Tracey
The universe hates me. The house where Alex tells me to meet them for the party at nine o’clock is right next door to mine. I mean right next to my rented little blue house, with the white picket fence and porch. Obviously, the house belongs to the guys at the bar Nikki referred to as man-whores. Wow. I am seriously working off some bad shit Karma. In all of Mt. Desert Island I end up living right next door to a bunch of hot, horny, hockey players. The Cosmos is clearly trying to test me. Not sure I’m up to the challenge.
I knew male students occupied the building because when I pulled up to the front of my house two weeks ago to move in there was a sign stretched across the front porch. Big black letters painted across a white bed sheet read ‘THANK YOU FOR YOUR DAUGHTERS.’ All caps. I didn’t get a good look at the few guys sitting on lawn chairs on the porch drinking beer. I’m sure the parents who were swarming around the streets of the town while moving their freshman daughters onto campus must’ve been thrilled at the sight of the welcome sign and partying boys.
I close my books around eight thirty. It’s time to get ready for the trip into Testosterone Central. It’s cooler outside since the sun has gone down. My mind is having a battle trying to decide how I should dress for a party at a house full of demi-god hockey players. I want to look good.
But you don’t want to attract unwanted attention.
Right. I slip on a pair of skinny jeans, a lightweight red V-neck sweater, and a pair of red high-top Louboutin sneakers.
They’re ridiculous, especially for a college student, but Mom insisted every woman should own at least one pair of Louboutin’s. When I explained they would never work for me because the only shoes I ever wear at school are sneakers or boat shoes, these little beauties showed up in a gift box on my bed right before I left for Maine. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or disappoint her. I mean, how could she have given birth to a daughter who wasn’t into designer clothes? Maybe I’m adopted.
Thank goodness she has my drop dead gorgeous sister to follow in her modeling footsteps. When I told her I wasn’t interested in fashion and wanted to pursue a career in Marine Ecology she almost choked on her dirty martini. But when she got over the initial shock, she was happy I found something I love.
Both my parents support me in every way they can. Even though I’m a nerdy scientist, it doesn’t stop my mom from slipping a few high priced fashion designer items into my wardrobe whenever I’m not looking, or Dad from challenging me to a hockey match whenever I’m home.
A quick review in the full-length mirror hanging on the closet door gives me my exasperating answer. The outfit works, I guess. It’s the right amount of non-frumpiness, with not too much come-and-get-me. Of course, if my sister, with her long black hair, legs which go on for years, and lavender eyes, was wearing this outfit it would scream “come and get me.” In fact, Sloane could wear a trash bag and it would do the same. The remarkable thing is she’s as beautiful inside as she is out. I miss her so much. I can’t wait to see her over the holiday break.
Right now, it’s time to venture into the eye-candy filled house next door.
***
My neighbors’ house is a white, three-story monstrosity. The wraparound porch, which is already overflowing with students, is in serious need of a paint job and repair, and the siding on the house is even worse. It’s ten after nine as I climb the weather-beaten steps of the porch.
While I don’t see Alex or Nikki out here, through the open door I can see the house is packed. I’m not too thrilled about pushing into the mass of undulating, dancing bodies, but I need to get back to socializing like a normal college student instead of a messed up basket case. Forging ahead through the door, the combination smell of cologne, perfume, beer and bodies hits me. Once I’m in the middle of the crowded living room my nose adapts to the overwhelming mixture of scents, and I don’t notice them as much anymore.
The inside of the house is pretty nice considering the outside appearance. Off-white walls are peeking out between hockey and video game posters. From the little bit of floor I can see between feet, there’s no dirty, stained carpet, only glossy hardwood floors. Do these sex-gods actually polish their floors? A black leather sofa, ottoman, and two gaming chairs are pushed against one wall and a huge beanbag chair is pushed against another. I guess moving the furniture to the perimeter of the room leaves space in the center of the room for everyone to mingle, though with the amount of people packed into the house, even with the furniture out of the way, it’s a tight squeeze.
