Nikki
Eighteen Months Later
When you’re in college things are measured by semesters, not days or months. I fell in love fall semester of my freshman year. I was dumped spring semester of my sophomore year. I received the greatest blessing of my life in the fall of what should have been my junior year. It’s how I remember things, how I recall the seasons which changed my life forever. Now I’m back, trying to complete my junior fall semester more than a year later.
I shouldn’t be here tonight, though. I swore I was off hockey for the rest of my life. Sort of. Not the Bruins, or the Penguins, or the Stars. Okay, I swore I was off any hockey involving the Bernard University team, and one particular hockey whore.
I’m not a stupid girl. Not usually. I’ve worked hard to get to where I am and to keep checking off all the necessary boxes to get where I want to go. Get a scholarship to an Ivy League college. Check. Manage to keep my GPA over 3.5 to maintain said scholarship. Check. Become captain of the women’s soccer team and lead them to a championship win of the America East Conference during my first year as captain. Check. I’m not ashamed to admit I was doing pretty well at this thing called life, despite a few colossal obstacles along the way. Until about three years ago, when I checked off a few boxes which should not have been checked.
The special brand of stupid I began demonstrating back then and am continuing to exhibit at this very moment is spelled D-a-l-t-o-n W-a-l-k-e-r. When it comes to that irresistible specimen of whoredom, I become a mindless idiot.
I’ve been trying with every neuron in my body to stay away from Dalt. But I couldn’t stay away from the first game of the season, partly because I love hockey almost as much as soccer and partly because Trace and Alex insisted I come with them. If I’m being honest, the main reason I came is because of number 14, the gorgeous, powerful guy moving up and down the ice with the stealth of a panther, dominating the opposing team with the precision of a machine.
Dalt and his three roommates, Dak Andersen, Damon Wolfe, and Dante Battaglia, work together on the ice like four parts of the same brain. No wonder they’ve been nicknamed the D-structors. It’s both a play on all their names beginning with the letter D and the way they operate together to demolish every team they face. Watching them maneuver on the ice like a fine-tuned instrument is the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen.
Dak has the puck and is zigzagging behind the net. I can read it on his face, the way he’s sending vibes out to Dalt and Dante—or Batt as we call him—to get in position. The defense on the opposing team is putting on extra pressure because I’m sure they’re aware of the reputation these guys have for making magic happen on the ice. It doesn’t matter what the opposition does when Dalt, Dak, and Batt are in the zone and working together like they are right now. It’s like Dalt and Batt can read Dak’s mind as he moves from corner to corner.
He passes down the left side to Dalt, who flicks it over to Batt. Batt passes it back to Dak in the right corner, which gives Dalt just enough time to perform his exquisite bewitchery. I can’t take my eyes off him. I sense every stroke of his blades, every flex of his muscles, down to my core. His agile power reminds me of the feeling of his body when he was naked on top of me. The memory causes me to squirm in my arena seat.
Dalt moves to the right and then makes a quick, barely perceptible cut around and spins to the left. I don’t even bother watching the puck because I know where it’s going to be in about two seconds. I keep my gaze fixed on Dalt which, unfortunately, is right where it wants to be all the time anyway.
His swift maneuver manages to fake out the opposing defenders. They split, leaving him open and ready when Dak shoots him the puck. Dalt blasts the perfect laser shot to the back of the net just as the horn sounds. The goalie doesn’t even have a chance to react. We win the game and everyone in the stands at the Bernard arena goes crazy. I almost feel sorry for the opposing team. I can relate to the shocked and confused expressions on their faces. Dalt and his boys can have that effect on people on, and off, the ice.
When Trace and Alex finally stop jumping up and down in celebration, I lean in and yell to Trace so she can hear me over the crowd. “I’m heading home! See you back at the house later!”
The dorm and my new roommate, with the whips and handcuffs hanging in her closet, had become the seventh circle of Hell. I consider myself fairly open minded when it comes to sex. I’m not one to judge other people’s sexual proclivities, but when she started dressing in black capes and fishnet stockings, nothing else, and prancing around our dorm room, end of story. Exit, stage left. When Trace offered me the extra room in the house she’s renting, I jumped at the chance.
Except for the uncomfortable location of Trace’s house being right next door to Dalt’s and the other infamous D-structors’, it was a godsend. Trace, Alex, and I have become good friends in a short time. Although since Trace is dating Dak, captain of the team and Dalt’s best friend, it makes socializing a bit of a sticky situation.
“What? Why?” Trace cups her hands around her mouth and hollers back. “We’re going out to celebrate.” She points toward the wall of the arena to demonstrate the direction of out. “Don’t you want to come? First game, first win!”
“No. Not tonight. I have some work to get done.” I mimic typing with my fingers. With the level of noise in the arena it’s easier to mime than talk.
While Trace is aware of my obvious uneasiness around Dalt, I haven’t explained why things are so awkward. I haven’t told her, even though he dumped me in the cruelest way and under the worst possible circumstances, that I, as stupid and unbelievable as it is, still want him with every fiber of my being. That’s right. I haven’t told her or Alex when I get anywhere near the fucker my inner strong, independent, intelligent self plummets down into the space between my thighs and morphs into all things throbbing and wet. Every smart decision vanishes into the orgasmic void.
I proved to myself the first week back I’m not ready to be near him in a social situation. My foolish body lapses into brain-stupefying, vagina-demanding cravings. And I am never going to let that happen again.
