Tracey
“Hey, girl,” the cute guy sitting on one of the front row seats unlacing his skates calls out to me. “Impressive moves you got there.”
“The ones when I was upright or the ones when I was sprawled out on my ass?” I grimace as I rub my backside. There’s definitely going to be some serious bruises tonight.
“Both. Your jumps are amazing and you fall more theatrically than anyone I’ve ever seen. But then I’d like to take a massive fall between the legs of Dak Andersen myself,” the friendly guy says and wiggles his eyebrows up and down.
“Humph. Dak Andersen. Is that the jackass’s name?”
“That’s him. Dakota to be precise. A hotter than the sun jackass, I might add.” He waves his hand in front of his face in a fanning motion. I can relate.
“I’m Alex Sanchez.” He pushes a black curl off his forehead and holds out his hand. After getting my second guard in place on my blade I walk over and shake his outstretched hand.
“I’m Tracey Hayward. Most people call me Trace.”
“Well, Trace Hayward, you must be new around here. Are you trying out for the team? We could definitely use you.” He drops my hand and slips on his lilac colored Chuck Taylors.
“Only the club team. I’m a graduate student, can’t do the national collegiate competitions anymore.”
“Too bad. They could use a massive jumper like you on the senior ladies’ team. But the club does some local shows and state comps you can get in on. You headed to get something to eat?”
Until he mentioned it, I didn’t remember the last thing I’d eaten was an apple I grabbed for lunch. Conjuring up the thought of a nice juicy burger with crispy fries has my stomach growling loud enough for Alex to be able to hear it. “Yeah. I’m starving.”
“Great! How about I treat you to a welcome to Bernard U dinner at a popular pub in town. They have a stellar selection of craft beers and the biggest burgers you’ve ever seen.”
“You read my mind. I’m already drooling.” I love to eat, and one little apple is not enough to satisfy my more than healthy appetite. Luckily, the amount of exercise I do makes up for my love relationship with food and keeps the fries off my ass. “Can you give me a minute to change out of this skirt and tights?”
“Sure, girlfriend. I’ll wait for you outside. I gotta get out of this cold. It does all kinds of horrific things to my glowing skin. Why didn’t I go for ballroom dancing or anything not requiring frigid temperatures and ice packs on my ass at the end of the day?” He pats both sides of his face and rolls his eyes.
“Nice eye roll, dude. Even Mae West would’ve been impressed.”
“Mae West?”
“Yeah. She was a movie star in the…”
“Girl. Stop.” Alex holds up his hand like he’s stopping traffic. “You do not need to explain who Mae West is to me. She was like the original diva and one of my idols, thank you very much.” He rolls his eyes again and purses his lips, Mae West style, then lets out a big laugh. When he smiles, it’s warm and inviting, lighting up his handsome face.
My first new friend. It’s like the first day of kindergarten when you’re scared to death of the new experience, then you meet your new wonderful BFF and he or she makes everything awesome.
“Okay. I’ll be out in a sec.” Grabbing my skate bag and backpack, I scamper off to find the locker room.
I don’t know my way around the state of the art arena yet. There are all kinds of rooms: off-ice dance rooms, two fully equipped gyms, at least two weight rooms, therapy rooms, and lots more there’s been no time to explore yet. I see a sign pointing the way to the locker room and follow it. Pushing the door open, I’m surprised to find it’s empty and quiet except for the sound of running water in one of the shower stalls. It’s close to dinnertime, and I guess except for the hockey players on the ice everyone else headed out to eat already. The minty smell of the peppermint soap someone in the shower is using mixes with and sort of masks some of the human smells always present in locker rooms.
Dropping my backpack on a bench in front of the lockers, I sit to unlace my skates, wipe off the blades, and put them into my skate bag. I dig through my backpack to find the cutoff jeans and tank top I stuffed in there earlier. Even though it’s September, the warm weather is unusual for Mt. Desert Island. I’m not sure who had the brilliant idea to name an island this far north off the coast of Maine ‘desert,’ because most of the year it certainly doesn’t get desert temperatures. Although right now the temp is a toasty eighty-five degrees.
