by Lex Martin
Brady laughs. “Man, don’t scare her.”
Brady is hot, all ridges and taut muscles and menacing tattoos, and I know he’s staring down at my naked back right now. He’s so out of my league.
Of course this is the only way I’d get a guy like that to touch me.
Swallowing, I nod and clutch my shirt to my chest. “Let’s do this. I’m not chickening out.”
I’ve done my homework, researched optimal positioning, pain, methods, everything. Now I just have to take the plunge. This is going to be my year of firsts.
“That a girl. I promise I’ll be gentle.” Brady moves away from me, and the buzzing starts and stops.
Travis’s grip tightens as he leans down and whispers, “If your mother knew you were doing this, she’d kill me.”
I yank my hand from his and swat my best friend. “What’s the matter with you? Now is not the time to talk about my mother.”
A black gloved hand runs across my shoulder as Brady lowers the strap on my lacy, black bra. Hell, yes, I wore my sexy underwear.
He lowers his voice. “This is going to be cold.”
All of my muscles tense, and he chuckles.
“Honey, relax. This isn’t my first time.” Brady’s voice is sultry and deep, sending chills across me. He rubs my skin slowly, the smell of alcohol thick in the air. “I’ll take good care of you. What’s in your head is worse than the reality. Trust me. It’ll hurt at first, but you’ll get used to it, and you’ll only be sore for a couple of days.”
Shit. I’m really going through with this.
I glance over my shoulder and look him in the eye.
Brady smiles, and butterflies swirl in my stomach. He presses a finger into my trapezius muscle. “Right here?”
Nodding, I close my eyes and rest my chin on the back of the chair.
“This is beautiful, by the way.” He taps on the translucent piece of paper.
“It’s the North Star. To help me find my way.” I say this more for myself.
Brady presses the paper against me and rubs. Then the buzzing starts again, and the needle cuts into my skin.
One
- Dani -
(3 Weeks Later)
My fingertip traces the lines on my shoulder where my tattoo sits, muscle memory taking my hand to the axis where North and South intersect and where I hope to find balance. A mooring. Some stability.
I can feel it in my bones. Hope. A smile tilts my lips as I start to buy into my pep talk.
My smile grows… until my new co-worker drops a stack of work in front of me.
Laura gives me an empty smile. “I already have plans this weekend, so I’m leaving this for you. As the marketing major, this should be right up your alley, right?”
Our junior year of college hasn’t started yet, and she’s already bailing on me. Biting my cheek, I reach around to re-stack the documents.
Laura and I are Professor Zinzer’s new assistants. We’ll be coordinating all of the other work-study students in the art lab this fall while we prep materials for his classes. He always takes on one art student and one business student to manage his office. Because my best friend Travis had Zinzer last semester, I got the inside track on this gig and beat out dozens of other business applicants.
I tuck the pile of work into my messenger bag, not bothering to smile.
“Zin needs it by Monday,” she chirps.
In other words, he needs it the Monday of Labor Day weekend. My jaw tightens.
Laura doesn’t look even remotely guilty for dumping this on me. As she tosses her hair over her shoulder, she says, “Thanks, Dani.” Her not-so-subtle appraisal of me makes me squirm. “You’re so… nice.”
If I were a cartoon, steam would be pouring from my ears. I’ve never hated a word so much in my life. If one more person tells me I’m nice, I’m going to lose it.
Nice gets me dumped on. Pushed around. Ignored.
When I was a kid, I thought I merely had manners. What the hell is wrong with being polite? But now I see this characteristic doesn’t cut it in Boston where everyone is so much edgier. The Midwest is just a friendlier place. In Chicago, when someone runs into you, the person says, “Excuse me.” Here, I get cursed at or shoved. I’ve gotten used to this faster pace of life, but it doesn’t diminish the fact that I can be such a goddamn pushover.
My mother would tell me to “fuck nice.” I chuckle to myself. She has a mouth that’s worse than half the frat boys at this school.
I guess that’s what happens when you almost die of angiosarcoma.
