Cross Drop

by Elizabeth Hartey

  Who does he think he is? Does he think he can—what was the warning Sister Edith gave the girls in my Catholic school sixth grade class? “Boys will use you like a dirty dish rag and throw you away.” That’s it. Does he think he can throw me away like a dirty dish rag and then come back like nothing ever happened? He must be mistaking me for one of his groupies. I can play the field as well as any guy and I’m not about to let someone treat me like dirt.

  “I have to go.” I drop my arms and spin around, pulling the car door open. When I do, my head doesn’t quite stop spinning and I stumble back. Dalt grabs me around the waist to keep me from falling. I’m not sure if it’s the intoxicating sensations of his touch pulsing through my body or it’s the too many drinks I slurped down during the show causing the car in front of me to swirl in a hazy green blur.

  “You’re not driving. Give me the keys.” His words are a raspy snarl as he pulls me away from the door and sticks his hand out, demanding the keys.

  “I’m fine. I can…” When I try to push past him, he slams the car door closed and keeps a firm grip around my arm.

  “You’re not driving, Nik. I saw you sucking down the Long Island iced teas. I haven’t had anything to drink. I’ll drive you home.” He blows out a big exhalation and runs his fingers through his long, dark, tousled hair. “I need a ride anyway. I came with Dak and he’s going to be a little busy for the rest of the night.”

  “Yup. Guess your tramp dance worked in getting Dak and Trace back together.” I smirk. I hate this. I hate what he’s reduced me to. I hate the bitchy things I have to say to him to protect my heart. This isn’t me. People can be cruel, but I’ve never been cruel in return. I’m not a pushover, yet, I try my best to show kindness whenever I can. I figure the world would be a better place if we could all be just a fraction nicer to each other. All those fractions put together would add up to something significant.

  It’s different with Dalt. I can’t be nice. I made the mistake of being way too nice in the past, letting him get too close. He cut me deep in the most brutal way and I was hurt…am hurt. And angry. This is self-defense.

  He exhales another huge breath and walks me around to the passenger side. “Keys.” He holds out his hand one more time. I drop the keys into his palm with a reluctant shrug, even though I know he’s right. I shouldn’t drive after the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed.

  Dalt yanks open the passenger door. “Get in.”

  I guess I’ve succeeded in showing him where I stand. He can’t play me like a hockey puck; toss me away and come back whenever he gets the urge, crisscrossing in and out of my life and dropping me whenever he feels like it. If it’s possible to die of a broken heart, I won’t survive being dropped out of his life one more time because I barely managed to glue my decimated heart back together the last time. Who would have thought Sister Edith may have been right? The nasty old prude would be proud of me. I’m using my brain, making a long-awaited intelligent choice to stay strong and defy his charms. A good thing. Right? So why do I feel hollow and completely lost?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dalt

  My boys and I live right next door to Nikki and Tracey. The geographic location of our houses presents no problem for the two of us to drive home together. What is a problem? Her heat-inducing body being right next to me in the car and how long it’s been since I’ve been able to touch her. Everything about her gets me hard, even her snarky little remarks.

  When I start up the engine, Bazzi’s “Why” pumps from the speakers of the top of the line Alpine sound system in Trace’s Jeep. Every bass note driving the lyrics strikes a chord in my heart, like it was written and playing just for me and Nikki.

  Nikki’s obviously not feeling it. Or maybe she is. It could be the reason she reaches over and flips off the radio as I back out of the parking space. She turns her face toward the window, pressing her body against the door like she can’t get far enough away from me.

  “We need to talk, Nik.”

  “What could we possibly have to talk about?” Her flippant tone is an attempt to make it sound like I’m an insignificant nothing to her. But I’ve caught her giving me familiar wistful glimpses when she’s not throwing icy glares of hatred, and I heard her gasps and whimpers when she was in my arms tonight.

  I give her a sideways glance. “The first thing we need to talk about is why you’re trying so hard to pretend you hate me.”

