying to do.” I climb out of my dirty mind and slide out of the booth.

  In one afternoon, Nikki and Alex have made me feel welcome and comfortable and I’m enjoying their company. But the effects of the two beers I downed way too fast are washing over me. I can’t break the “no drinking too much” promise to myself after only two weeks. Besides, I had intended on spending the weekend buried in my books and research references. It’s time to get back to schoolwork.

  “Studying? No way. It’s the first week. What could you possibly have to study?” Alex protests.

  “It’s research stuff for my thesis. Been working on it for months, but it takes a lot of time and I need to use every free minute.”

  “You’re going to be missing a few of those minutes tonight, girlfriend, because you’re going with us to the party. We got a personal invite to a hockey party and we’re not missing it.”

  “No fucking way am I going,” Nikki snarls. Crossing her arms over her chest accentuates her trim muscles and the tattoo of a soccer ball on her right triceps. And the look on her face—man, she flat out doesn’t like Dalton. What did he do to her? I’m beginning to think I’m right, all male college students, especially all Division 1 male athletes, are assholes.

  “Come on, Nikki. I served as your winglady on more than one occasion,” Alex pleads. “I need you to have my back when I make the move on hockey boy tonight. Besides, we gotta help our new girl here socialize. She’s just getting to know people. What better way to meet a ton of people than at a hockey keg fest?” Alex gives her a lost puppy kind of face and despite her determination to act tough, Nikki’s stiff posture and demeanor soften and she relaxes her arms.

  Before she can respond, I chime in with, “I don’t think I should I—”

  “I’m not going if Trace isn’t going.” She crosses her arms back over her chest.

  Alex turns to me with the same pouty puppy dog face. “You’ll be my new BFF if you go with us, Trace. Besides Nikki, of course,” he adds.

  I’m sure Nikki doesn’t care if I go or not. After all we just met. I’m certain she’s looking for any excuse to get out of going to the party. I guess a little relaxing time with my nose out of the books doesn’t sound so bad, though. “Just a half hour.” I don’t want to get too relaxed. Too relaxed has proved to be disastrous.

  Alex resumes jumping up and down in his seat like a kid at the circus. I tell myself it will be fun to hang out with new friends, even if it’s only a half hour. In such a short time, it will be easy to steer clear of the jackass.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tracey

  The universe hates me. The house where Alex tells me to meet them for the party at nine o’clock is right next door to mine. I mean right next to my rented little blue house, with the white picket fence and porch. Obviously, the house belongs to the guys at the bar Nikki referred to as man-whores. Wow. I am seriously working off some bad shit Karma. In all of Mt. Desert Island I end up living right next door to a bunch of hot, horny, hockey players. The Cosmos is clearly trying to test me. Not sure I’m up to the challenge.

  I knew male students occupied the building because when I pulled up to the front of my house two weeks ago to move in there was a sign stretched across the front porch. Big black letters painted across a white bed sheet read ‘THANK YOU FOR YOUR DAUGHTERS.’ All caps. I didn’t get a good look at the few guys sitting on lawn chairs on the porch drinking beer. I’m sure the parents who were swarming around the streets of the town while moving their freshman daughters onto campus must’ve been thrilled at the sight of the welcome sign and partying boys.

  I close my books around eight thirty. It’s time to get ready for the trip into Testosterone Central. It’s cooler outside since the sun has gone down. My mind is having a battle trying to decide how I should dress for a party at a house full of demi-god hockey players. I want to look good.

  But you don’t want to attract unwanted attention.

  Right. I slip on a pair of skinny jeans, a lightweight red V-neck sweater, and a pair of red high-top Louboutin sneakers.

  They’re ridiculous, especially for a college student, but Mom insisted every woman should own at least one pa
ir of Louboutin’s. When I explained they would never work for me because the only shoes I ever wear at school are sneakers or boat shoes, these little beauties showed up in a gift box on my bed right before I left for Maine. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or disappoint her. I mean, how could she have given birth to a daughter who wasn’t into designer clothes? Maybe I’m adopted.

  Thank goodness she has my drop dead gorgeous sister to follow in her modeling footsteps. When I told her I wasn’t interested in fashion and wanted to pursue a career in Marine Ecology she almost choked on her dirty martini. But when she got over the initial shock, she was happy I found something I love.

