Dalt
Seven Months Later
“Why the hell are we doing this? This is fuckin’ lame.”
I can not believe I let Dak talk me into this shit, performing on stage in front of half of the school and most of the team. And the cherry on top of this scoop of humiliation is Nikki will be sitting at the table right in front of the stage. Dak, the charmer, convinced Nikki to bring Trace to the show tonight without letting Trace know what was going down.
“I told you, I’m in love with her. I’ll do whatever it takes to get Tracey back.” He says it. Right out loud. Dak states his love for Tracey, no hesitation.
I’m a little envious of his ability to express his feelings for Trace without holding back. He doesn’t give a crap what the guys on the team think. He loves her and he’s not afraid to say it. I wish I had been as upfront with Nikki when I had the chance. Although some of this current public expression of Dak’s love is based more on a need to rather than a want to situation.
It has something to do with a naked Sabrina sprawled out on top of him. Tracey kicked him to the curb after she walked in on them. The guys and I have been suffering through all his sickening, poetry-filled attempts to get her back, but this is the last ridiculous straw. What the hell am I doing performing in a talent show at the Blue Goose? My main talents are on the ice and between the sheets. I do not sing and dance.
The Blue Goose is a college town bar with a small concert venue. When bands want to try out new music or just have a smaller, more intimate show, they book the venue and spend a few days enjoying the idyllic coastal environment of Bar Harbor. Tonight is the annual talent show. Anyone with an amateur act and the entrance fee can participate.
Dak decided it would be the perfect opportunity to win Trace back. He enlisted the backup support of Alex, Erik, Batt, and me. He’s going to sing a goddamn love song to Tracey in front of the whole world, while we perform the choreographed steps behind him, which Alex taught us. Alex is on the figure skating team and an amazing dancer and choreographer. That doesn’t mean his talents are going to transfer to a bunch of hockey slobs.
“Take your places, divas,” Alex directs us onto the stage. “And don’t forget, it’s a grapevine to the left and right before you do the body rolls.”
Christ. Grapevines, body rolls. The only body rolls I want to be doing are the ones I did when I was on top of Nikki, rolling my hips into her so hard I fucked her into oblivion.
I agreed to this nonsense because I’d do anything to help out my man. Dak’s been a mess since Trace walked out, something I can relate to, when the woman of your dreams dumps you. If this craziness will help him get her back, I guess I can handle a little humiliation.
The curtains open in a protracted glide, grating across my nerves with every slow inch. The stage lighting is set to a dim, hazy blue with one brighter spotlight on Dak. My gaze is drawn through the glow of the spotlight right to the goddess sitting at the table in front of the stage.
Our eyes lock in a heated glare. My breath catches. She’s beyond gorgeous. Her platinum blonde hair is hanging to her waist in loose waves. Even with her long hair, her perfect tits are on full display being pushed up and overflowing from some kind of red laced-up top. One of her toned, never-ending legs is crossed over the other. Her barely there skirt is exhibiting nearly every inch of them. Part of me wants to jump off the stage and cover Nikki with a blanket so no one else can enjoy the vision. Another part of me is hoping she’ll spread those long legs and let me get a glimpse of the sliver of lace I’m sure is barely covering her sweet pussy. Fuck. I’m such a perv. I’m getting hard just seeing her and thinking about all the things I’d like to be doing between those legs and tits right now.
I have to do something to distract my single-minded dick. I’m blasted back to the cold reality of what we’re about to do by the raucous cheers coming from the tables adjacent to Nikki’s. They’re filled with guys from the team. Wolfe is whistling and yelling out catcalls. He refused to join in the Win Trace Back Mission. I believe his exact words to Dak were, “I love ya, man, but no fuckin’ way am I getting up there and making a fuckin’ fool of myself.”
I’m gonna fuckin kill him when I get off this stage for being smarter than me.
