Cross Stroke

by Elizabeth Hartey

  “Weirdo? Huh, a new pet name. You haven’t seen anything yet.” He snickers and does a little tap dance shuffle before walking out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

  I giggle again at his dorky, adorable antics. I undo my watch and place it on the countertop. As I stand for the first time to slip off my bra and panties, my legs and body feel weak and wobbly; not from the cold but from the stirring impressions Dak left in his wake, leaving me alone with only my mixed up thoughts and feelings.

  He’s not a super douche, he’s a good guy. There’s so much more to him than he lets people see. He’s smart, caring, and funny. And the hot as the sun thing he has going on isn’t exactly a bad thing. But he’s got a reputation for having slept with half of the girls at Bernard. I’m still not sure about the guys. I don’t want to be another name on his long list. Besides, I can’t get involved with anyone. I’m not ready to put myself out there. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

  ***

  Dak left sweatpants and hoodie with the gold Bernard U logo embroidered across the front and down one leg folded on the bed with a thick pair of wool socks lying next to them. I also slip my watch back on, because it’s my obsessive nature to always know exactly what time it is and if my fitness goals for the day are on target. The sweats are huge and I’m sure I look like I’m wearing my father’s hand me downs. Not exactly flattering, but they’re comfy and I’m grateful for their warmth.

  I make my way downstairs feeling both refreshed and warm. The smell of something delicious—Italian restaurant delicious—drifts past my nose and my stomach makes a sound like a tire hitting a patch of gravel.

  Following the aroma, I find Dak standing at the stove in the kitchen. He’s wearing the exact same black hoodie and sweatpants I am, although the way the pants sit low on his hips while he’s standing there barefoot looks all kinds of sexy on him.

  The room is shimmering in a soft glow, lit with two candles on the table and an oil lantern on the counter. I wonder if he decided to use the candles to conserve the use of the generator or because he’s trying to create a romantic ambience.

  Why would he want to set a romantic scene for you?

  It’s possible, I argue with the insulting voice in my head. It’s obvious he’s not strictly into guys.

  No, but he did seem to be into Alex at the party.

  Then again, Alex was the one who pushed Dak and me together at the Thirsty Whale. I continue to argue with myself like a complete psycho, because it’s driving me crazy I can’t figure this whole thing out.

  The truth is, even if Alex isn’t in the picture, I shouldn’t be feeling the things I’m feeling for Dak. It’s way too risky. Getting myself back together was a long journey. Still is. I haven’t shaken off all the mucky aftereffects of Sean yet and Dak is a complication I don’t need.

  “Mmm. Smells wonderful!” I try to push the thought of the whole dilemma out of my head. “A man who can cook. I must be dreaming,” I tease and walk to the stove and peer over his shoulder to see what he’s making. “What is it? You need help?”

  “It’s eggplant and spaghetti puttanesca, and you’ll find I’m a man of many talents, Bambi.” He gives me a wry sideways glance. “Twinsies,” he laughs.

  I love his laugh. It sounds full of fun and warmth. And trouble.

  “I don’t know,” I manage to speak like a normal adult who isn’t getting all gooey over a guy’s chuckle, for God’s sake. “Yours look better on you. These are so huge I could fit you in here with me.” I frown and stretch out both sides of the waistband of my pants to illustrate how gigantic they are.

  He tilts his head as if he he’s considering my statement. “That might be the best suggestion you’ve had all day. You can get some dishes and forks out if you want, and hand me that big bowl.” He points to a large red ceramic bowl sitting on a shelf over the counter. “The food is pretty much done.” He gives the sauce another stir, ignoring his suggestion of climbing inside my clothes with me.

  Or was it my suggestion? He’s a man of many talents indeed, and my unwanted desire to experience all of them is getting stronger by the minute.

  “I’m impressed,” I say without acknowledging his obvious insinuations. “You can make a fancy dish like this in the few minutes I was upstairs.”

  Before he can respond, a huge streak of lightning lights up the sky outside the window and a few seconds later a crashing rumble of thunder follows. The rain is still pummeling the rooftop. Though the sound isn’t as intimidating in the house as it was in the makeshift lab.

