Tracey
I can’t believe I’m wearing this shirt, because—of course—mister all-American- perfect happens to also be an avid surfer. I saw the pictures on his Facebook page. Yeah. I stalked the jackass’s Facebook page. Doesn’t mean I like the arrogant pig. Although the horrific truth is, I might be spending a little too much time thinking about riding that particular surfer boy. Yeah. Yeah. I know. It’s stupid.
I slip on a pair of leggings and a loose off the shoulder sweatshirt. I hate the restraint of a bra when I’m at home studying so I don’t put one on. The loose sweatshirt will keep me from revealing my assets to the object of all my unwanted desires.
I go back downstairs to find Dak making himself comfortable, his arms stretched out on the back of the sofa and his legs crossed on top of the Tra La La coffee table. Not kidding, that’s the actual name of the black and white checked table, which matches the black and white stripes and checks on the sofa with the Musette flowered cushions.
God save me from my mom.
Dak said it looks like a Disney princess house. I’d say more like a Mad Hatter tea party gone wrong house. Whatever it looks like, Dak appears to be right at home, even though the sight of his big frame lounging on all this country garden furniture is a bit peculiar. My mom would pass out if she saw him with his size huge feet up on the two-thousand-dollar table. Whatever. It is a college student’s house, after all, not high tea in an English drawing room. She can’t expect prim and proper.
“I was making some hot chocolate. I know it’s still too warm outside for it, but it helps me relax when I’m studying. You know, the whole comfort food thing?” I shrug. “Want some? Or I have beer or wine if you want.” He’s my first guest, so I force myself to be civil.
“Hot chocolate sounds good. Haven’t had it since my mom used to make it for me after junior hockey games. Need help?”
“No thanks. It’s already made. Be right back.” While I pour our drinks, my mind drifts to the thought of a cherubic little Dak racing around in his hockey uniform while his mom bribes him with hot chocolate to get him to behave. But when I come back to the living room, the sight of the broad-shouldered, scorching hot guy filling my sofa dissolves the vision of the cute adolescent.
“Damn. You’ve even got cups to match your furniture. It feels like a movie set or something.” He lets out a big laugh.
Yup. The cocoa is served in fashionably correct Odd Fellowes mugs, which match the flowered cushions. “Not a movie set.” I smile. “You’ve entered the parallel universe of Terace Hayward.”
“Your mom?” He chuckles again and shakes his head.
“That’s her.” Anyone who knows my mom would know I’m not making this stuff up. There’s already matching coasters on the table to place the mugs on—Mom’s thorough decorating scheme.
Dak blows out a whistle of air. “What is she, like, some kind of fairyland interior decorator or something?”
“No. Thank God. It might be even worse than it is if she was. She’s a former Victoria’s Secret model and a fashion designer these days.”
He leans forward like he needs to get closer to hear me better. “Are you fucking with me, Bambi?”
“About what? Even though you keep calling me Bambi, I would not fuck with you.” Nope. Not in any way.
“Your mom was not a Victoria’s Secret model!”
“Yes, she was. Her geeky scientific daughter couldn’t follow in her footsteps.” I shrug.
Is it creepy he’s getting all excited about my mom? Creepy or not, if he met her I’m sure he’d be even more excited. She’s still drop dead gorgeous. Truth. My dad and her are like Mr. and Mrs. Olympia with Sloane as their little Miss Olympia offspring. It’s discouraging to be the ugly duckling in the family.
“That explains it.” He nods and gives me an all-knowing grin like the heavens opened and revealed some important secret to him.
“What?”
“Why you’re so stunningly beautiful.”
What?
It’s like he read my thoughts about being the ugly duckling of the family. Oh, I know I’m not ugly. I’m not fishing for compliments to boost my ego. But when it comes to my practically perfect, beautiful family, they’re a tough act to follow.
Though I don’t need some guy telling me how beautiful I am to make me feel better about myself, I confess, when the sex-god known as Dak Andersen says I’m stunningly beautiful—even though I hate him—it does tickle me a little bit. Okay. I’ll admit it. After more than a year and everything before, it’s possible a part of me needs a small compliment here and there from a guy. It doesn’t mean I’m ready to give up my membership card in the Rights for Women sorority. So don’t judge.