When the first notes of “I’ll Make Love to You” stream from the sound system, we start moving behind Dak and he begins to sing. A brief hush sweeps over the crowd. I assume we’re fucked and are going to get booed off the stage. To my shock, every girl and some of the guys in the fully packed theatre begin oooing and ahhing and screaming like it’s Drake on stage.
Apparently, Dak is good. I should have known. The fucker is good at everything he does because he refuses to accept the concept he can’t do everything like a pro. I decide to take a page from Dak’s book of confidence. Tracey is practically drooling as he jumps off the stage and gets down on his knees in front of her to sing. Not Nikki. Nikki’s staring at me like she’s imagining all the ways she can strangle me.
Like I said, I can’t sing, but I do know how to make a lady drool. I focus on Nik, zoning out every other person in the room. It’s the same way I clear the mechanism when I’m playing hockey. Tonight, though, is not about scoring goals on the ice. Tonight I’m going to use every move of this freaking choreography to seduce Nikki right off her chair.
***
Nikki
I guess I’m just destined to be at the wrong place at the very wrong time when it comes to Dalt. Why did I agree to this? Simple. Trace is my best friend and roommate. We girls have to have each other’s backs when it comes to maneuvering the labyrinth of love. Since she’s dating Dalt’s best friend, at least she was, it’s getting more and more difficult to avoid Dalt. I have to find a way to interact with him which doesn’t involve our tongues probing each other’s mouth or my wanting to cut his dick off and staple it to his forehead. Okay. I may still be a little angry. Anyway, with Dak’s persistence and the way I know he and Tracey love each other, it’s only a matter of time before they’re back together. Like in two minutes when Dak is finished singing a gooey love song to her.
They had a slight misunderstanding a few weeks ago. Trace walked in on a naked Dak with a naked girl on top of him. Apparently it wasn’t what it appeared to be, as hard to believe as that is. The guys have been helping Dak in his Win Trace Back conquest. I’ve seen Dak since they broke up. He’s a mess and Trace isn’t much better. They obviously love each other. I’m willing to give him the benefit of my very big doubt.
I agreed to assist in this friendervention to get the two lovebirds back together, because I thought I had gotten to a place where I could handle being this close to Dalt in a social setting. My job was to get Trace to the show. She wasn’t aware of the routine Dak and the other guys were going to perform. It was meant to be a surprise.
But fucking hell. Why does Dalt have to be the personification of an orgasm doing the choreographed steps Alex taught him and the other four guys up there?
With Dak singing in front of them, it’s like an orgy for the eyes. Seriously. Despite the fact they’re hockey players—Alex being the only figure skater—they make one scorching hot pseudo-boy band. The slow, synchronized dance moves the guys are performing are causing waves of seduction to ooze from the stage and saturate the audience and my panties.
Just great. One more you-know-you-want-to-fuck-me enticement from these hockey manwhores. And yes. Yes, I do want to fuck one particular hockey whore on the stage right now; the one obliterating my resistance with his scorching gaze.
Dalt is one of those aberrations of humanity. He’s flawlessly gorgeous: dark, tousled, slightly wavy hair, classic chiseled jaw, perfect straight nose, soul piercing blue eyes, plump, very gifted lips, if you know what I mean. Everything about him screams sex. His black button-down shirt and dress pants accentuate every muscled line of his perfect Michael Stokes model body.
And he knows just how to use all his perfection to get what he wants. He’s not accustomed to hearing the word no, at least not from any oxygen breathing female. He’s using his locked and loaded molten gaze at this very moment, turning my bones to Jell-O and annihilating any wise decision-making on my part.
I want him so bad it hurts. It’s like staring at the shiny, poison apple, knowing if you taste it you’re doomed, but unable to resist its shimmering perfection. There’s more than just my heart to consider now, though. We have a lifelong connection he’s not aware of. Nevertheless, I have to disconnect my feelings for him. The man I fell in love with is not the man he turned out to be. He made his choice. He doesn’t get to have his cake and eat it too, even with those gifted lips.
Yet the uncomfortable situation I find myself in right now is my fault. Did I need to dress like last night’s hooker while fulfilling my part in the top-secret mission? No. No, I didn’t. Another case of my intelligence having left the building.