I begin searching over the tops of heads for Alex or Nikki. It’s easy to spot the hockey players from the pub since they’re all over six feet tall and tower over most of the people in the room. Not to mention there are one or two stunning, scantily clad girls draped over each one of their shoulders. I thought football players were players, but these guys are no slackers. When do they get time for classes and schoolwork?
As I scan the room, I spot him in the corner next to the staircase, leaning one shoulder against the wall and laughing. For a douche, he’s got a spectacular smile. All cleaned up, covered in clothes, he’s almost as hot as he was naked and dripping wet. His black crew neck sweater is clinging to his muscled chest and arms and his worn jeans are just tight enough in the right places to display his abundant blessings. His tousled, sun streaked, golden brown hair skims his shoulders. He could be the cover model for Surfer magazine. I give a little sigh as I admire the jackass known as Dak Andersen.
It’s apparent most of the girls here are vying for the attention of all these male wonders of the world. I’m glad I’m not interested in the competition to get the attention of any of these visions of hotness.
You’re not?
No. I’m not. I want to smack my infuriating mind.
Ed Sheeran’s “The Shape of You” is pulsing through the stereo speakers and it couldn’t be more appropriate for the sensations I’m experiencing while watching Dak flirt with…Alex?
Holy shit! Is that Alex he’s laughing with in the corner?
Standing on tiptoes I can see the person Dak is having such a good time talking to is indeed Alex.
What the ever loving hell?
Dak must be the guy Alex said he was going to make his move on tonight. First I get my rocker and artist friends in Delaware hooked up, and now my teammate and hockey player! I guess he’s technically not my hockey player, and I suppose I didn’t actually do anything to get them together. Still, I’m beginning to think I should get business cards. Tracey Hayward. Matchmaker. Bringing men together all over the country.
Why should it matter to you if Dak was the guy Alex said eye-fucked him?
Right. Doesn’t matter. I hate Dak Andersen. Ugh. It’s so discouraging. Even though I’m happy for Alex…if Dak is the kind of guy he wants. Piercing blue eyes, heart stopping smile, sculpted pecs, six pack abs, Thor-size…Uh, yeah. Who would want a guy like that?
I don’t see his wing lady Nikki anywhere in sight. I guess he didn’t need her backup support after all. Dak must be more than willing. I continue to search the room for Nikki’s platinum hair, and my eyes connect with Dak’s. He arches one brow, tips his chin at me and gives me that damn ovary-exploding half grin of his.
For a second my feet are frozen in place and my eyes remain locked with his. Heated shocks of electricity shoot down to my core simply from the intensity in those blue eyes. My mind drifts back to the way I trembled the first time I gazed into art boy’s perceptive eyes.
Ugh. I can’t do this. I can’t get involved with another guy whose only interest is in a new BFF. Or in this case, all over the place with his sexual attraction. Anyway, I’m so not interested in having anything to do with another cocky athlete. I turn around and push back out through the crowd as fast as I can. When I get to the bottom of the porch steps I bend over, place my hands on my quivering thighs, and take a deep, mind-clearing breath.
Breathe. In. Out. Close your eyes and imagine in your mind what you want your future to look like.
I hear Gail’s voice encouraging me as she’s done a thousand times in the past. Before I get a chance to practice some calming breathing exercises, a deep, already recognizable voice startles me back to an upright stance.
“What are you doing, Bambi? You okay?”
I spin around so fast, I almost fall over. “Fine. It’s…it was really hot in there. I mean … it was hard to breathe in there.”
“Surprised to see you at our party. Nice shoes.” He smirks at my shoes and then gives me a wolfish up and down scan. What is it with this guy? First he’s flirting with Alex and now…Not. Happening. Again.
“Whatever. I like them,” I lie. “They were…wait, what? You live here?”
“Yeah, me and three other guys from the team. You sound surprised. Sure you’re not stalking me?”