  Her short skirt is showing way too much of her toned soccer legs…the legs she used to wrap around me to pull me closer. I notice a tattoo high up on her thigh which wasn’t there before. It’s a heart with a big C in the middle of it. Fuck. Has she fallen for some guy with the initial C? I want to reach over and run my hand up that leg and under her skirt to confirm how wet I know she is for me right now, help her remember the way I can make her feel and forget any other guy out there.

  When I glance at her she brushes her bangs out of her eyes. My mind drifts back to the times we were curled together in bed and she would tell me things about her past. Her disheveled platinum hair, royal blue bangs, and the sad expression on her face gave her the appearance of a frightened little girl when she was sharing those stories. Don’t get me wrong. Nikki is a strong woman, she knows how to take care of herself, but there were times she needed someone to lean on if only to vent about the things she’d had to endure. I used to be her someone.

  “I’m not pretending anything.” She huffs an indignant snicker and gives me a quick glance before refocusing her gaze out the window.

  “Come on Nik. What’s up? Why’d you leave me?” I pull into her driveway. Technically it’s our driveway since the gravel making up both driveways is separated by only a thin strip of grass.

  “Why’d you leave school without a word and block my calls and texts? And in the months you’ve been back at school you’ve been avoiding me. No, worse. You’ve been ignoring me.” I turn off the car and hope she doesn’t bolt out the door before answering me.

  She doesn’t. She sits there for a minute, her stare now riveted straight ahead through the windshield. She finally turns to me. Nik has these amazing Abyssinian eyes, just like the cat. When they’re gazing at you filled with longing, they can melt your heart and fry all rational thought right out of your brain. But when they’re glaring at you like they are at me now, let’s just say even in the dim driveway light I would swear if she had super powers she’d be using her sapphire blue eyes to pulverize me with laser beams.

  “Stop it! Why are you doing this, Dalt? It’s not funny. It’s cruel! Haven’t you hurt me enough? I don’t want to play this game anymore. You have to leave me alone. Find someone else to be your subfuck until you get back to California.”

  The anger in her eyes is washed away by glistening tears. If her words weren’t shock enough, the welling of tears in her eyes is. Nik hates to cry. She says it’s a weak, crybaby thing to do or some such crap.

  “Nik, what are—”

  “Don’t.” She holds up her hand like she wants to push me off the face of the Earth. “Why did I leave you? Your memory is as full of shit as your promises.”

  She pulls the keys from the ignition before I can ask her what the hell she’s talking about. The speed she’s developed from her years as a soccer player has the door of her house slamming closed before I even realize she’s out of the car.

  Her words are like a punch straight to the gut followed by a left hook to the jaw. I want to go beat down her door and ask her about a million questions. What game? How did I hurt her? What the hell is a subfuck? But with the amount of alcohol she drank tonight, it’s probably not the best time to have a meaningful conversation. Still, what does she mean my promises were full of shit? I didn’t break any promises to her. Dammit. She left me. What the hell is she talking about? What the fuck happened?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nikki

  “They organized a touch football game at the quad and I told the guys I’d cook tonight after it,” Tracey practically chir
ps. I haven’t seen her this happy in weeks. She’s bouncing around the house like a kid on Christmas morning.

  In fact, ever since the night of the talent show she’s been floating on air. From the sounds of orgasmic bliss coming from her room at night, I’d say Dak is definitely the reason for her exuberance. And he’s just as bouncy, walking around with an extra spring in his step. It’s kind of cute how in love they are, even though I can’t help but ache for Dalt when I hear them. The walls in this house are thin and the two of them have no problem being very expressive when in the throes of young love’s passion.

  “I want to have a dinner together with everyone before we leave for spring break. You have to play football and stay home for the dinner, Nik. Since you won’t come with all of us to Malibu over the break, you have to party with us before we leave.”

  “I already told you why I couldn’t go away over break. I want to stay here to spend time wi…uh…to help my mom on the farm and work on my book.”

  I hate lying to Trace, but I can’t tell her about Chloe. I can’t tell anyone.