We’re seated at a reserved front row table allowing Dak the opportunity to get down on his knees in front of Trace and sing to her, which is the reason I’m close enough to see the way Dalt is giving me a hungry glare from the stage, the one which says ‘all the better to eat you with.’ Based upon the level of throbbing going on between my legs, I’d say my V-jay wouldn’t mind being his midnight snack.
There’s a slight possibility I may have dressed for him in a black, figure-hugging, Band-Aid sized skirt and red lace-up bustier I scored at the Old Hollywood Vintage Clothing Shop in Portland. I accept the humiliating culpability I was thinking about Dalt when I bought it. I wanted him to notice me, taunt him with what he threw away. Immature? Possibly. Problematic? Definitely. The little plan backfired because I miss him so much it feels like my heart is cracking wide open when he stares at me.
There’s no denying the way my body craves him. I’ve never been able to keep my hormones in check or my pussy from turning into an aching, traitorous entity when I’m anywhere near him. He’s an addiction I can’t shirk.
The good news is, by the way Trace is wrapped up in Dak’s arms it’s apparent the guys and I succeeded in our mission to get young love back on track and I’m free to make a hasty exit.
It’s obvious I have not yet reached the place in my life where I can defy the Dalt Walker force field enveloping me and pulling me in. Time to engage the retro boosters and get the hell out of here. Because the other big problem with being this close to Dalt, beyond my pussy craving him for her next fix, I am totally still in love with the jerk.
God only knows why. I gave him everything I had without making sure he wanted it. He didn’t. And it hurt…it hurt so damn much I had to give my heart time away from him to remember how to beat in a normal rhythm. Although after all this time, it still does its ridiculous pitter patter skip a beat thing whenever I’m too close to him.
Given the way Dalt treated me, or should I say dumped me, one glance from his dreamy silver blue eyes shouldn’t have my heart doing the hot dog drive-in commercial routine, flipping around threatening to jump out of my body. It shouldn’t make me feel like I’m ready to spontaneously combust from the heat he’s throwing my way. After all this time, the loss of his kisses and memory of his lies shouldn’t be causing massive-coronary-level pain when I breathe.
“Hate to break you two lovebirds up, but I’m heading out. Are you going in Dak’s car? Want me to drive your car back to the house?”
“You’re going home? You okay?” Trace’s brow pinches in concern. Guess I’m not as good as I thought at keeping my broken heart off my sleeve.
“I’m good. Happy you guys worked it out.” Dak is still showering kisses all over Trace’s face and neck, oblivious to our conversation or the audience’s continued applause and loud whistles.
“It appears Alex has his ride home for the night too.” I tip my chin toward the stage where Alex and Erik are face-fucking so hard they may swallow each other.
I’m happy for Alex and Tracey. But the truth is, seeing my friends euphoric and in love makes me just a touch jealous and causes me to miss Dalt even more.
“Are you okay to drive?’ Trace asks, untangling herself from Dak and digging her keys out of her purse for me.
“I’m fine. See you back at the house later. Oh, one thing, hockey god.” I address Dak to force his attention on my statement. “If you break her heart again, you’ll be singing soprano in the future.” I give him the scariest glare I have in my arsenal.
“No worries, Nik.” Dak laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. Guess my scary doesn’t intimidate him. “I’m going to spend every day trying to prove to this girl right here how much I love her.”
Wow. I wonder what it feels like to have a guy vow to love you unconditionally forever? Another tinge of pain zaps through my heart. I shake it off and try to focus on how happy I am for my best friend.
“Good. ‘Cause I wouldn’t want to have to kick your ass.” I give them both a quick hug before making my way through the crowd to the exit, although I’m completely serious about the ass kicking if he hurts Trace again. I’ve had just about enough of the heart demolishing shenanigans of these hockey sluts. I may love hockey but I fucking hate hockey players.