“Yeah right. Get over yourself. Not everyone is falling all over themselves for you.”
“They’re not?” He crosses his spectacular arms over his spectacular chest and grins.
“Arrogant much?” I sneer at him. “Speaking of cocky, when I was moving in, a sign on your porch read ‘Thank You For Your Daughters.’ I suppose it was your idea?”
“No. That was Wolfe and the other two idiots. They were celebrating a little too hard. Happy to be back together I guess.” He shakes his head.
A girl striking enough to be the next Top Model with long brown hair and a tight, barely there skirt brushes past Dak on her way up the steps. He doesn’t seem to notice the way she rubs against him on purpose as she goes by. I don’t know if I’m pleased or disappointed at his lack of attention to the striking female.
“Happy to be back together or happy to welcome the new groupies?” I direct my gaze toward the girl as she makes her way onto the porch.
He turns to see who I’m referring to. Here comes that bad boy half grin again when he spots the brunette. “A little bit of both. What can I say? Chicks want me and there are some perks that come with being a hockey player.” He waggles his brows.
This is ridiculous. Why don’t I just ask him if he’s gay? Except for the way he was flirting with Alex, it doesn’t seem like he is. Could be he’s a big enough manwhore he doesn’t discriminate.
What’s the big deal? Ask him.
I already know what the big deal is. I’m a coward, afraid to hear the answer. If he says yes I’m screwed because once again I’m attracted to the wrong guy. If he says no I’m screwed because I don’t want to be attracted to anyone, especially not another arrogant jerk who’s making my body do this intense hormonal dance, which I can’t do anything about because I can’t let him anywhere near me.
“Yeah. I saw you talking to Alex about those perks.” I try to sound aloof. His brows pinch and I could swear there’s a pink blush of embarrassment on his face. Yet I can’t imagine this guy with all his cockiness being embarrassed by anything.
“Alex? Yeah. He’s a cool dude. He’s got crazy skating skills.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
Is he embarrassed because I saw him flirting with Alex? He wasn’t trying to hide their interaction.
“Yeah. He seems like a great guy,” I offer. His uneasiness is making me more uncomfortable than I already am around him.
“You two must know each other, right? Being on the same team.”
He rubs the back of his neck. I’m certain now he is feeling awkward discussing Alex. Perhaps the big jerk expects me to put in a good word for him with Alex. I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to give my opinion of him. Let’s see…um…cute but a smug asshole.
“Met him this afternoon, actually. We’re both on the club team, but I haven’t seen him skate yet.” There’s a beat in our conversation, only seconds, though it feels like an eternity. I take a big breath and blow it back out. “I haven’t known him long enough for my opinion to count for anything.”
“You’re opinion about what?”
“Um, nothing. I don’t know. Anyway, gotta go. Thank Dalton for the invite.”
“You know Dalton?”
“I met him this afternoon too at the Thirsty Whale.”
“I should’ve known. My man Dalt’s a fast worker.” I think he’s joking, but a pinched, frowny expression sweeps across his face.
“No. He wasn’t trying to hit on me. It was a quick meet and greet.” It’s not my place to mention Dalton was totally swooning over Nikki, who seemed to want to walk through hot coals rather than even look at him.
“Oh, good.” His face relaxes.
Oh good?
Why should he care if Dalton hits on me? I suppose the jackass thinks his friend is too good for me.
“I’m outta here.” I turn to make my getaway before I waste any more time snarling at him for his comments.
“You leaving so soon? You just got here.”
“Yeah, I have some studying to do.” How does he know when I got here? Was he looking for me?
Of course not. He doesn’t even like you and he was flirting with Alex, my bratty little mind points out.
“Studying? Already?”
“Yes. I suppose it makes me some kind of nerd in your eyes. I guess we can’t all be the sexy cheerleader type.” I start to turn away. I really, really want to get away from this arrogant ass.