The laughter withers on my lips, and I blink back the sudden onslaught of emotion that comes whenever I think of my mom. She fought like hell to survive, even after she lost all of her hair and both breasts. And she beat it. For now at least.
By the time I get to my dorm suite, I’m still wrestling with what I wish I had told Laura. Why can’t I find the words when I’m in the moment? As I stare at the pile of work that sits near the edge of my desk, a tight ball of frustration coils in my stomach. I’m going to be holed up all weekend preparing my professor’s brochures instead of unpacking.
My eyes drift to the wall of boxes in the small room I’m sharing with a girl I met last semester. Jenna is a riot. We took a sociology class together. It was such a snooze that to entertain ourselves, we’d write pervy notes to each other to see who could make the other laugh. She always won. And, yeah, my professor hated me. But, come on—when Jenna wrote, “I wanna choke on your thick man-slinky,” I couldn’t help but bust out laughing.
Her Southern drawl and perfect blonde hair throws you off. First you think she might be a really uptight biatch, but then she slings an arm around you and acts like she’s known you for ages. I’m not totally sure how she’s BFFs with our other roommate, though. I’ve only met Clem once, but the girl is a glacier. Hello, she rolled her eyes at me when I asked if she liked The Vampire Diaries.
On my way out the door to run a few errands, I pause in front of a mirror to smooth back my long hair. My reflection reminds me of my mother. Everyone tells me I look exactly like her when she was young. I have big green eyes, pale skin, and dark brown hair except for the swaths of pink I dyed last month, and thanks to Victoria’s Secret, I have a few well-placed curves.
Opting to skip any makeup, I grab my jacket and head out.
The train ride is quick, and when I step out into the bright afternoon sun, I have to shield my eyes. As I wait for the light to change so I can cross the street, I find myself staring at a guy trying to get what must be ten pizza boxes through the door of a restaurant a few feet away. I walk over and grab the handle to hold it open. Out of the corner of my eye, I see blonde hair streak across the restaurant a second before I hear the girl giggle.
“Hope you and your friends can handle all this pizza,” she says, all breathy. I don’t know if she’s trying to be sexy or if she’s out of breath from doing the fifty-yard dash to talk to him.
I roll my eyes while I stand there, still opening the door. The guy’s shoulder presses up against the pane of glass, and he laughs.
“I’m sure we can handle it. Thanks, uh—”
“Tamara.”
“Thanks, Tamara.”
Through the glass, I see her wave a piece of paper. “Here, call me if you decide you need an extra mouth for all that… food.” The way she says “mouth” tells me she is not talking about the pizza. Gross.
Her silhouette disappears briefly on the other side of him. His hands are on the tower of pizzas, and I don’t see him reach for the paper, but then his back arches like he’s surprised.
When she steps back, her hands are empty. Okay, I think she just shoved her number into the pocket of this guy’s jeans.
All righty.
He clears his throat. “Yeah, thanks, doll,” he says to the blonde.
When he steps back onto the sidewalk, I get my first good look at him. He’s wearing aviators, so I can’t see his eyes, but the rest of him is all kinds of sexy.
Tall and lean. Skin the color of light caramel like he’s been out in the sun. Brownish-blond hair tousled in a devil-may-care kind of way. His biceps, which are corded in muscle, pull at his t-shirt, and I can’t help but stare.
An SUV pulls up behind me, and a guy shouts, “Hurry the hell up, Jax. I’m not going to circle the block again.”
Jax laughs and turns slightly. He finally sees me and tilts his head. He clears his throat again.
“Sorry. I’m being an ass, blocking the doorway.”
I blink.
He smiles down at me, and I think the heavens part because he’s so damn beautiful it hurts to look at him, but before I can get the courage to say something, anything, his friend honks. Jax looks to the SUV and then back to me, smiles again, and walks away.
Ugh! The next time a drop-dead-gorgeous slab of man talks to me, it would be nice to use words.
