“Nothing happened,” Nikki says drily. I feign struggling with the key so I can think about my answer. I don’t want to start out our friendship lying to her. But I positively don’t want anyone to think there’s anything going on between Dak and me.
“Well…” I drawl.
“Ho-ly shit!” Nikki pushes past me into the house and pulls me in after her. “You only moved here a few weeks ago and you already hooked up with one of those hockey sluts. You’re a dark horse, Trace Hayward. I had you pegged for the sweet virginal type. Nothing wrong with that, but I had you figured all wrong.” She snorts and punches me in the shoulder.
Ow! For a little thing, she packs a wallop. And she should know how not virginal I am.
“You have to tell me every single detail. Those fuckers next door may be whores, but their abilities between the sheets are well known all over campus.” She walks through the arched doorway into the living room. “Holy shit!” she repeats, in more of a shriek this time. “What the hell happened in here?”
“What do you mean? What happened?” I rush into the living room thinking I might have been robbed. Everything is neat and tidy, exactly the way I left it.
“What the fuck? Did Little Red Riding Hood have a yard sale or something?”
“Oh. No.” I wave her off. “It’s the new furniture my mother sent me as a moving in gift. You want something to drink?”
Nikki blows out a long whistle, taking in what is now her new, totally ridiculous, home. “No shit? Wow your mom is the bomb. My mother didn’t give me a toothpick when I started school.”
“You like it?” I’m shocked. There is no way the girl standing there in a black tank top, black grunge cutoffs, and black Dr. Marten boots could like the flowered, checked, striped furniture.
“Are you kidding? I freaking love it. It’s lit! So unique! Who else can say they live in the seven dwarves’ cottage? I’ll take a beer, if you have it.”
“Hmm. I thought you said it looked like Red’s leftovers. Now it’s the dwarves’?” I laugh.
“Whatever.” Nikki shakes her head in disbelief and chuckles. “It looks like somebody’s idea of a cartoon character’s house.”
I’m so happy she decided to move in with me. I can tell she and Alex will be the kind of friends I haven’t had for a long time.
“Hey, don’t think you weaseled you’re way out of telling me every little thing about you and Da-ko-ta,” she sings out his name.
When I open the refrigerator, the inside light doesn’t come on. The electricity must be out.
“There’s nothing to tell, Nikki.” I come back in the room and hand her the beer. “The power seems to be off. I hope it’s cold enough.”
“Pretty much the whole area lost power because of the storm last night. They’re still working on getting it back up. And come on, there’s no way Andersen spent the night stranded with a hot chickie like you and didn’t make the moves.”
Um. Yes. There’s a way. Apparently, I’m not the kind of chickie Dakota is interested in.
“At least tell me if it’s as big as is rumored.” She spreads her hands apart in an impossible length, even for a sex god.
“Oh my freaking word, Nikki!” My face is flaming, probably matching the color of the hideous flowers spewed all over the furniture.
“What? The boy has a reputation. I’ve heard it’s magnificent. Sometimes a girl has to live vicariously through her friends.” She twists off the cap of her beer and takes a long drag.
“You’re ridiculous. I have absolutely no idea how magnificent Dak’s uh…his…uh…”
“Dick? Cock? Love hammer? Is that what you’re trying to say?” She wiggles her brows.
“Oh for God’s sake. I have no idea how huge Dak’s cock is.” I puff out a long exhale and stomp up the stairs.
“Ah hah. But you do know it’s huge. Just not sure of the actual dimensions. Gotcha,” she calls after me, laughing. “And you’ve got a dinner date with the cutie patootie. I’m impressed.”
“It is not a dinner date. All his roommates will be there. Remind me why I like you?” I yell back downstairs.
“It’s a dinner date,” Nikki sing-songs back to me.
I hear the front door open and close and the sound of her carrying boxes inside.
“Up the stairs, second door on the left,” I call out so she can find her bedroom. “And no it’s no-ot,” I sing right back.