  “Yikes. Thank goodness we got off the water when we did.”

  I’m grateful to be inside the safety of the cozy house, even though at the moment I’m questioning what would be more dangerous: weathering the storm in a boat, or spending the night alone with the smoldering volcano known as Dak Andersen.

  “I’m sorry I got you into this mess. I should’ve kept track of the time and the weather.” Dak shakes his head and puffs out a breath like he’s disgusted with himself.

  “I already told you it’s not your fault. I wasn’t paying attention either and besides, if not for my tour, we could’ve gone out on the water earlier and gotten back to the harbor earlier. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s mine. You don’t get to take all the credit.” I give him a playful punch in his triceps.

  “Ow!” He pretends my punch hurt him, even though I only tapped him. “Okay, okay. I give. You win. You’re the most irresponsible one of the two of us.” He smiles and winks at me.

  He might be the only guy I know who can actually look irresistible when winking. A part of me wishes he’d take those warrior arms, wrap them around me, and carry me right back up those stairs. Another part of me says to run away as fast as I can. I might tell that part to shut up.

  “Um…so… what’s in puttaness sauce?”

  “Puttaness-ca,” he snickers and accentuates the last syllable. “It’s a variation of tomato sauce. I found a jar of olives and capers in the cabinet. They’re the secret ingredients to this kind of sauce. They stocked up the fresh veggies and fruit because there’s supposed to be a research group staying here for a week starting Monday if the weather clears up, so I added the eggplant.”

  “That’s one of the things I love about Bernard. They grow their own vegetables all year round in their greenhouses. What other university does that?”

  “It’s the main reason my mom wanted me to come here instead of playing for one of the schools in Cali that offered me a scholarship.”

  “Because of the food?”

  “Yep,” he snickers. “She’s a midwife and kind of a misplaced hippie chick. Everything has to be organic and environmentally friendly. She’s into the au natural scene. She’d be rockin’ dreadlocks if my dad hadn’t put his foot down and said he drew the line at,” Dak deepens his voice and mimics his dad, “‘the knotted, unwashed hair situation.’ His exact words.”

  “He didn’t!” I can’t keep from laughing at the impersonation of his dad.

  “I kid you not. The two of them together are a trip.” He shakes his head in amusement.

  “They sound amazing. And your mom is, like, the complete opposite of my mom. I mean, my mom’s great, but if she never had to cook a meal and could eat out every night she’d be good.”

  “Yeah, my mom’s pretty cool.” He stops stirring for a second and tilts his head to one side like he’s thinking about it and realizing for the first time how great his mom is. “She’s the one who taught me how to cook. My sister never took any interest in it. I was always the one helping her out in the kitchen.”

  I can’t resist the smell of the sauce, so I take a spoon from the drawer and dip it in the pot to get a little taste.

  “You like?”

  “Oh my God! It’s incredible! I could drink this.”

  “Huh uh,” he says and moves in closer to me. “I told you, one of my many talents. My sauce is almost orgasmic,” he whispers in my ear. Wow! He smells as delicious as
his sauce.

  I breathe in his peppermint and vanilla scent mixed with a trace of burning firewood. His masculine fragrance envelops me and I can’t hold back the moan escaping my lips. He catches his bottom lip in his teeth like he’s trying to hold back a smile. Crap. I can’t believe I moaned out loud. Again.

  “Uh…what does your father do? Is he an organic farmer or something?” I move away from the stove and around to the other side of the table to put some distance and a meager barrier between us instead of throwing him down on the floor and licking my puttanes-ca sauce right off his rock hard abs-a.

  “He’s a plastic surgeon. We live in Malibu, but his clinic is in Beverly Hills.” Dak chuckles. “Complete job security, if you know what I mean.” He drains the boiling water from the cooked pasta he had put on the stove, dumps the spaghetti in the red bowl, and ladles the sauce over it.

  “Now you’re fucking with me.” I express the same astonishment he did when I told him my mom was a former V.S. model.

