Thirteen
Zoya
WAKEY WAKEY
I am not a prude, not really. I have been at parties with my friends back home. Had drinks a few times, a hit of marijuana occasionally. It is more I do not—don't like feeling out of control, and that is very nearly what I feel now. I can still think, but the alcohol has lifted many of my barriers. Which is not a good thing, but being here, dancing, seems okay, at least for now.
Irina is sexy dancing for Tyler, her front to his front, her hips to his hips. Being the more reserved, less experienced one, I am behind him, my front to his back, my hands just barely on his hips, my movements mirroring his. I am like a shadow. It is awkward and funny and probably not at all sexy, but he does not seem to mind. He is smiling a lot, his hands resting on Irina’s waist, sometimes moving up to the edge of her breasts. If he moved his thumbs, he could brush them over her nipples, which are hard beneath her soft T-shirt.
She wants him, and something about their exchange makes me feel a way that I am—I'm not sure how to describe. I'm not a very good dancer; rhythm doesn't come naturally to me. While the alcohol makes me feel looser, it also makes me more aware of my insecurities. I'm not confident with men. I'm not experienced. I don’t know how to be sexy or capture a man’s attention.
I think about Tyler, about his upbringing, and I feel like he has given me something special by sharing with me. Knowing this about him makes me feel like he trusts me, and I like that. I like it a lot actually, much to my complete surprise.
But I don't want to like Tyler Lockhardt. He is everything I don't want in my life. He parties. He uses women. He is all about hockey. I will admit he is really cute, handsome in a rugged way. He calls us smokeshows, which means a hot, sexy female. But I feel like the term should refer to guys as well. Tyler is the male version of a smokeshow to me.
I like the way his biceps fill out his shirt sleeves. I like the way his blond hair flops in his face. I like his five-o-clock shadow. Yes, I find him attractive…but still, I want a normal guy. A prince charming type, who will sweep me off my feet. I don't want a hockey guy, a wham-bam guy who takes my virginity and runs away with it.
No, I want my first time to be special. Meaningful. Would it be, were I to share that first time with a guy like Tyler? I don’t have the answer to that question.
I want to unload all of this to the bartender when I take a break for water, trying to clear my head of the swishy feelings I am—I'm having. Instead, I only tell her it is my sister over there dancing with the man I am interested in.
It's just the alcohol, nothing more, and if I can get back to a more sober state, I will realize that Irina and Tyler make sense. They will dance, then they will have sex, and then we will probably never see Tyler again, unless it's on the ice.
“Sounds like a tough one,” the bartender says.
We both look out to the dance floor, which has a few more people on it than when we arrived. Irina and Tyler are still out there, having fun. She has her back to him and literally slithers up and down in front of him, his hands all over her. There is no way they will not have sex tonight.
I cannot feel like this. I cannot care. No, I'll just be his friend. My sister can do what she will with him. Yes, that's the best choice here.
“I need to get out of here,” I announce, even though the bartender has moved on to another customer.
I order a ride, which comes quickly. Inside the car, I send my sister a text, telling her I’m fine but tired and heading back to the dorm.
Back in my dorm, I strip down to just my black T-shirt and panties before crashing onto the bed, exhausted. I check my phone just once as my eyelids get heavy. There are no texts from my sister, which makes me think she and Tyler are either still on the dance floor, or they have made their way to her apartment.
To fuck.
I should not—shouldn't care, but there is a bit of an ache in my belly when I think of how they looked while they danced. She was confident and sexy. He was strong and attractive. They looked happy.
But then I always see Irina that way. When guys look at her and she gets angry, there is always that quick look of satisfaction on her face. She loves the attention. Knows what to do with it. And of course, why wouldn’t Tyler look at her exactly as every other man does? You need to be sexy, gregarious. Something I am not. Nor ever will be.
Yet as much as I try to deny it, I wish Tyler had looked at me that same way. Even if for one moment. One night.
* * *
A loud banging on the door wakes me up.
Not even aware I’d fallen asleep; I find myself confused. What time is it? I look at my phone and see it’s past two in the morning. I wander to the door, still half asleep, and find Tyler standing there, hulking in my doorway looking like sin and wonder.
“Tyler? Is everything okay? Is Irina—”
“Your sister’s fine.” Sistah. That accent. Oh boy. “She was totally blitzed, so I took her home, fed her some aspirin, made her drink some water, and then put her to bed. Alone.”
“So why are you here?” I ask, still groggy. “How are you here? How did you know where my room was?”
“The last thing Irina said to me before passing out was that I was to come over here and make sure you got home okay. You bailed without saying goodbye. Everything okay?”
“Oh.” Suddenly I feel shy, but I decide to tell him the truth anyway. “I just felt like an extra. Do you know what I mean? What is the expression?”
“Third wheel?”
“Okay. Yes?”
“Like on a bicycle. They have two wheels. A third doesn’t make sense.”
“Ah.” I lick the front of my teeth which feel utterly gross. “Excuse me for a second?”
I grab my toiletry kit and walk down the hall to the bathroom where I can wash my face and brush my teeth.