“Studying is cool. Already started myself.”
“Yeah. I’m sure you’re getting a whole lot of studying done in there,” I say sarcastically and flick my chin toward the house. The pulsating sounds of “No Church in the Wild” are blasting from the open door and the rolling bodies of dancing students move like one big mass.
“It can be a challenge sometimes.” He shrugs and glances toward the door. “Hey, you need a ride, Bambi?”
“Only if you plan on giving me a piggyback ride. I live right there.” I don’t want him to know I live at a I-can-see-into-your-bedroom-window-from-my-bedroom-window distance from him, but there’s no sense in trying to hide it. Our driveways are right next to each other. He’ll find out sooner or later. I point to my pretty little blue house and start walking toward it. I can’t wait to get back to its quiet, uncomplicated surroundings.
“You live right next door? No shit? One serious looking Jeep you got there.” Even though I’m not looking at him, I can hear the sarcasm in his words. It’s the same sound they had when he commented on my shoes.
“Yes, it is pretty awesome. Isn’t it?” I keep walking, not looking back. I don’t tell him I detest the color and think it’s just as outlandish as my shoes, because fuck him.
If he thinks your car and shoes are outrageous what would he think about your absurd furniture?
Who cares what he thinks?
“Yup it’s awesome all right. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, Bambi, piggyback ride or skating lessons, just give me a shout,” he calls out to me.
I come to such an abrupt stop my preposterous designer shoes do a little skid on the graveled driveway. “There is one thing you can do for me.” I turn my head and glare at him through narrowed eyes.
“Yeah?” He grins. “What’s that?”
“Stop calling me Bambi,” I growl. Stupid, snarky, nickname.
He rubs his chin like he’s considering my request. “Can’t do it,” he drawls after a few seconds.
“Why not?”
“Because you never told me your real name.” He quirks his brow and hooks his thumbs in the top of his jeans. He looks like he’s getting ready for a shootout. Where does he think he is, the OK Corral? His already dangerously too low jeans are flashing just enough skin to send heated gunpowder sparks between my thighs.
“It’s Tracey. Trace Hayward,” I force my dry mouth to speak. He may be a dickhead, but he’s an equator-hot dickhead.
“Trace. I like it.”
“So glad you approve,” I sneer, because I’m never going to let him see how he affects me. I turn back toward my house.
“But,” he says after a moment, “I think Bambi suits you. So see you later, Bambi.” He emphasizes the name. “I’m Dak Andersen, by the way,” he calls out to me, again.
This time I don’t stop and I don’t turn toward him as I flip him the finger over my shoulder.
“Yeah. See you later. Jackass!” I shout back.
***
Dak
I could take Alex up on his offer to exchange hook up encouragements with our mutual friends when I ask him about Bambi. He wants to put in a good word for me with her in exchange for me putting in a good word for him with Erik. But I don’t think he’s going to need my help to get together with Erik, one of our defensemen, because it’s apparent he’s more than interested.
He thinks he’s hiding it from the team, but I can see the way he stares at Alex when he thinks no one is looking. I want to tell him it’s cool. No one on the team will think less of him. At least not if I’ve got anything to say about it. I don’t want Alex saying anything to Tracey about me anyway, making her think I’m into some kind of fix-up relationship thing.
“Nah, man,” I say to him. “I think you and Erik will be cool without me interfering and I don’t need you to say anything to Tracey. She’s not my type. We’re kind of like oil and water. Just curious about the new girl.”
Alex doesn’t know too much other than she had some kind of problem with a guy and teammates at UDel.
Shit. She transferred to another school to get away from some dickhole. Some fuck-up broke her heart or did something calamitous enough to cause her to transfer to another school and lose credits. I knew it. Girlfriend material.