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Two
- Jax -
Music blares on the stereo behind me, but I’m too tired from this afternoon’s workout to lean over and turn it down. I look across the room and snicker. “Dude, your sister is drunk.”
Sammy is slouched in the chair with her Magic 8 Ball, staring at it like it has all the answers. Her brother Nick, my roommate, barely spares a glance in her direction before he goes back to his cards. “Don’t even think about fucking my sister, Jax.”
I punch him in the arm. “You’re an asshole. You know there are two kinds of girls I never touch—little sisters and roommates.”
Nick’s eyebrow lifts. “I’ve seen your sister’s roommates. You’ve never gotten any of that action?”
“Are you kidding? She’d chop up my balls and shove them down my throat if I ever got close to one of them. She’s a little protective.” If nothing else, my twin is fierce.
I don’t mention that whole fiasco freshman year.
Sammy laughs hysterically at nothing in particular and shakes her Magic 8 Ball. “Is there one guy out there who will love me forever?” She peers into the black triangle at the bottom of the ball. Her face lights up as she reads, “It is decidedly so.”
Rolling my eyes, I take a long pull from my beer and scroll through the texts on my phone. Kelly, Jamie, Emma. They’re hot. Katie. Lanie. They’re hotter.
My mind wanders to the girl outside the pizza parlor, the one who held the door open for me this afternoon. I don’t know why I’m thinking about her. She was beautiful but looked young without any makeup. Kind of innocent and wide-eyed.
Not my type.
I’m debating the larger questions in life, like breast size, but the water sloshing around in that dumb ball distracts me from planning my weekend. I point the neck of the bottle in her direction. “Sam, I hate to break it to you, but that’s all crap. I hope you know that ’cause I like you too much to let you think there’s one perfect guy out there.” Nick’s little sister is a senior in high school, and she’s a pretty little thing, but she needs to wise up or some dick like me will break her heart. Only it won’t be me.
She ignores my comment and shakes the ball. “Is there one perfect girl out there for Jax Avery who will help him get past his man-whoring ways?” She narrows her eyes as she reads the message that floats to the top. “It is decidedly so.”
Nick barks out a laugh. “How much did you drink? Dad is going to kick my ass if you go home tomorrow with a hangover.” He goes back to his hand and murmurs, “’Cause you’d have to be drunk if you think that’s in the cards for Jax.”
Sammy hiccups and then groans like it hurt. She turns to me. “Doesn’t it feel empty? Don’t you want something with meaning?”
This girl needs to stop watching so many chick flicks.
I take another drink. “It has meaning. It means I get laid with no strings. That’s a beautiful thing.”
She makes a face like I just took a crap on her dinner. I don’t have the energy to explain why relationships are such a bad idea, but if she were to take a two-minute look at my parents, she’d be on my side.
I reach over for a slice of pizza and ignore the hollowness in my chest. “What time is our team meeting tomorrow?”
Nick squints at me. “It’s at three, but you should get there early. I hear Coach Patterson is a hardass.”
“I can handle it.” I continue scrolling through my phone, contemplating how to spend the next twenty-four hours before soccer completely consumes my life. I’m thinking Katie tonight and maybe Lanie tomorrow afternoon.
As I’m about to look up Katie’s number, my screen lights up. Natasha. Even better. We’re friends with benefits. Minus the friends part.
“What are you doing tonight?”
Smiling, I write back. “Making you scream my name as I fuck you senseless.”
Not a minute goes by before she responds. “Perfect. I’ll be by in twenty.”
Sammy sighs at me from across the table like she knows what I’m planning. “Some day, a girl is going to kick you on your ass, Jax. I hope I’m here to see it.”
Why is a teenager lecturing me about my sex life? “In your dreams, kid. I don’t get attached.”
I learned that lesson a long time ago. Girls are like beer. Here to bookend the important things.
I press the button on my phone, and the screen lights up. Only forty-five minutes until practice. Shit. Nick’s warning that I should arrive early grates on me. Why is practice in the middle of the afternoon? My workouts are so much better first thing in the morning.
