Dalt
“If the dickhead’s here I’m not coming in,” I inform Dak when he opens the door.
“Which dickhead would you be referring to?”
“The fucking football player who was feeling Nikki up on the field, that’s which one.”
“He’s not here. Get in here. I’ll get you a cold one. You look like you need it. We’re just about to sit down and eat.” Dak puts his arm around my neck and pulls me in the house. “Why don’t you just talk to the girl and tell her you can’t live without her precious kisses and end this torture, man?” He chuckles and pats me on the chest.
Even though I’m a few months older than Dak, he’s the captain of our hockey team and like the big brother watching out for everyone. He’s always there to offer help and advice when needed, just like he has been throughout our lives growing up together.
“I tried, dude. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. It’s like she hates me. She says I broke my promises to her or some shit.”
“Well did you?”
“Nah, man. I was in lo—I mean I really liked Nikki. I still do. Sure, I’ve hooked up with a few of the puck bunnies since her, trying to forget about her. But it’s not…they’re not…”
“I know. Been there done that. That shit never works when you lo—uh, like someone.”
“Right? And it’s like the meaner she is to me the more I want her.”
“Exactly, dude! It’s the human comedy. Welcome to God’s little joke.” He laughs and circles the arm around my neck tighter, like a loose headlock. If he tries giving me a noogie, he’s getting an elbow to the gut.
“But wait.” Dak gets serious and lets go of my neck. “That’s not the only reason you want her, right? Because she treats you like shit?”
“No, dude. Of course not.” I run my hand through my hair to push it back into place. “She’s the only one I’ve wanted since the day I met her. She’s all I see. All I want to see.”
“Welcome to the dark side, bro! You’re a man in love.” He laughs and drapes an arm around my shoulders. Seems to me the ass is enjoying himself a little too much at my expense.
“Listen, how ‘bout we bust out the old sheets and you can write poetic messages across them for her? We’ll hang them across the porch like I did to get Trace to talk to me. Of course, then we might have to get the guys back together to do a sexy Magic Mike routine one more time to completely melt her heart…and other areas.”
“Hard. No. Nikki’s not into sappy poetry and I won’t sing or do dancing routines ever again.” I cringe and yank his arm off my shoulders. Dak throws his head back and laughs.
“You know, you’re kind of an ass. I’m not exactly sure how you got an amazing chick like Tracey to fall in love with you.” I laugh and give him a shove. Sometimes he can be an immature man child, but at least he has me laughing at my dilemma instead of brooding. I guess the way he knows what to say to make people feel better is one reason he’s such a good friend and captain.
“No shit, me either.” Dak gets this faraway, wistful gaze. The dude’s so in love it probably won’t be long before we’re throwing rice.
“Okay, Shakespeare. How about the cold beer?” I’ve stalled long enough. Time to face Nikki and make another attempt to get her to talk to me.
“Yo, Walker, about time. Where ya been, man? We’re about three beers ahead of you.” Batt’s stretched out on the sofa, his gigantic feet up on Trace’s hideous black and white checked coffee table. His arm is draped over one of the figure skaters who played on our team today. She’s whispering something in his ear, which has him licking his lips.
Batt’s our right winger and one of the main reasons we completed our season as Frozen Four champions. I tip my chin in greeting, my eyes searching the room for the only person I want to see. That is, if I see her without the roaming hands scumbag. She’s not in the living room. I head into the kitchen and my eyes are rewarded when they catch sight of the back of the blonde who, although she’s petite and lean, is solid muscle. More rewarding is the fact there isn’t a dirtbag in sight.
Nikki has on a black tank top and cutoff black shorts, tiny enough to show off all her toned attributes. Her long white-blonde ponytail is sweeping across the top of her ass as she sings and sways in time to the music streaming from Trace’s stereo.
Christ.
As she circles her hips, while singing “Havana, Oo Na Na,” I want to reach out and pull her to me. I remember how her full, round ass feels pushed back on me and how—No. I have to stop that train of thought before it exits the station or I’m going to have to exit the room to hide the effects.
“Hey, Dalt!” Trace looks up from the food she’s placing on the table and does a quick sideways glance toward Nikki, who almost chokes on the abrupt termination of na na nas. The sweet sway of her hips comes to a halt and her back stiffens. She slowly turns around, away from the salad she’s tossing in a bowl on the counter.
“Hey, Trace. Nik.” I try to keep my eyes from lingering on Nikki too long. I force my greedy eyes away from the Rocky and Bullwinkle characters stretched across her perfect tits.