“Ah, sucks man. Exactly why I don’t do the girlfriend thing. And, uh, don’t say anything to Tracey about the two of us discussing her. Wouldn’t want her to get her hopes up. Make her think I’m interested or anything. You know what I mean, dude?” I add the shitty request because I’m a guy and a total asshole sometimes. I’m certain Alex isn’t buying my bullshit line about not being interested in Tracey though, especially when he does this elaborate comical reenactment of my collision with Bambi on the ice to remind me of my first interaction with her. His animated storytelling skills make the colossal crash seem funny, and we both get a good laugh. Then the craziest damn feeling sweeps over me. Disappointment. I’m disappointed not to see Tracey at the party.
Even though there’s a long line of ready and willing puck bunnies, and as much as I was looking forward to indulging in one or even two of those specimens of divine womanhood, there is only one chick I want to see. That’s a new one; me waiting for one specific chick. It doesn’t make any kind of sense. I keep scanning the room in hopes of seeing her.
When I glance up, Tracey’s standing right there and I’m as awestruck as a revirginized teen. It’s like a scene from a cheesy movie when a guy sees a chick and fireworks go off in the background.
Her auburn hair cascades in waves past those perfect round tits I saw gift-wrapped in lace in the locker room earlier and those crystal green eyes drill right into my heart. My cock begs me to do something about the way I want her.
I had the chance to relieve the pressure I’m feeling since my encounter with her earlier in the locker room. Not ten minutes before, Bri, who is the type of chick I normally hook up with, was rubbing herself all over me.
All I could think about was Bambi and the way she looked up at me with those big eyes in both nervousness and longing when she tripped on her skate guards at the rink. Two minutes after, she was reading me the riot act when I plowed into her, or rather, when she plowed into me and broke my favorite stick.
Damn.
And then the sweet way she blushed when I walked out naked from the shower and her eyes ran up and down my body.
I turned Bri down. Bri, the chick with both Jesse Jane looks and skills between the sheets. Bri, the girl who’s always up for a wild night of anything goes sex, especially if her feral partner happens to be a hockey player. Bri, the girl who never has anything but sweet compliments and hot, dirty things to whisper in my ear. I turned her down. Not something I would normally do, deny myself that kind of coital bliss.
Now all I can do is stare at the reason for the newfound state of pain and confusion I’m putting my cock through. Bambi locks eyes with me from across the room, a moment filled with more exhilaration than scoring the winning goal in a power play or catching the perfect wave and riding it to shore.
When she turns and bolts out of the house I make some lame excuse to Alex and chase after her, even though I’m sure he saw me scoping her out.
I find her outside all breathless and flustered. I know she’s feeling the attraction between us as much as I am. The way she devours me with her eyes, the pink flush of her cheeks when she talks to me, and the slight tremble of her body. She wants me.
When she says something about me talking to Alex, I’m sure I blush like a little girl. There’s no way she could have heard our conversation over the crowd and loud music. She couldn’t know I was asking about her.
Then she mentions knowing Dalt and my chest tightens. I don’t know why. I only know Dalt is a bigger manwhore than I am and I don’t want him anywhere near Bambi. No, I’m not jealous. I don’t do jealousy, especially jealousy involving a bro. The hands off another bro’s chick, even if it’s a temporary puck bunny, is part of an unspoken bro-code.
Except Bambi’s not mine in any way, so I shouldn’t be feeling any of that. In fact, I should be steering as far away from her as I can. If there was some kind of problem with a dude at her last school, she’s complicated girlfriend material and I sure as shit don’t need a girlfriend messing with my heart again. Besides, I wasn’t kidding about us being like oil and water.
But holy fucking hell, she lives right next door. I think God flipped me the finger. How am I supposed to avoid her? It’s like putting a bee right next to a garden of roses. Knowing she’s only steps away isn’t going to help when I’m lying in bed at night thinking about her. Not that I lay in bed and think about girls, at least not one specific girl. But I can’t get this chick out of my mind ever since I crashed into her, or rather since she crashed into me. Wrecking ball on ice skater girl has seized my brain and body. When I see her, my dick sits up and begs.