I’ve been in a pissy mood since last night. Natasha and I didn’t get into our usual groove. Yeah, we both got off, but it felt like work.
Natasha is almost six feet of Russian model, and she usually knows what I like. We’ve been hooking up for the last year. Our arrangement works. We meet up, have a drink or two, share a few laughs, fuck and go our separate ways. She’s not clingy, and she’s rich too, so I know she’s not after my trust fund. Why I’m not fucking euphoric right now is beyond me.
My dark mood gets darker as the slurping sound increases. I look down and try not to glare.
“Doll? We gotta wrap this up.” I’m not good with names. Doll is just easier. A one-size-fits-all nickname.
Tara or Tammy or Tamara looks up with a mouth full of me and tries to smile.
God, I’m an asshole.
I pull my dick out of her mouth, carefully avoiding the gleaming row of teeth, and tuck it back into my jeans.
“Sorry, Jax.” Her eyes dart around. I place my hands on her shoulders and help her stand. Not every girl is good at giving head, but it’s something that should be taught in school along with making pancakes. Two very important skills.
“No worries. I didn’t realize it was so late. Maybe we could hang out some other time.” Or not.
Her eyes brighten. It takes everything in me to smile and hug her before I grab my keys off the coffee table.
When I reach the door, I see it in her eyes. She wants a kiss. Yeah, not happening. And not for the reason you think. This has nothing to do with her deepthroating my junk and everything to do with how she drooled all over my BMW M-5 Hurricane. I could almost see the dollar signs popping out of her eyes. I don’t need that shit. I may be pre-law, but I’ve majored in avoiding gold-diggers.
I lean down to give her a quick peck on the cheek and thank my lucky fucking stars we’re at her place before I make my escape.
Once I’m safely inside my oasis of solitude, I crank the music and peel out. The engine purrs, and I revel in my find. This car was a steal at three hundred thousand. My mother didn’t think so, but who the hell cares? She owes me, and her kind of debt never goes away.
My baby can go two hundred and twenty-three miles-per-hour in a heartbeat. I can’t exactly open her up driving around Chestnut Hill, but I still get to campus in record time. Boston College is only two miles from my place, but it’s in the middle of suburban hell. Quiet streets. Manicured lawns. Soccer moms. Strollers and shit. Why BC couldn’t be located next to Fenw
ay like my sister’s school is beyond me.
By the time I reach the soccer field, I’m wishing I had taken a shower. That girl’s perfume is making me gag, especially in this heat.
Coach Patterson is standing in front of the stands, where the rest of my team sits, with his arms crossed over his chest like he owns us. For the next several months, I guess he does. Our old assistant coach ran pre-season until the university finalized Patterson’s contract last week.
“Jax Avery, good of you to join us.”
I’m on time, so I don’t know what his fucking problem is.
As though he can read my mind, he barks, “Be here ten minutes before practice starts or you’re late.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes and slide down next to Nick who is wearing a shit-eating grin.
“Told you to be early, asshole,” he whispers.
“Had to squeeze in a blow job. It’s what gives me my superhuman strength.” I lift my arm to make a muscle when Coach blows the whistle.
“Listen up. It’s no secret why the school hired me. You guys were a hair’s breadth from winning the championship last year. Except what happened? Half of you decided to get tanked the night before.”
Not me. I didn’t get drunk. I’m not an idiot.
“And the other half of you got caught at two in the morning in an all-girls dorm. Most of those young ladies ended up on academic probation.”
Okay, guilty as charged. Who knew girls’ dorms had such strict policies?
“I’d like for you to stop thinking with what’s between your legs and consider the people you affect. The seniors need to step up and be leaders. When you graduate next May, I hope men cross the stage and not little boys who are too self-absorbed to see straight.”
Sighing, he says, “As I’m sure everyone is aware, now that the season is extended, the playoffs are after Thanksgiving break, which means you all need to lie low during those days off. Think earthworm low because if I hear you guys destroyed a hotel room at some resort, you’re off the team, plain and simple.”