  Dalt’s father is the monster villain in my fairytale noir. I can’t risk his trying to take Chloe away from me if he finds out about her. He has the money, power, and malevolence to do it. Even though he made it perfectly clear two years ago neither he nor Dalt want any part of me in their family’s future.

  “Are you sure that’s why you’re not coming?” Trace’s voice snaps me out of my nightmarish memory. “‘Cause if it’s because of Dalt, he’s not coming with us. You won’t have to see—”

  “Dalt’s not going? Why not?”

  “I don’t know. He says he has things to take care of here. You sure you two aren’t planning some kind of romantic vacay all by yourselves?” Trace arches a brow.

  A tiny spark flickers in me at the thought of spending a romantic spring break alone with Dalt. Ugh. Did I mention I fucking hate player, whore, hockey players? Add my traitorous heart to the list of top ten things I hate.

  I’m such a fool. I stupidly almost gave in to Dalt’s soft words and kisses the other night in the parking lot. Why do I still love him like this when I know he doesn’t feel the same, when I know he’s on the verge of marrying his Malibu Barbie?

  There was no need for his father to emphasize the difference in our lifestyles the night he came to my dorm. I know I have absolutely nothing in common with the rich elitist people making up the majority of the student body at Bernard. I’m painfully aware Dalt and I come from different backgrounds. That’s the understatement of the millennia. Dalt is a rich, privileged Beverly Hills boy and I’m a small-town farm girl with nothing but our animals.

  After listening to his father’s disgusting words in a transfixed stupor, I ran out of the student lounge and left him standing there, pen to checkbook. I barely made it outside. I waited until I got out the door to throw up instead of doing it on his thousand-dollar shoes. I should have done it on the shoes.

  He made it excruciatingly clear to me. Dalt and I could never be together and we haven’t been ever since. Well, except for one more blissful night of every kind of mind altering sex

  The night of the first keg party of the semester was the last time I relapsed into a fix of the tall, dark, and handsome crack. Dalt and his housemates throw a party every Friday night when they don’t have a game.

  I saw Dalt at the Thirsty Whale Pub earlier the same night. It was also the first time we had seen each other in eighteen months. He hadn’t changed. He was his usual ovary-exploding, mouthwatering self when he walked up to the table I was sharing with Trace and Alex. He was polite, inviting us all to the party at his house later.

  The whole time he was talking to Trace and Alex he never took his eyes off me. I tried to remain oblivious to the way those bedroom eyes have the ability to undress me, fuck me, and make me come in my pants without one touch of his hands. In other words, to resist his charms, I was rude and bitchy and basically told him to fuck off. The Walker father and son team have been excellent mentors in the art of cruelty.

  Still, I appeared to lose my newfound skills in vindictiveness later in the evening at Dalt’s house. I had agreed to meet Trace and Alex there. It was the first time I was going to be in the hockey bordello since coming back to school.

  Panic prickled through me at the thought of going to the party, but I wanted to prove to myself I could do it. I could be there, in Dalt’s house, and not feel a quiver of desire anywhere in my needy body. To fortify my misplaced determination, I indulged in a one on one get-together with my good friend Jim Beam before walking over to the party.

  When I finally made my way into the den of iniquity, my eyes were immediately drawn to Dalt’s like pings to a cell tower. The vibes I sent across the crowded room were anything but cruel. Cue the playback. I could swear violin music soared, choirs sang, and the music swelled like a scene in a Hallmark movie. There may even have been hearts and cupids floating in circles around his unkempt hair.

  I was coherent enough to recognize Dalt’s disheveled appearance and glazed eyes suggesting he had been overindulging in some sort of alcoholic tête-à-tête of his own. I didn’t care. My body moved toward his in an involuntary tug, the same kind of gravitational force which pulls me toward him every time he’s nearby. Once I was in the grips of his magnetic influence and he was as fuzzy-brained as I was, any form of restraint disappeared as fast as my bottle of Jim Beam had earlier. I had one objective: take what I needed from him. It was just sex. All I wanted from him was sex. At least it’s what I kept telling myself.