Trace’s Jeep is parked around back in the rear parking lot of the Blue Goose. It was the only available space by the time we got here. It’s not hard to locate. Not only because the lot has already started to empty, but the lizard green color of the car practically glows in the dark under the lights.
I shiver and pull my black leather jacket tighter around me and make my way toward the car. It’s not unusual for it to be this cold in Maine in April. But it isn’t just the cool ocean breeze making me shiver, it’s the thought of Dalt. How whenever I see him I want to wrap myself around him like a monkey and never let him go.
How am I going to see Chloe’s beautiful face every day for the rest of my life and not miss him?
When I press the remote key, two large hands grab me around the waist. I recognize the cologne instantly—the musky scent of leather, lemon, and man. The faint aroma has me swooning even before I gaze into the liquid-silver blue bedroom eyes.
“Don’t leave, Nik,” Dalt whispers, his lips grazing my cheek.
“You…you shouldn’t sneak up on a woman like that if you value those crown jewels of yours.” I have to force myself not to lean my head back onto his hard chest and dissolve into his arms.
“Don’t leave, please. I miss you so much,” he says, kissing the spot on my neck just under my ear, the trigger point which shoots fireworks through my veins.
I turn slowly in his arms to face him. Big mistake. When I look at him I pant. Actually, freaking pant! I can’t be this close to him without having trouble breathing.
“I…I have to get Tracey’s car back to the house.” I brace my hands on the car to assist my legs in their inability to support me, or it could be the way Dalt is gripping my waist keeping me up. Either way, it’s like the temperature just shot up twenty degrees and I’m melting at his feet.
I can’t let him break down my defenses; can’t allow him to use me whenever he pleases. I’m an expert on how men use women. The year my mom and I spent with my douchebag stepfather in our house when I was only thirteen was filled with sickening lessons I never want to learn again.
“Damn, Nik. You smell so good I want to eat you,” he says in a hungry growl.
Here he goes with his leg-spreading words of seduction.
I put my hands on Dalt’s chest and give him a little push. My breath catches when I touch him. God. I love the feel of his chest. I’m on a first hand basis with his pecs, familiar with every cut line of muscle under the thin fabric. I’d love to be trailing my lips down them.
Snap out of it.
I have to remember what’s best for Chloe and me.
“Let me go, please.” I shove the wall of muscle, but he doesn’t budge. “By the way, you guys were great tonight. Perfect routine for a bunch of manwhores. I didn’t know you had those kinds of moves in you.” I hope my harsh tone will get him to back away from me. There’s no oxygen when he’s this close.
“Could you please not stand in my breathing circumference?” I demand.
He ignores my request and puts his hands on either side of me, caging me in and using his palms to brace himself on the hood of the car. He leans into me, one leg stretched behind him, using the other to nudge my legs apart. His face is level with mine.
“Maybe you’ve forgotten how good we move together.” Dalt sweeps his lips across mine and then grinds his hips into me. His hard shaft presses against my thigh through the fabric of his pants.
Nope. I haven’t forgotten.
My eyes flutter closed and I can’t hold back the uninvited whimper escaping onto his lips.
“Fuck. Nikki, I want you, bad.” His voice is raspy with need as he continues to grind his massive erection on me. My short skirt is hiked up even higher on my thighs and this time when he presses into me it’s right where I want it. I think I just heard my pussy scream, “Oh God. I want you too!”
When he crashes his mouth onto mine it’s not a gentle request. It’s a hard, urgent need. My lips part in a gasp. He takes full advantage, tangling his tongue with mine. The heat moves like a fireball from my toes to between my thighs. All reason flies out of my head, leaving only the craziness of desire. Common sense and self-respect be damned.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him closer and rock my hips on his thick erection. Raw need and desire overwhelms me. I want to fuck him right here, right now, in the middle of this public parking lot. When I open my eyes, the intensity in the heavy-lidded gaze staring back at me jolts me out of my heated haze. Suddenly I see it. I see the reflection of my little girl in those eyes and I remember everything he’s done to me. To us.
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?