What can I say? I’m a tits man. What guy isn’t? Flash us a pair of boobs and all our brain cells shoot straight to our cocks. I’ve never been particular about the size or shape, as long as they’re attached to a willing female.
The truth is, despite the fact that Nikki’s tits transcend the world of round globes of soft perfection and are on a whole other plane of exquisite existence, it’s not just her perky boobs I love. It’s everything about her. It’s the reason these unfamiliar emotions, which surpass anything physical, have always scared me.
Unfortunately, it’s a problem to hide the way my emotions affect my cock from yearning for the physical. Another dilemma afflicting almost every guy on the planet.
“Smells good. What are you ladies cooking up?” My attempt at small talk to relieve the tension in the room and in my pants.
“Uh…it’s lasagna.” Nikki points to the table where several pans of lasagna are lined up. Her unspoken words and tone say, “It’s right in front of you, dumb ass.”
“It’s spinach lasagna, actually,” Trace counters in an attempt to make me appear not quite as brain cell deprived. “I’ll be right back. I have to get more paper plates from the pantry.”
“But there are plenty…” Nikki calls after her, pointing out a stack of about five hundred paper plates on one side of the table already. Her effort to keep Trace from leaving us alone in the kitchen is too late.
“Sorry about what happened on the field today. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.” I take a couple of steps toward her and she backs up a step.
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“I just couldn’t take seeing that guy put his hands all over you. It makes me crazy,” I say in a softer voice and take another step toward her.
She doesn’t step back this time but her words are no warmer. “I can’t see how it’s any of your business who has their hands on me.” Her hand shoots to her hip to emphasize the defiant statement.
“Of course it’s my business, baby. I…you’re…” I close the gap between us and reach out to her but she slaps my hand away.
“Don’t call me baby,” she snaps. “That’s only something you can call me when you mean it. I’m your nothing. You made it crystal clear two years ago.” She moves around to the other side of the table, putting it between us.
“Nik, I swear to Christ I don’t know what you’re talking about. And by the way, I take it back. I’m not sorry about what I did to the asshole today. He deserved it. I should have broken his fingers for touching you!” I call after her as she runs out of the room.
Trace comes back in the kitchen just as Nikki runs past her. “Did she tell you?” Trace asks after doing a double take at Nikki’s escape.
“Tell me what? That for some reason she thinks I told her I wanted nothing to do with her? Where did she ever get such an idea? She was like my oxygen when we were together. She was everything. I wanted to attach her to me somehow so I never had to be away from her.”
Okay. Getting a little too female here.
“Wow, Dalt. That’s beautiful. I’m totally impressed. She needs to hear you say all those things. She thinks you’re—” Dak walks in the room and interrupts our conversation.
“Hey, bro. You still don’t have a beer.” He pulls a cold beer from the fridge, twists it open, and hands it to me. “Here you go.”
“She thinks I’m what?” I ask Trace, absently taking the beer from Dak without looking at him.
“Um…she thinks…I mean, you didn’t do anything really stupid a couple of years ago, did you?”
“Of course he did,” Dak chimes in. “He’s a guy, for chrissakes. Stupid comes free with the penis.”
“No. I mean really bad, stupid,” Trace persists, ignoring Dak.
I don’t know. Did I? What would a chick consider really bad stupid?
“I don’t think so. I did nothing but lo—but try to show Nikki how much she meant to me.”
I’m not ashamed to say the word love, it’s just that I want to tell Nikki I love her before I tell everyone else. If she would fucking let me!
“I think you need to talk to her ASAP, Dalt. It’s important. You guys should get together over spring break while everyone’s gone. You definitely need to hear her side of the story and explain to her what happened.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to explain to her what happened if I have no fucking idea what happened.” I gulp down half of the bottle of beer getting warm in my hand.
“Just talk to her over break. It’ll be nice and quiet and ro-man-tic.” Trace grins. “I’m sure if you just talk to her you can work it out.”
“Okay, Dear Abby. I think that’s enough advice for one night. Can we eat before everyone dies of hunger?” Dak kisses Trace on the cheek. She turns her face to him and they’re at it again, sucking face like they haven’t seen each other in a year.
I clear my throat to remind them I’m standing here before they start tearing each other’s clothes off. “You need me to set up the folding table?” I ask to pull them back down from the clouds.
“Already got it, bro,” Dak answers. “I put the pink tablecloth on it. Is that okay, babe?” he asks Trace.
Damn. My man is for sure in love if he’s putting pink cloth on tables for dinner with a bunch of hockey slobs. But I have to admit I’d like to be doing something just as ridiculous for Nikki right now.