I slip off my sweater, skirt, and tights, and pull the elastic from around my ponytail. The prospect of a few more warm days to head to the beach or be able to do some kayaking before the water temps become frigid has me smiling. In my contented state of mind over the weather and my new friend, I don’t notice when the shower turns off. But when I look up and see him standing there, all six foot something inches of dripping wet naked hotness, I’m aware of the heat creeping up my neck and I’m sure my face has turned the same shade of bright red as the lace bra and matching thong panties I’m rocking on full display. Our eyes lock and neither one of us can seem to find our voices. My gaze drifts down, the trail of dark hair directing my eyes right to the magnificence between his thighs.
A loud whistle snaps my gaze back up to his face. “Jesus, Bambi.” The super douche blows out with his whistle. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” He grins wryly, and if I didn’t know better I’d swear he was staring at me with a kind of hungry glare. But since I know there can’t be any attraction on his part, I assume it’s my imagination and it doesn’t bother me.
My therapist Gail spent months trying to convince me my theory concerning my draw to gay men was scientifically impossible. I can hear her judicious voice trying to assure me, “Your exes didn’t wear signs indicating their sexual preferences. Therefore, since you couldn’t possibly know what their sexual proclivities were, you can’t possibly say you were or are only attracted to gay men.” I could never follow her logic.
Eventually she gave up on the scientific explanations and in exasperation said, “Don’t think in those terms. It’s only a coincidence.”
Three times? In a row? I think not.
More like my malfunctioning uterine radar honing in on them like a nuclear missile. The result being cataclysmic fallout.
First there was the smoking hot music student with smoldering gray eyes which seemed to possess the ability to burn my clothes off without his hands ever touching me and a six pack I could bounce quarters on, or lick, whichever. He loved displaying those chiseled muscles on stage when playing rock gigs in local venues. The first time I saw him perform I almost became one of those silly fan girls who fall in lust so hard they throw their panties on stage. A ridiculous gesture I resisted, thank goodness. But when he smiled down at me from the stage, I was hooked. Long story short, we became fast friends. Hung out at school, studied together, went to parties and bars together, generally did what good friends do. Problem was, I wanted way more from him than a best friend. When he didn’t make a move to take it beyond friendship, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Literally.
He gently removed my hand from his crotch while explaining, “Um, Trace. This can never happen between us.”
“Why, because we’re friends? Isn’t it a good thing to be friends before becoming lovers?” I intelligently pointed out.
“It’s a very good thing, but not the reason why this can’t happen,” he repeated in a calm voice while stopping my hands from roaming under his shirt to trace his marble statue-like abs.
“What’s the problem? You’re not attracted to me or something?” I tipped my head to the side and gave him the sugariest, coquettish smile in my arsenal.
“Um, yeah. Something like that.”
It took all of ten seconds for my shock to morph into tear filled hurt and then mortified indignity. Before I could stomp out of the room like an incensed ass, the rock god blurted, “I’m gay, Trace. Shit. Sorry. I thought you knew.”
Oh. Okay. Disappointing, sure, but I didn’t let it get to me. We remained good friends.
My next trip into unrequited love land occurred with the esoteric art student. He had long flowing hair and haunting amber gold eyes which seemed to hold the secrets of life and made my limbs quiver. Things went pretty much the same with art boy as they did with rock god. Another beautiful friend who was unable to quench my robust desires. I introduced my music friend to my art friend and hearts and flowers bloomed all around—for them. I was happy for them. Really. Sort of. Okay, I was pissed. But I eventually got over it, and didn’t panic.