  “I would never fuck with you, Tracey.” He places the bowl on the table. “At least not with your mind.” He waggles a brow.

  I’m having no problem with the cold anymore. In fact, I feel a trickle of sweat running down my spine. It’s so hot in here!

  “An au natural midwife married to a plastic surgeon? Quite a dichotomy, isn’t it?” I shake my head in awe, ignoring his latest suggestive statement. Despite the fact that most of my nerve cells are busy fighting the Battle of the Resistance of the Charms of Dak Freaking Andersen, there are still a few brain cells coherent enough to register the astounding fact of an organic, almost dreadlocked midwife married to a plastic surgeon. The two professions hardly belong in the same sentence let alone in the same bed.

  “Huh. I guess it is. Never thought about it because they make it work so well. My parents are a strange phenomenon these days. They still love each other. They’re like a couple of teenagers. My sister and I always pretend we’re disgusted by their PDA, but it’s cool how in love they are. Maybe I’ll be able to feel that same kind of love again someday.” He sighs and my ovaries explode.

  “Again?” I ask.

  “I…I…mean…someday. We should eat before it gets cold. And look what I found in the hidden supply stash.”

  The bottle of red wine he pulls from the cabinet is a nice attempt on his part to change the subject, because there is definitely something behind his feeling ‘love again’ statement. Seems we’re both hiding things from our past we don’t want to share, so I don’t press him for an explanation.

  “Ooo, yummy. I’ll get the glasses.” I search through the cabinets until I find two glass tumblers. I place them on the table while Dak uncorks the wine and pours some into each glass.

  We sit on opposite sides of the small rectangular table and Dak uses a fork and spoon to serve the pasta onto each of our plates. He raises his glass of wine in a toast. “To successful research projects and other adventures.” He gives me a slight grin.

  “Um. Projects and skating adventures,” I say and clink his glass.

  “Okay, Bambi. Whatever you say.”

  “Your parents must miss you a lot with you’re being so far away.” It’s my turn to change the subject. I twirl a big forkful of spaghetti and close my eyes in pleasure at the first taste.

  “I guess. But they get to see me a few times a year because they own a cabin here in Maine they stay in every once in a while. They spend the holidays there. So we see each other,”

  “How weird. My family has a house on the ocean in Rhode Island and they spend the holidays there too. My mom says it isn’t Christmas unless there’s lots of snow.”

  “You from a warm climate too?”

  “Oh, no. We live in the Hamptons. We don’t always get the amount of snow and pretense of wilderness my mom likes over the holidays.”

  “Pretense?” he asks and I giggle at his puzzled expression.

  “We own a place in Newport. My mom’s idea of wilderness. If there isn’t a Prada within five miles, it’s the wilderness.”

  I don’t go on to explain that if our Newport house was the size of Rosecliff Mansion and located on Bellevue Avenue she might be able to consider it as something other than a rustic shack. Never mind our house is on Cliff Avenue, overlooks the ocean, and is six thousand square feet. If it’s not on Bellevue Avenue, it’s a cabin in the woods.

  “My dad loves it up there for the holidays too. He likes to skate on the pond on our property, when it freezes.”

  “Awesome! Your dad skates? And what else does the lucky man married to a model do?”

  “He’s a retired hockey player. He does some commentating now for hockey games on ESPN.”

  He drops his fork and it clatters on his plate. “Holy shit! Don’t tell me your dad is Duke Hayward!”

  “Okay, I won’t.” I shrug and shovel more of the pasta into my mouth. Dak’s right. The sauce is almost orgasmic. Yup, definitely got a sick love relationship with food going on. Give me the right food and I may never need a man in my life again.

  “Fuck. He was, like, one of the greatest centers in pro hockey. I can’t believe he’s your dad. That’s why you rock so hard on the ice.” He points his fork at me. “You take after him. Man, your family is so dope, Bambi.”