She stops in my open bedroom door with a box in her hand. “You can deny it all you want, skater girl. Do you know how many girls those hotties invite over to eat with them?” She cocks her head and arches her brow like she’s daring me to answer.
“No. How many?” I tilt my head to match hers.
“Zippo. Nada.” She makes a circle with her thumb and forefinger and peeks through it, while balancing a box on one hip with her other hand. “That’s how many. It’s against their rules of whoredom. No chicks allowed to spend personal time outside the bedroom.” She purses her lips and tips her head toward me while making an “mmph” noise through her nose. “And I like you too.” She grins and walks down the hall to her room.
“That’s ridiculous. There are girls there all the time hanging out in their living room. And I didn’t say I liked you. It’s still open for debate.”
“For parties. That’s a whole different thing. It’s their foreplay. Trust me, I know. And you love me, admit it.”
“You’re pretty knowledgeable about these hockey boys. Is this coming from experience and does it have anything to do with a certain blazing hot hockey player whose name will remain unspoken?” I ask while walking down the hall to her bedroom.
Something for sure went down between her and Dalt, and I would say it has definitely affected her opinion of the boys next door.
“By the way, as I recall, Dak invited you to dinner too.” Standing outside her door with one hip placed defiantly on my hip I purse my lips and arch a questioning brow right back at her. Two can play at this game. “What’s up with you and Dalt? The tension between you two is palpable.” I walk in and flop down on her bed.
I moved the plain, normal bedroom furniture I brought with me from Delaware into this room when I received all the other outrageous stuff from my mom. I’m sure Nikki is happy she won’t be sleeping in fairytale central.
“Nothing’s up.” She shrugs and keeps folding clothes or hanging them on hangers. “We hooked up a few times and he turned out to be a dickhead. That’s it. No surprises.” She walks into her closet to hang some things, but not before I catch a glimpse of the dampness filling her eyes. She’s trying to pretend she’s all tough and doesn’t care about Dalt, but I can see it’s not the case.
“So that’s it? End of story?” I ask when she comes out to get more clothes.
“That’s it,” she answers in her attempt at a cheerful voice. “I, on the other hand, will admit that his love hammer is as gigantic as his reputation indicates.” She hurries back into the closet with a pile of folded clothes.
“Ugh. TMI. You’re so gross.” I laugh and throw a pillow at her when she steps out of the closet again.
She grabs the pillow midair—girl has some serious reflexes. “It wasn’t gross, it was spectacular,” she says wistfully while clutching the pillow against her chest. She’s staring across the room with a dreamlike glimmer in her eyes. “It was the super douche himself that was gross.” She snaps out of her reverie and resumes her attempt at brushing off her obvious feelings for Dalt.
“Whatever you say. You sure you don’t want to join me over there for dinner? I could use the support of a girlfriend around all that raging testosterone.”
“No can do, skater girl. But no worries. You’ll be fine. Except for the douche, those boys are pretty cool. Dak is a good guy, even if he is a manwhore.”
She smiles and throws the pillow back at me. My reflexes aren’t quite as sharp as Nikki’s and it hits me square in the face. We both start laughing and I’m glad Nikki doesn’t seem to be sad anymore. I’
m even managing to feel a little better about what went on between Dak and me. “Okay, girl. That’s a pillow fight challenge that’ll have to wait because I need to shower before heading over to sin city. There’s all kinds of food in the fridge if it’s not ruined because of the power outage. Help yourself.”
“A pillow fight challenge. Ha ha. If we do it in our underwear and leave our curtains open the boys next door will probably get their ridiculous fantasies fulfilled,” she jokes. “I’ll take you up on the food. I’m starving. We’ll need to work out splitting the food tab.”
I stand up and head for the door. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out.”
“Trace,” she says before I walk out. “Thanks for all this.” She makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
“No thanks necessary, Nik. I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me too. And good luck with Dak. You two would be great together,” she says in a sincere voice and smiles.
I open my mouth to disagree, but decide better of it, because I can’t deny I think so too.