Which is stupid because I should just send him on his way. It's late and I'm tired. And he said he only came over because Irina told him to. What does it matter if I have bad breath and the remnants of yesterday’s mascara smudged under my eyes?
It’s not like I will be kissing him tonight.
Right?
Fourteen
Tyler
ZONED
Thank God she’s gone for a second. Seeing her like that, her hair loose around her shoulders, her lids heavy from sleep, in her tiny panties and tight T-shirt. Holy hell, Zoya has no idea what she looks like to me right now.
She has reallllly long legs and reallllly pretty skin and I'm not drunk, so I feel secure in saying that I am dead certain I have never seen a more beautiful woman than Zoya Kolochev.
When she comes back, she sits on her bed and pats the spot beside her. I sit, feeling oddly nervous and stiff.
“I'm glad you are here, Tyler.” Her voice is so soft and sweet. It’s like cotton candy.
“Really?”
“I wanted to tell you that I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me your story earlier.”
“Oh.” I wave off the comment. “It’s no biggie.”
“I think it is, a biggie, as you say. I think you try to play tough guy, like you don't care about anything, but it's because of everything you have gone through. You had to fight to get out of the life handed to you. Maybe, I think, you need a friend to talk to sometimes.”
“I have friends,” I say, running a hand through my hair. I feel disgusting, all of a sudden, sweaty from dancing, alcohol still on my breath. And yes, Irina’s kisses on my lips. She wanted me. And fuck, I was tempted. Kissed her. But... but here I am. With a girl who saw me. Now talking ’bout my friends.
“But do you have people you can talk to? About important things?”
I start to say yes, but in the end, I have to admit I don’t have that in my life. I never really have. My “friendships” were surface level in college and with teammates over the years. Viktor is the first true friend I’ve had, and I don’t even tell him about my crazy mother. I shake my head no.
Zoya reach
es over and takes my hand in hers. I stare at it, my big, clunky dude hand holding her petite, delicate one. “Well, I declare that we are now best friends, Tyler Lockhardt. I'm going to be that person for you.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded. She wants to be my BFF? I almost laugh, because it feels hysterical to want someone as badly as I want her, only to be told that we are now best friends and I am to share all of my innermost feelings with her. When all I really want is to kiss her until she goes blind with desire.
“What if…” I start, pursing my lips and letting a breath out through my nose. “What if I want more?”
“More?”
“Than just friendship. With you.”
Zoya blushes, and not just on her cheeks. Her whole chest blooms peach. But she says those same words I’ve heard before. “I don’t want a hockey boy, remember? The fact I'm offering my friendship is a lot, because I don’t really want hockey in my life either. But I like you and I think you need a friend. And I want to be that friend.”
“But I—”
She shakes her head at me. “No, Tyler. I came here to study. I am too familiar with the truth of hockey life, and I therefore know it’s not something I want to be part of. I will not date a hockey player.”
“It’s just that I find you very attractive, Zoya. What is it you’re lookin’ for in a guy? If it’s not me, who is it?”
“I need a prince charming. Someone who will romance me. He will want to know everything about me. And buy me flowers. He will make me feel like love is a fairy tale made real.”
A derisive noise comes out of me. I don’t mean for it to, but it does, and she looks away, blushing again, embarrassed. I scramble to find words that will make it better. “You’re a romantic, I get it. Maybe I could try to be that for you?”
She squeezes my hand. “No. That is not you. You are not built for that love. And I will not settle. Being your friend is all I can offer. I really want that for us. Do you?”
I think about it for a moment. She’s not wrong. I’ve never been in love. Never even tried. Never wanted it. And yes, this woman is knocking my socks off in a way that women usually don’t, but it doesn’t mean I can suddenly morph into a Disney prince.
“Okay,” I say finally. “You’re right. I’d rather have you for a friend than nothing at all.”
She smiles and it sinks my stomach. Fuck. I want to growl or cry or something because she is just so stinkin’ amazing.
“Though I’ve never had a friend who’s a girl,” I add. “I might be a shitty friend. In fact, there’s a really good possibility of that.”
“But I believe in you, Tyler.” She stands, towing me up off the bed. Pushing up on her tiptoes, she kisses me on the cheek before wrapping her arms around my midsection for a hug. I put my hands around her too, wanting desperately to touch the silky-smooth skin showing at her hips. I rest my head on top of hers and we just hold each other for a moment. It feels really fucking good.
When I pull away, I give her a cheeky grin.
“What?” she asks sweetly.
“Well, since we’re BFF’s now, does that mean I can’t bang your sister?”
“Nope,” she says, one side of her lips pulling up. “You can bang my sister to your heart’s content. As long as she consents.”
I salute her, and then head out the door, shutting it and leaning back, trying to catch my breath. I pull my shirt up over my nose, trying to catch the scent of her there, but of course, all I can smell is sweat and Irina. She was all over me for hours, so that makes sense. Would Zoya mind if I grab a clean shirt and go back for a hug?
I then roll my eyes at myself.
Best friends, indeed. I push off, adjust the semi I’m sporting, and head out, wishing I lived in an alternate universe where I could be more than just this woman’s friend.