“Right. Thanks.” I try not to sound too pleased. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Why the hell did I say that?
I can’t even stand him. I don’t want him to think his ovary exploding looks have any effect on me.
“Well thank you, Bambi. I thought you’d never notice,” he says all smug and sure of himself.
Crap. Now he’s got this seductive glint in his dazzling blue eyes and I’m getting moist between my legs. Ugh. Why does he have to be so annoyingly sexy all the damn time?
“Is your roommate home?” he asks.
“Uh…no. No roommate. Yet,” I squeak out as I manage to unlock my eyes from his baby blues. Damn. I wish Nikki had moved in this week instead of next. Her presence would be a welcome safety net from my own desire to jump all over this guy. “Uh, we better get started on our schedule,” I suggest, hoping it didn’t come out as tense as my clenched lady parts. “It’s getting late and your cocoa is getting cold.”
Sitting next to him on the sofa, I open my laptop to my calendar. He slides over a little closer and when his thigh brushes against mine it’s like getting zapped by the electric shock of a jellyfish. In a good way.
I can’t explain it. When he touches me, I hold my breath waiting for the panicked reaction to sweep over me: hyperventilating, fists clenching, hammering pulse. Yet it doesn’t come. It’s absurd that he should be the one who breaks through the barricade I’ve built both mentally and emotionally around myself. I’ve got to get a grip before all my well-laid future plans go right down the orgasm trail along with all my vows of celibacy.
I focus on my computer because no way can I look into the eyes I can almost feel burning into me from inches away with the ability to hypnotize my vagina. “Okay, let’s see. How’s tomorrow afternoon to go out and get the samples? It will give us all week to do the analysis and write it up.”
“Why not go out in the morning? Then we’d have the rest of the day and Sunday to do the lab analysis. It’s better to get out on the water early while the sun’s shining.”
“Can’t. I’m doing a kayak tour early in the morning. It takes two to three hours.”
“You mentioned the tour thing in class. Are you working for one of the companies in the harbor?”
“Yeah. I got my certification a few years ago in Delaware. It was required by the college to take out the school’s kayaks and the tour guide job was a fun way to make some extra cash. Hey, why don’t you come on the tour? I’ll take a double kayak out. You can pair up with me so there won’t be an uneven number of people. Then we can go right out after the tour. It will save time.”
“Can’t. I…I just remembered, I have hockey practice in the morning. How about I meet you at the dock at one? Should give us plenty of time before dark.” He shifts a bit, fisting his hands on his thighs.
He isn’t as smug and relaxed as he was a minute ago. What’s that about?
“Sounds good. The tour is done by eleven. I can meet you at one.”
“And…uh…speaking of hockey and skating schedules, have you thought about our Winter Fest routine and when you want to get together to practice?”
Thought about it? Oh no. Only when I breathe.
I can’t get the idea of skating with him out of my mind. All good skating routines should show emotion, but a pair’s routine is intimate, familiar on a very personal level. I’m not sure I can handle or even want that kind of closeness with Dak. I need to keep my distance.
“Um, yeah. I’ve thought about it a little. I thought you might want to help pick out the music. Any ideas what you’d like to skate to?”
If he says Romeo and Juliet, I’m changing schools again.
“Well the music you’re listening to is pretty cool.”
I didn’t even realize my IPad was still playing. I usually keep something classical on low in the background when studying. It helps to block out the rest of the world. Unfortunately, it hasn’t help block out the thoughts of Dak ever since the first day we collided on the ice.
“Um, Pachelbel? You want to skate to the Canon in D?” I can’t hide the surprised tone in my voice. I’ve skated to it before in competition because it’s my all-time favorite classical piece, but I hadn’t pegged Dak as a classical kind of guy.
“Nah. Just kidding.” He smiles and my ovaries quiver at the sight of his dimples. “I mean I like it, but I was thinking something more contemporary for the show.”
“Oh, right.” His words extinguish my thought of licking those dimples. “Me too.”