***
I wait until six fifteen to head over to Dak’s house, figuring it would give him enough time to shower and get home from practice. Since the power is still down, I wonder if they even had practice, or how they’re going to make dinner without electricity. I swing the backpack over my shoulder and hesitantly knock on the front door.
It’s crazy I’m feeling nervous. You’d think I was about to meet my boyfriend’s parents or something. Even though Dak’s not my boyfriend and these are not his parents, I want to make a good impression on his friends. I don’t know why it matters to me so much, but it does. I’m going to be spending a lot of time with Dak this semester, which means I’ll be seeing a lot of these guys. If I’m going to be breaking the ‘rules of whoredom’ Nikki referred to on a regular basis, it would be better if they like me.
The door swings open and the Titan I saw sucking face with a girl outside my kitchen window is standing there shirtless. No shirt and low hanging sweats appear to be his favorite attire.
“Hey, I know you.” He gives me a sultry grin. Christ. Are all these guys blessed with a panty-dissolving grin as their trademark tool of seduction? His long black hair is wet and disheveled like he just stepped out of the shower or off the set of a porno movie. These guys should publish their own calendar. It could fund their college educations.
“Hi. I’m Trace.” I hold out a hand in greeting, because an adult woman should be able to calmly shake a man’s hand instead of standing here drooling over the incredible tattoos decorating his incredible muscles.
“I know who you are, sweetheart,” he drawls. I recognize his voice from my first day at the rink. It’s the same voice as the hockey player who pushed past me coming off the ice.
He takes my hand and pulls me against his chest. I stiffen in response to his touch and too close proximity. “Dak has done nothing but talk about you for weeks. I’m Wolfe.” He’s still holding me when he introduces himself.
My eyes glance toward the door. My immediate thought is escape, then my mind drifts for a moment. Did he say Dak talked about me? What did he tell him? And wait. Did he say his name is Wolfe?
“Are you kidding? Is your name really Wolfe?” I let out a loud snort-like giggle—the result of my usual anxious reaction to a guy touching me too intimately.
I know he’s Dak’s roommate and he’s only being friendly, but I can’t keep my skin from doing its usual crawl at the intimate touch of a guy. I feel the signs of dread creeping up my spine: paranoia, fear, panic. I should have stayed home. I try to wriggle out of his grasp, but this dude is strong and he’s not letting go.
“I wouldn’t kid you, sweetheart. You can call me Damon.” He winks.
For real?
He even has a porno actor’s name. Does this shit actually work on the ladies? I guess it does, because Dak had no problem using some of these same tactics to throw open the doors to my heart…and other areas. But Dak’s are the first male hands that haven’t caused a panicked reaction in over a year. At the moment, an imminent scream is working its way up my throat.
“Okay, asshole. Unhand the girl and let her come in.” Wolfe immediately steps back away from me.
Speak of the devil with a voice like an orgasm. Dak’s deep, sexy voice sends sparks through my body.
“Hey,” he whispers in my ear and gives me a brief kiss on the cheek. His scent of mint and man fills my head and all sense of anxiety melts away. Without thinking, I reach up and place a hand over the spot he kissed, like I’m trying to hold it there.
When I realize what I’m doing, I drop my hand like I just touched a hot iron. Dak didn’t miss the brief gesture and he gives me a confident smile as he leads me into the living room.
He’s wearing a black t-shirt, the fabric straining across his broad shoulders and pecs. His jeans are hugging him in all the right places. Can we skip dinner? Because he definitely looks scrumptious enough to eat.
There’s a battery-operated camping lantern lighting the room. The light is so bright I’d almost forgotten about the power outage while I took in Dak’s smoking appearance.
“What? Just being polite, trying to make Trace feel right at home.” Wolfe protests as he walks behind us. With all my carnal contemplations of Dak, I forgot Wolfe was there.
“Have a seat while we finish making dinner.” Dak gestures to the sofa and takes the backpack off my shoulder.
Delectable smells coming from the kitchen are causing my stomach to do its usual doglike rollovers to beg for food. “Smells delish. How are you cooking without electricity?”