  “Yours doesn’t sound too bad either.” I smile. My family is very important to me and I love a man who feels the same way about his family. Well, not love. Like. I’m beginning to like a man whose family is important to him, and right now that man is being so cute in the way he’s become all wide-eyed and excited like a star struck kid after finding out who my dad is. I’m almost not hating the way he calls me Bambi anymore.

  “Yeah. We must be the only people I know whose parents are still married with no problems. We’ve got to get them together when they’re all in New England for the holidays.”

  Wait. What? He wants to get our families together over the holidays?

  I don’t know a lot about Dak and his fellow hockey friends, but the rumors of their reputations don’t suggest the kind of guys who would want to meet a girl’s parents after one abbreviated kiss. I’ve never met anyone who can send so many confusing mixed messages. Not even the nefarious Sean was this bewildering. He was just a callous, dishonest, cheating dickhole.

  “Uh, well, it’s kind of a long drive from Newport to Mount Desert, though. There probably won’t be time over the holidays.”

  I stare at him over the rim of my wine glass. He keeps eating. No reaction. It’s like the concept of our families spending the holidays together is as normal as green Christmas trees and white snow. Before this evening is over, I’m going to pull up my big girl panties and come right out and ask him what his game is, no more guessing.

  “Our cabin is in Newry, actually,” he says. “About three hours west of here.”

  “See? A long drive.”

  “You make the drive down to Newport for the holidays, don’t you?” He holds up the wine bottle to fill my emptied glass. I don’t think twice when I push the glass toward him. I need a refill or five. I nod as I take a very unclassy gulp of my wine. My eyes close at the spicy sweetness sliding down my throat and my head swims in the intoxicating buzz it’s creating.

  “If you can make the drive, what’s the big deal? They can too.” He refills his glass and then finishes off the rest of his pasta.

  “I’m not sure what we’re even talking about right now. The holidays are a long way off. Anything could happen by then.” I wave my wine glass in the air to show how much space “anything” takes up. The wine in the glass does a swirling dance before flying across the table and splattering a few drops all over Dak’s face.

  He lets out a little sputter in response to the unwanted wine shower. Then he smiles, wipes off his face, and runs his tongue along his pillowy bottom lip to lick off a lingering drop.

  My lips part in wonder, my eyes lingering on his tongue and mouth. I manage to squeak out a feeble apology while trying to pull my gaze away from his mouth
. By the heavy-lidded way he’s staring at me, I’m not sure I succeeded in hiding my own longing expression.

  “If you’re done with your pasta, what do you say we go sit in front of the fire and have dessert?”

  “Ugh. I’m so stuffed. I don’t think I could eat another bite of anything.”

  “No problem, because you don’t bite this kind of dessert. I found another hidden treasure in the supply closet.” He goes to the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of tequila. “Guaranteed to warm you from the inside out and make you forget all your troubles.”

  I glower at the bottle like he’s holding a viper, while reminding myself Dak isn’t Sean. He has a sweet, sensitive side, which I never saw in Sean. I dismiss the trepidations the sight of the deceptive liquid sends through my body.

  “No troubles—yet.” I glare at him through narrowed eyes. I’m not the naïve little girl I was a year ago.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Dak

  The fire is already roaring, but I get a few more logs from the built-in alcoves on either side of the fireplace and throw them in to add to the welcome heat. Trace is sitting on the leather sofa with her legs tucked under her. The way her skin glows and her long wavy hair glistens with strands of gold in the firelight, she takes my breath away.

  “Mmm. This feels wonderful. Is there anything better than sitting in front of a fire while the weather rages all around you outside?” She sighs in contentment.

  Uh yeah, I can think of some things better than sitting in front of a fireplace during a storm. Kissing, licking, sucking, fucking to name a few. But she’s in a fragile place right now and my head’s not exactly in a great place either. This is nice, though, sitting with Trace in front of a toasty fire while the wind and rain howl outside.

  There are no trees or anything on the island to protect the house, so we’re at the mercy of the elements. Being here like this with her, it’s like we’re the only two people in the world and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be stranded with. I sit next to her on the sofa and pour a shot of tequila for each of us.