  Both my parents support me in every way they can. Even though I’m a nerdy scientist, it doesn’t stop my mom from slipping a few high priced fashion designer items into my wardrobe whenever I’m not looking, or Dad from challenging me to a hockey match whenever I’m home.

  A quick review in the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door gives me my exasperating answer. The outfit works, I guess. It’s the right amount of non-frumpiness, with not too much come-and-get-me. Of course, if my sister, with her long black hair, legs which go on for years, and lavender eyes, was wearing this outfit it would scream “come and get me.” In fact, Sloane could wear a trash bag and it would do the same. The remarkable thing is she’s as beautiful inside as she is out. I miss her so much. I can’t wait to see her over the holiday break.

  Right now, it’s time to venture into the eye-candy filled house next door.

  ***

  My neighbors’ house is a white, three-story monstrosity. The wraparound porch, which is already overflowing with students, is in serious need of a paint job and repair, and the siding on the house is even worse. It’s ten after nine as I climb the weather-beaten steps of the porch.

  While I don’t see Alex or Nikki out here, through the open door I can see the house is packed. I’m not too thrilled about pushing into the mass of undulating, dancing bodies, but I need to get back to socializing like a normal college student instead of a messed up basket case. Forging ahead through the door, the combination smell of cologne, perfume, beer and bodies hits me. Once I’m in the middle of the crowded living room my nose adapts to the overwhelming mixture of scents, and I don’t notice them as much anymore.

  The inside of the house is pretty nice considering the outside appearance. Off-white walls are peeking out between hockey and video game posters. From the little bit of floor I can see between feet, there’s no dirty, stained carpet, only glossy hardwood floors. Do these sex-gods actually polish their floors? A black leather sofa, ottoman, and two gaming chairs are pushed against one wall and a huge beanbag chair is pushed against another. I guess moving the furniture to the perimeter of the room leaves space in the center of the room for everyone to mingle, though with the amount of people packed into the house, even with the furniture out of the way, it’s a tight squeeze.

  I begin searching over the tops of heads for Alex or Nikki. It’s easy to spot the hockey players from the pub since they’re all over six feet tall and tower over most of the people in the room. Not to mention there are one or two stunning, scantily clad girls draped over each one of their shoulders. I thought football players were players, but these guys are no slackers. When do they get time for classes and schoolwork?

  As I scan the room, I spot him in the corner next to the staircase, leaning one shoulder against the wall and laughing. For a douche, he’s got a spectacular smile. All cleaned up, covered in clothes, he’s almost as hot as he was naked and dripping wet. His black crew neck sweater is clinging to his muscled chest and arms and his worn jeans are just tight enough in the right places to display his abundant blessings. His tousled, sun streaked, golden brown hair skims his shoulders. He could be the cover model for Surfer magazine. I give a little sigh as I admire the jackass known as Dak Andersen.

  It’s apparent most of the girls here are vying for the attention of all these male wonders of the world. I’m glad I’m not interested in the competition to get the attention of any of these visions of hotness.

  You’re not?

  No. I’m not. I want to smack my infuriating mind.

  Ed Sheeran’s “The Shape of You” is pulsing through the stereo speakers and it couldn’t be more appropriate for the sensations I’m experiencing while watching Dak flirt with…Alex?

  Holy shit! Is that Alex he’s laughing with in the corner?

  Standing on tiptoes I can see the person Dak is having such a good time talking to is indeed Alex.

  What the ever loving hell?

  Dak must be the guy Alex said he was going to make his move on tonight. First I get my rocker and artist friends in Delaware hooked up, and now my teammate and hockey player! I guess he’s technically not my hockey player, and I suppose I didn’t actually do anything to get them together. Still, I’m beginning to think I should get business cards. Tracey Hayward. Matchmaker. Bringing men together all over the country.

  Why should it matter to you if Dak was the guy Alex said eye-fucked him?

  Right. Doesn’t matter. I hate Dak Andersen. Ugh. It’s so discouraging. Even though I’m happy for Alex…if Dak is the kind of guy he wants. Piercing blue eyes, heart stopping smile, sculpted pecs, six pack abs, Thor-size…Uh, yeah. Who would want a guy like that?