Fifteen
Zoya
SHE’S SOMETHING
I lie down on my bed, still smelling Tyler all over me. I feel the scratch of his beard against my cheek, the callouses on his hands. His strong arms wrapped around me, his broad chest against mine, our hearts beating wildly. Even though we had only hugged for a few seconds, because of his height, I had felt small. It had felt so nice.
Why do I feel like this? Uncomfortable. Achy. Unsettled. I try closing my eyes in meditation. I try breathing. In and out. Slowly. Mindfully. Nothing works.
When I think of him, I feel…desire. It is desire I feel, the hot ache unspooling low in my belly, making my toes curl. I toss and turn, trying to make the feeling go away. I tell myself that this is best. No hockey players for me. No hockey in my life at all. I want something different, someone different. A guy like Tyler is bound to hurt me, and then I would have given in for nothing.
Plus, he needs a good friend. He needs someone stable, someone he can talk to. And Irina likes him a lot. She wants him.
Still, the thoughts of his body, his smell, his touch…they swirl in my head and I find my hand snaking down beneath the soft cotton of my panties. I imagine it was me on that dance floor. Me that he looked at with desire, caressed, rubbed his body seductively against. I gasp, shocked at how wet I am down there. Wet with want. Need. Desire.
My fingertips play at the wet folds of my pussy, pushing to find the small button hidden there. I don’t touch myself like this often. Only occasionally, but with clear pictures of Tyler in my head, I rub at my clit, my hips rising toward the attention. I explore, inserting one finger inside, slowly moving it in and out, then adding a second as thoughts of Tyler fill my mind. Tyler on top of me. Tyler shirtless, powerful. Tyler, intense and focused. I imagine wrapping my hand around his cock and guiding it inside me. What it would be like to have him fuck me.
God, yes...
I use my fingers as I writhe and cry out, coming at the thought of being with him. It's an orgasm that makes my feet tingle and my breath escape. When the aftershocks stop, I curl into a ball on my side, closing my eyes, wishing desperately that I did not want what I should not have.
* * *
While showering the next morning, I'm determined to put my mind off Tyler Lockhardt. It had to have been the alcohol that made me feel that way last night, right?
I wash my body, between my legs still sensitive from what I did the night before. I allow my fingers to linger there, reliving the sensation of coming with thoughts of Tyler in my head. But I quickly pull away. I have to focus. Study. That’s what I'm here for.
* * *
I'm due to meet some friends, including my sister, for a study date at the local coffee shop. Jay is there when I arrive, his smile bright and wide as I walk in.
“Hey there,” he says, shoving a frozen, green drink across the table at me. “Got you a green tea smoothie.”
“Well, that was nice of you,” I say, giving him a smile in return. “I owe you one next time.”
He rubs his chin and looks down at his open biology notes, pleased with himself.
My sister joins in after about a half hour, bleary and looking terribly unkempt. Her hair is total bed head, her skin pale.
“Rough morning?” I ask as she plops into the seat next to me.
“I think I drank too much,” she groans, putting her head on the table. “Fucking shots. Whose idea was that?”
“Yours, sister.”
“Fuck my life.”
“And fuck Tyler Lockhardt as well?” I can't stop myself from asking the question.
“Ugh. No. I was too drunk. Did he stop over to check on you like I asked?”
My cheeks go up in flames, I swear. I look away, pretending to dig in my bag, trying to get myself under control. “Yep, he did.”
When I look back at her, she has an eyebrow raised in suspicion. “What happened between you two?”
“What? Nothing. What happened between the two of you? You were all over each other at the club.”
“Wait,” Jay interrupts. “Are you guys talking about the hockey player, Tyler Lockhardt, starting defenseman for the Crush?”
/> “Yes,” Irina and I both answer at the same time.
“But…I thought you hated hockey players.” Jay sounds slightly pathetic with a whiny, kid voice.
I give him a wan smile. “I do. But I got dragged with the two of them so Irina could get a tattoo, then we got dinner, then we went dancing. I left and those two were still going at it on the dance floor. Tyler swung by to make sure I got home okay. That was all.”
“So nothing happened?” Irina presses, eager for more information.
“Of course not. Other than I decided he and I can be friends.”
“Friends,” my sister says flatly. “With a hockey player.”
“I know, I know, I just think he needs someone to talk to, that's all.” She raises an eyebrow at me in question. “If anything, I understand how often they are away or practicing.”
“Who’s Tyler Lockhardt?” Lily, one of our study friends asks.
“Mine,” Irina answers Lily with a wicked grin on her face before googling him and showing his picture. Jay looks uncomfortable while the women all ogle the hot, shirtless pictures of Tyler the hockey star.
I peer closely, taking in the ink covering his upper body. A huge graffiti-like piece is on his chest, and several pieces work up his arms. It looks good on him, I admit, and thankfully my subtle drooling is overshadowed by the squeals of the other women at the table. Irina is saying how he is going to be her next conquest. How she’s going to take that bad boy all the way to church. I can’t help but laugh at the expression.
“He is a bad boy, I agree, but he has a good heart. Be kind to him, sister, or you will have his new BFF to contend with.”
Smokeshow: A Hockey Love story Page 7