“A Jason Mraz song could be cool. His music got me through some tough times. Like his duet with Sara Bareilles, “You Matter to Me.” It would be perfect for a pair routine. And he did another duet with Christina Perri, also pretty hot, “Distance.” Do you know them?” His leg is pressing against mine now, and when I look up, his eyes are darkened to an inky blue and I can’t turn away from their spellbinding hold.
Okay. Now I’m completely baffled. Sara Bareilles, Christina Perri, and Jason Mraz? The man-whore-hockey-god has the musical interests of a teenage girl. And tough times? What kind of tough times did this cocky ass ever encounter?
I know I’m being a bit harsh. Dak doesn’t deserve my caustic attitude, even if he did crash into me on the ice and blame it on a so-called lack of my skating skills. He’s not the one who caused my current distrust of the opposite sex. But he does have the unfortunate honor of being the current available cocky athlete for my venting hostility.
Every second I spend with him only succeeds in bewildering me more. Turns out this arrogant guy, I thought was the king of manwhores has a whole other sensitive, romantic side going on. Sara Bareilles? No way. What did he do with the cocky jackass who was making it a little easier to resist his gorgeousness?
“Wow. You’re one big mystery wrapped in an enigma, aren’t you? You’ve got the same taste in music as a twelve-year-old girl.” I can’t help myself from spitting out the snide comment. He seems to bring out the worst in me. Besides, sometimes a woman has to behave like an adolescent. It’s how the universe works.
Dak smiles at my snarky words. “I can’t help it if I’m a hopeless romantic, can I?”
“Hopeless, maybe. Romantic? Don’t think so.” I smile and shake my head.
“Once you get to know me you’ll see, I can be all kinds of romantic, Bambi.”
There’s the stupid sly grin again, which makes my easily impressed heart go boom inside my chest.
“I’ll take your word for it,” I say in an I’m-absolutely-not–interested tone. “And by the way, I think they’re both perfect choices.”
“Yeah? Okay. Let’s do it, like a mashup or something.” His lips are so close we’re sharing our breath. He smells like a mixture of peppermint, vanilla, and leather, like Christmas and all kinds of bad choices rolled into one hot package. I’m lost in the combination, adrift in the intimate circle of Dak and me. There are no cautionary thoughts of his activities with other girls or guys.
He leans in before I know what’s happening and kisses me with a feathery soft touch. His lips are warm and full and I whimper at their soft caress. He uses the opportunity to slide his tongue between my parted lips. I can’t resist the seductive invasion of swirling motions he’s making and I return his kiss. For a moment, there’s nothing else but Dak here with me at this minute, his lips on mine, our tongues tangling, my breath coming too fast, the heat building between my legs. He cups my face in his hand while his other hand slides down my neck and pushes the loose fabric of my shirt further down off my shoulder. I jump back, away from his touch. It’s too much.
“What are you doing?” I push his hand away, but not before his touch causes my body to tremble and the heat to sweep down to my core.
Oh for crying out loud. Snow White would not get herself into a situation like this.
“I…I was…I don’t know. I thought you were feeling the same thing I am.” He reaches out to brush a strand a hair off my face. I push his hand away again.
“Sorry. Not happening.”
“Wow. Okay.” He holds his hands up like he’s surrendering. For a second a wounded tinge of disappointment crosses his face and I almost feel bad for the way I treated him.
Then the jackass shows up again when he says, “No problem, Bambi. Just figured the night is young and I know you want me.”
I can’t keep myself from laughing at his cornball line. “You must be mistaking me for one of your groupies.” I brush back a pigtail to emphasize my indifference and pray my attentive nipples aren’t showing through my sweatshirt.
“Real nice,” he says as I continue to chuckle.
“Sorry, but I mean, does that Casanova routine actually work on the girls?”
“Forget it,” he grumbles. “Let’s just focus on our project.”
“I…I came out of a really bad relationship not too long ago and I can’t…I’m not ready to…I’m just not ready.”
“Yeah, I figured something like that when Alex said you transferred from another school because of personal problems. You want to talk about it?”