***
Dalt
Thank fuck I managed to score that goal. Practice sessions and scrimmages for the past few weeks have sucked balls. My passes to Batt are usually dead on. Lately, though, I don’t think I could connect with him if I was Kylie Jenner and he was an Instagram account.
I glance up into the stands, searching for the main reason my head is everywhere but on the ice. The only thing that would make this moment more exciting would be if I was sharing it with Nik. I know exactly where she’s sitting. Even if it wasn’t the same place she sat at every game when we were together, I could still sense her presence. I don’t know how.
I read in a book in my first-year philosophy class that people and even some animals have soulmates. There can be an almost physical connection you can sense, tugging at you even when they’re not with you.
At the time I sneered at the idea of there being one ‘special’ person out there. I thought my soulmate was whoever the next puck bunny was to get between my sheets for the night and tug at places other than my heart. Until I met Nikki. Now I think if there is such a thing as a soulmate, she may have been mine.
It’s the kind of connection I had with her, the kind of connection I still feel for her. It’s what I want to share with her once more, what I miss so much it’s like a dagger to my heart when I see her and she won’t even glance at me.
She’s moving down the steps to make her way off the stands. I will her to look at me. As pathetic as it is, just one glance, one smile, would make my night even better than scoring the winning goal. But she doesn’t glance at me. The ever-present weight on my chest since she left me presses down, making it difficult to breathe.
I don’t know what the hell happened. One minute we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, didn’t want to be away from each other, spent every free hour we had together, and the next minute she disappears from school for two semesters and wants nothing to do with me. She wouldn’t take my calls or answer my texts. Not a word.
I stalked her for a while on social media and even got Wolfe to hack into the school’s computer to get me her home address. Wolfe is a weird dichotomy. One half golden glove hockey slut and the other half computer wizard. Having a wizard in the house helps in times of emergency.
He got me the address to Nikki’s farm, which is only a little over an hour away from Bernard. But I’ve never been one to pursue a girl who’s not interested in me. Even though it sucks big time because I was beyond interested in this particular girl and I know she was interested in me. Like I said, our connection was magical.
We shared everything. She gave herself to me and confided in me in ways I thought meant we were more than fuck buddies. She opened up to me about her family, her shit stepfather, and all the stuff she’s had to overcome to be able to work on fulfilling her dream of becoming an illustrator and writer. She’s freakin’ awesome.
I shared things with her I’ve never told anyone except the guys I live with. Dak and Batt already knew about my family. Dak and I grew up together and Batt’s dad has worked with my dad on several movies.
Things can get weird when people find out who my father is. I don’t want them judging me, befriending or rejecting me, based on my family’s wealth or status. I didn’t go into the exact logistics of my wealth when I told Nik about my family’s affluence. None of it was even a blip on her radar. She said she didn’t care if I was rich or poor, she only cared about me.
I’d come millimeters away from using the L word and then she was gone.
Making my way off the ice and into the locker room, I’m greeted with pats on my back and high fives jostling me out of my thoughts.
“We’re heading to the Thirsty Whale to suck down a few celebratory brews and a few puck bunnies after!” Wolfe yells over to me. “You have to come with, bro. Your current level of hero worship will attract the fangirls.” His tone is matter-of-fact, like he’s referring to some manual, like Wolfe’s Tips on Hockey Whoredom 101. Yep. Hockey ho.
I’m not interested in sucking down any puck bunnies, as Wolfe so gallantly put it, but I do need to try to absorb some of the adrenaline and cheer buzzing through the locker room and pull myself out of this funk.
“A cold beer sounds good. I’ll let Dak know.”
A night out with my boys might help. The pain of missing Nikki is so overwhelming even my hair hurts. It’s ridiculous. I can’t keep this up. Can’t keep moping around like some lovesick puppy.
“Hey man, we’re going out for a few brews to celebrate. You comin’?” I holler over to Dak.
“Nah man. Got plans!” he calls back. I’ve never seen him strip out of his gear this fast. Even though I thought he had something going on with Trace, I saw him with Sabrina after the game. She’s a figure skater and one of the fangirls who has made her rounds of the guys but seems to have a special thing for Dak. Given the way he’s speed undressing, I’m guessing he’s is in a real hurry to get to Sabrina tonight.
I push through the guys and the congratulatory smacks on my ass to get over to Dak. I don’t want to have to yell over the loud decibel of celebrating.
“Oh, yeah. I saw sweet Sabrina hanging all over you.”
“No, dude. Not with Bri.” He gives me a side glance as he continues to peel his sweat-drenched pads off.
It must be Tracey he’s rushing to get to. I know the feeling. I couldn’t wait to get back to Nikki whenever we were apart. I didn’t care if we were just hanging out watching some chick flick, or studying, or playing a one on one soccer game at the quad, or whatever. I would have been with her 24/7 if it was possible, and look where it got me, pining away for a girl who doesn’t want anything to do with me now. I’m happy my man Dak has found someone else. I’m also a little worried. I’ve seen the way a broken heart crushed him and nearly took him out once before.
“Shit, man. You got it bad for this chick, huh?”
“Nah. We’re just friends. Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.”
“Shit. You’re so fucked. I hope you know what you’re doing, dude.”
I want to be all positive. I should be telling my bro how fucking awesome it is he’s found a great girl like Trace. Except Nik is the most incredible woman I’ve ever known and she left me broken and empty.
I don’t know what happened but I intend on finding out. I’ve got to get her back. I’m pretty sure there’s only one soulmate to a customer.