  I don’t see his wing lady Nikki anywhere in sight. I guess he didn’t need her backup support after all. Dak must be more than willing. I continue to search the room for Nikki’s platinum hair, and my eyes connect with Dak’s. He arches one brow, tips his chin at me and gives me that damn ovary-exploding half grin of his.

  For a second my feet are frozen in place and my eyes remain locked with his. Heated shocks of electricity shoot down to my core simply from the intensity in those blue eyes. My mind drifts back to the way I trembled the first time I gazed into art boy’s perceptive eyes.

  Ugh. I can’t do this. I can’t get involved with another guy whose only interest is in a new BFF. Or in this case, all over the place with his sexual attraction. Anyway, I’m so not interested in having anything to do with another cocky athlete. I turn around and push back out through the crowd as fast as I can. When I get to the bottom of the porch steps I bend over, place my hands on my quivering thighs, and take a deep, mind-clearing breath.

  Breathe. In. Out. Close your eyes and imagine in your mind what you want your future to look like.

  I hear Gail’s voice encouraging me as she’s done a thousand times in the past. Before I get a chance to practice some calming breathing exercises, a deep, already recognizable voice startles me back to an upright stance.

  “What are you doing, Bambi? You okay?”

  I spin around so fast, I almost fall over. “Fine. It’s…it was really hot in there. I mean … it was hard to breathe in there.”

  “Surprised to see you at our party. Nice shoes.” He smirks at my shoes and then gives me a wolfish up and down scan. What is it with this guy? First he’s flirting with Alex and now…Not. Happening. Again.

  “Whatever. I like them,” I lie. “They were…wait, what? You live here?”

  “Yeah, me and three other guys from the team. You sound surprised. Sure you’re not stalking me?”

  “Yeah right. Get over yourself. Not everyone is falling all over themselves for you.”

  “They’re not?” He crosses his spectacular arms over his spectacular chest and grins.

  “Arrogant much?” I sneer at him. “Speaking of cocky, when I was moving in, a sign on your porch read ‘Thank You For Your Daughters.’ I suppose it was your idea?”

  “No. That was Wolfe and the other two idiots. They were celebrating a little too hard. Happy to be back together I guess.” He shakes his head.

  A girl striking enough to be the next Top Model with long brown hair and a tight, barely there skirt brushes past Dak on her way up the steps. He doesn’t seem to notice the way she rubs against him on purpose as she goes by. I don’t know if I’m pleased or disappointed at his lack
of attention to the striking female.

  “Happy to be back together or happy to welcome the new groupies?” I direct my gaze toward the girl as she makes her way onto the porch.

  He turns to see who I’m referring to. Here comes that bad boy half grin again when he spots the brunette. “A little bit of both. What can I say? Chicks want me and there are some perks that come with being a hockey player.” He waggles his brows.

  This is ridiculous. Why don’t I just ask him if he’s gay? Except for the way he was flirting with Alex, it doesn’t seem like he is. Could be he’s a big enough manwhore he doesn’t discriminate.

  What’s the big deal? Ask him.

  I already know what the big deal is. I’m a coward, afraid to hear the answer. If he says yes I’m screwed because once again I’m attracted to the wrong guy. If he says no I’m screwed because I don’t want to be attracted to anyone, especially not another arrogant jerk who’s making my body do this intense hormonal dance, which I can’t do anything about because I can’t let him anywhere near me.

  “Yeah. I saw you talking to Alex about those perks.” I try to sound aloof. His brows pinch and I could swear there’s a pink blush of embarrassment on his face. Yet I can’t imagine this guy with all his cockiness being embarrassed by anything.

  “Alex? Yeah. He’s a cool dude. He’s got crazy skating skills.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

  Is he embarrassed because I saw him flirting with Alex? He wasn’t trying to hide their interaction.

  “Yeah. He seems like a great guy,” I offer. His uneasiness is making me more uncomfortable than I already am around him.

  “You two must know each other, right? Being on the same team.”

  He rubs the back of his neck. I’m certain now he is feeling awkward discussing Alex. Perhaps the big jerk expects me to put in a good word for him with Alex. I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to give my opinion of him. Let’s see…um…cute but a smug asshole.