Having seen that look before, the first time rock god gazed at me, I’m not surprised or bothered by the way I’m imagining the jackass swallowing me with his eyes right now. I know it means nothing. What does bother me is his panty melting body in full view, which I, on the other hand, am more than attracted to. My legs are starting to feel rubbery underneath me. Bambi might be the right name for me after all.
“Maybe you need glasses, Bambi.” The jackass smirks. “You can’t see the big things right in front of you.”
“My eyes are fine. For instance, I don’t see anything big in front of me at the moment.” I glance down at the Thor-size hammer between his legs.
What? I’m certainly not going to tell him he’s been blessed by the gods.
He finally decides to wrap his towel around his miraculous…waist. Doesn’t help though. I’m still aware of the perfect V of his oblique muscles pointing the way to wonderland.
“Never had any complaints before.” He grins. “And I was referring to the big black letters on the door of the locker room.”
“I came in to change my clothes.” I flip my hair back in a perfect ‘fuck off’ maneuver.
“I can see that, Bambi.” He arches a brow while taking one more long survey up and down my body. “But this,” he points one finger from side to side, “is the boys’ locker room, and unless you want to start a riot, I suggest you get out of here before the hockey team gets off the ice.”
“Precisely what I was trying to do before you decided to parade yourself out here.” I give it my best nonchalant tone. Jesus H. Christ. Another asshole athlete.
“Parading? I’ll say it again, this is the men’s locker room. Therefore, I’d say you and your lacy red undies are the ones doing the parading.” He glances up at the clock on the wall. “And in about fifteen minutes the parade is going to turn into a stampede when the guys get a look at the way you fill that red lace.” He flashes me another hormone-inducing grin.
I glance down at myself and realize my see-through undergarments are leaving nothing to the imagination. Once again, the warm blush creeping up my skin is causing my face to flame to what must be panty-matching red shades. I scramble to pull on my shorts and tank top. The pompous ass doesn’t even bother to turn his head. He just stands there with that stupid hot grin on his annoying gorgeous face.
“Later, Bambi,” he finally says and turns and walks away with the outline of his tight ass taunting me.
“Not if I can help it, jackass,” I mutter, slip on a pair of flip-flops, grab my bag, and run from the equator-level heat of the locker room.
***
Dak
Holy shit! This girl may kill me. I get that she may be new and it’s possible she didn’t realize this was the guy’s locker room, although it does state Men’s Locker Room in big black letters on the door. But who wears sheer red lace lingerie under their skating clothes? Nobody wears it the way she does, that’s for sure. I don’t even know her; only saw her a handful of minutes ago and she’s got me sweating and trembling like a thirteen-year-old virgin.
I slip on my favorite worn jeans, and the thought of the imminent danger zone known to me as Bambi floods my thoughts and other areas. Fuck. Her body! Yes. Exactly what I’d like to do to that body. And she seemed to be more than interested in my…in me.
I tried to give her a nice long look, but when I got a glimpse of her perfect tits wrapped in red, it was like Christmas morning for my cock. One glimpse at the sweet little package in lace and I had to pull the towel around me and think of depressing things, like the Ducks’ record last year, to dampen my dick’s enthusiastic response to the sight. I know women, and that surly chick has relationship material written all over her. Sorry. Don’t do those anymore.
It’s taken a long time to get myself together. My life ended the day Abbey ended. Well, almost. If not for Dalt and the guys keeping me going, I might’ve crawled up into a ball and joined her. They helped me rejoin civilization. Even after three years, though, it still feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest when I think of her and the day from hell. I loved Abbey, but I can numb the pain of losing her with a never-ending line of girls looking for one night of body-scorching activities, nothing more. No entangled commitments.
I’ve got to get home and bury myself in research. The guys will be back to the house soon and this being the first Friday night of the semester means it’s the first keg blast. There’s a couple hours to get some work done before the throngs descend on the house, then I can lose myself in some party time before I need to focus on the official start of hockey season and classes, not on some hot-tempered figure skater. Definitely skating clear of that thin ice.