Talk about it? I’m surprised I even gave him the limited explanation I did. I’ve never spoken to anyone about Sean, except my family and Gail. With them hundreds of miles away in the Hamptons and Sloane in New York City, I don’t speak to anyone about him. All things related to him are locked away in the past. I’ve wasted enough time dwelling on my mistakes.
“You talked to Alex about me?”
I like Alex, but it’s not cool to be talking to his boyfriend about me. Seriously. What gives with their relationship?
“He only mentioned you transferred because of some kind of problem with your team or something. So what’s up?”
“Nothing’s up. It’s in the past and I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”
“It’s in the past, but you’re not ready to get with another guy? Doesn’t sound like it’s in the past to me.” He gives me this smug look like no woman in her right mind has ever said no to him.
“Sorry, Dr. Phil, still not talking about it, and I still don’t want to get with you. I’m sure there’s lots of people waiting in line for the honor and I’m not into being part of your fan club.”
“You sure?” His eyes drop to my tits and he grins lazily.
Damn. Why didn’t I put on a bra?
I nod. “Never been surer of anything in my life.”
At that moment, the sound of female laughter, from the girls partying at Dak’s house, floats through the open windows.
“I could be over there partying right now,” Dak said.
“Um, I don’t remember inviting you over, and no one’s got you tied here.” Oops. Ill-advised comment. His eyes get all hazy.
“Interesting idea. Wanna tie me up?”
“Nope.”
“Can I tie you up?”
“Seriously? Sorry. I’m not into the casual, meaningless sex thing, with or without ropes. It’s not my thing.”
“No problem, Bambi. No need to be sorry. I’ll be fine.” He tips his chin in the direction of his house and grins.
Blech.
I hate this arrogant asshole. So why am I so attracted to him? What was I thinking letting him kiss me? I don’t know what’s going on with him and Alex, but I do know all about his reputation of fucking anything that brushes across his crotch. Guess he’s not all about only hooking up with guys. I’m not interested in making more stupid mistakes.
So what the hell am I doing?
I’m unable to let anyone touch me in a year and now him? He needs to leave like five minutes ago.
He gets up and heads for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow at the dock.”
“Oh, and I can get the manager at the rink to let us use it alone for practice during the week. Okay?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
Sure. Why not? Let’s spend every day skating to a freaking love song. Can’t see any problem there.
“The bad news is, it’ll be early mornings. Super early, like five a.m.”
He’s completely unaffected by our interaction. It was nothing more to him than another chance to hit on a new girl. No problem it didn’t work out, because there are plenty of other opportunities waiting a few feet away.
It’s just as well, because for all my swaggering about finding an indifferent fuck buddy, I know I can’t do it. It’s not me. If all I wanted was to get off, I could handle that all by myself. Casual fucking is definitely not my thing. I can’t deny I like all the feelings and cuddles and laughter of a real relationship. More than anything, I need to be able to trust the guy I’m with. Dak Andersen is not that guy. Besides, I’m not looking for any kind of relationship right now.
“Five?” I make an over-animated grimace. I haven’t had to face the five o’clock skating torture since high school. I’m regretting this whole Winter Fest thing, for so many reasons. But participating in it is an important part of me being able to move on and find my place here at Bernard. There’s no choice. I need to do a routine with him. Between his schedule and mine and the prospect of open practice ice time, there’s no choice there either. Five a.m. it is.
“Not an early morning girl, huh, Bambi?” He opens the front door and leans one shoulder against the frame, facing me. “Funny. I pictured you as having all kinds of energy in the wee hours of the morning.” He waggles his brow.
Why is it whenever I’m around him he triggers the urge to smack the arrogant, sexy grin right off his supermodel face? The jackass doesn’t need to concern himself with my morning habits because he’s never going to get the chance to witness them.
I make my way across the room to stand in front of him. Batting my lashes at him a couple of times I place my palms on his chest—his rock-hard chest—and say in a breathy voice, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the dock at one and Monday morning at the rink at five.” His eyes, his gorgeous Caribbean blue eyes, get a seductive glint again. I finish off the sentence with a harsh, “jackass,” push him out the door, and slam it in his dreamy, smug face. I’m going to get through this vagina teasing semester if it kills me.