“It’s nothing fancy, just bean and cheese enchiladas. We have a gas stove and oven. We used a match to light the burners since the electronic ignition isn’t working. You into a margarita to go with the theme?”
“Uh, no. I don’ think—”
“They’re virgin.” Dak interrupts with a grin. He must read the puzzled look on my face because he adds, “No alcohol. No tequila.”
“Oh. Right.” I smile. “In that case, sounds good.”
“I’ll sit here and keep Trace company. Wouldn’t want her to get lonely.” Wolfe sticks out his bottom lip in a pout.
“Forget it, dickhead.” Dak gives him a playful smack on the back.
“Ow. What the fuck, dude? Only tryin’ to be friendly to your lady friend here.”
“Well my lady friend doesn’t need any friends like you. On second thought, Trace, why don’t you sit in the kitchen? We can talk while you drink your drink and the rest of us finish making dinner.” Dak hangs his arm around Wolfe’s shoulder. “Why don’t you set the table, Romeo?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I don’t know why I’m the only one who’s never allowed to help with the cooking. Come on, Trace. You can give me a hand with the table.” Wolfe pushes Dak’s arm off his shoulder and takes my hand to lead me into the kitchen. Dak chuckles and shakes his head.
“Lead the way, Damon. I’m all yours.” I’m not feeling the trepidation I was a few minutes ago. Wolfe is definitely into using his skills to woo the ladies, and his playful antics are making me feel welcome.
“See? I told you, Andersen, all the ladies love me best,” Wolfe teases.
“Sure they do, Romeo,” Dak chuckles. I follow Wolfe into the kitchen, with Dak only one step behind us.
There’s another lantern on the counter and several candles on the table. Dalt and another guy I haven’t met yet are standing in front of the counter assembling the enchiladas. Dalt is wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. The other guy has gray sweatpants on too, a black apron, and no shirt. The straps of the apron crisscross over his wall of a back and the obligatory muscles of this sin on legs houseful of hockey players are on glorious display
“Hey, Batt, this is Trace,” Dak says to the only guy in the room whose name I haven’t heard until now.
Bat? Huh. Another porno actor name. Or it could be my dirty mind giving their n
ames a sexual connotation. Who could blame me with all this muscled male flesh staring me in the face?
“Hey.” Bat wipes his hands on a dishtowel and holds out his hand in greeting. The front of his apron has I Like Big Buns printed across it. “It’s great to finally meet you, Trace. I’m Dante.”
“Hi. Dante?” I shake his hand and ask in a bewildered tone, because how is Bat a nickname for Dante? And what does he mean it’s great to finally meet me? Crap. Dak must have talked to him about me too. They probably got a good chortle over the crazy bitch who begged to be fucked and then ravaged him in his sleep.
“Dante Battaglia. Everyone calls me Batt. And it’s a tradition around here to kiss the chef.” He grins and bends down, giving me a quick kiss on the lips. Yup. I’m definitely wading through a swamp of raging testosterone.
“No shit. It’s a tradition?” Dak asks. “Well then. I better kiss the chef, because I never honored the tradition.” Dak grabs Batt around the neck, pretending he’s going to kiss him on the lips.
“Get the fuck away from me, asshole.” Batt laughs and pushes out of his hold. “A tradition only for hot chicks.”
“This hot chick is off limits to all you sluts,” Dak says, and he’s not laughing now.
I am?
“Oh come on, dude. Bros always share a good thing. House rules,” Batt says in a joking tone, and resumes making enchiladas.
“Not this time, asshole.” Dak hip checks him into the counter in a not so playful gesture.
“What the fuck, asshat? I was only kidding.” Batt turns toward Dak with fire in his eyes, like he’s getting ready to punch him in the face.
I cough to clear my throat. “Excuse me, but you little boys do realize I’m standing right here. Right?”
“Sorry, Tracey,” they both mutter.
“We’re only messin’ around,” Batt says, gives Dak a sideways glance and shakes his head.
“Sorry, man,” Dak apologizes. “Just looking out for Trace. She’s not a…she’s a friend.”
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