  We spent the rest of the night in his bedroom doing every kind of dirty, filthy, wonderful thing we could think of, craving every inch of each other’s body like a thirsty man craves water.

  Dalt’s body is an oasis of miraculous places to explore and his bedroom skills are magical. He used every position and technique in his well-rehearsed bag of tricks to keep me coming all night. He performed like he couldn’t get enough of me; would never get enough of me.

  With every kiss, every touch, the cunning effects of hormones mixed with the stupefying properties of Mr. Beam had me on the verge of whispering words of love. I managed to block them by whispering Dalt’s name over and over in awed pleasure, while Dalt whispered mine in reverential groans.

  When the next morning’s clarifying rays of sunshine streamed through his bedroom window, I wasn’t feeling blissful. It was just another stupid Dalt-inspired mistake on my part. I slipped out of his house before he or anyone else woke up to avoid my monumental walk of shame. I swore I would never leave myself open to his charms again and I would also suspend my friendship with Mr. Beam, along with any other form of alcoholic fuck-me-over acquaintance.

  I can’t blame it entirely on the alcohol though. I knew I was incapable of denying Dalt or my own need for him.

  Dammit. Why isn’t he going to Malibu?

  I can’t be alone with him.

  Wait. Everything’s copacetic. He doesn’t have the address to the farm. There’s no chance of my seeing him.

  What did Trace ask me? Oh right.

  “I’ve told you a gazillion times there’s nothing going on with Dalt and me. I have no idea why he’s staying at school over the break. But I’ll be busy moving some of my things into Alex’s house and then I won’t be here the rest of the time. I won’t be seeing him.”

  “Are you sure you want to move? I told you you don’t have to just because Dak is moving in here after graduation. We have the extra bedroom and we both want you to stay,” Trace says, unaware of the skirmish going on inside my head.

  “Thanks. I know I can stay, but Alex’s isn’t far and I think it’s best to give you lovebirds some space.”

  “Are we still that loud at night? I’ve been trying to quiet it down.” Trace’s face flames to pink.

  “No. I don’t want you to quiet anything down. When two people are as in love as you guys are, you should be able to let your orgasm flags fly. That’s not why I’m leaving. Since Alex has room
in his house now, he’s been bugging me to move in with him for a few months before he goes on the figure skating tours.”

  Alex and Tracey are on the figure skating team. The three of us have gotten close this past year. But after graduation Alex is going to be leaving to join a company which does skating shows on cruise ships. He says he wants to “travel the glorious world” before he settles down and starts coaching, which only leaves me a few more months to spend with Alex and the main reason we want to live together now.

  Because I left school two semesters, and Tracey’s in grad school, with Dak taking both undergrad and grad classes, the three of us will be here another year. Somewhere along the way Dalt decided he was staying to get his MBA. I’m not sure when he made the decision to stay since, according to his monster father, he’s supposed to be rushing home to marry his childhood sweetheart and begin working for the Walker Production Company.

  Fuck him, his father, and Barbie.

  Or whatever her name is.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll let Alex have you for a little while. But you have to party with us today,” Trace insists.

  This is one of those times I’m going to have to try to reign in all Dalt-related anxieties to be able to hang out with our mutual friends.

  “Sure, I’ll get in on the touch football game today and help you make dinner.”

  Would it be okay if I lace Dalt’s with an added touch of spicy arsenic?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dalt

  “I’m already on Dak’s team,” Nikki informs me when we’re choosing teams. Dak gives me a one-shoulder shrug. He knows as well as I do he hadn’t picked her yet for his touch football team, but she’s determined to stay away from me so neither of us says anything.

  Our teams are an interesting combination of hockey, soccer, football players, and a few figure skaters. Once we have the teams even, with both male and female participants, we decide my team will be the no-shirts, except for the girls, or none of these guys would be interested in playing football. Therefore, in the interest of healthy, outdoor, activity, which doesn’t involve distracting bare tits and uncomfortable hard-ons, the girls are going with sports tops. Dak’s team has on red pinnies we borrowed from the athletic department.