Cross Crease (On The Edge Book 3)

by Elizabeth Hartey

  “I know. It’s going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” I reach out once more to brush her hair behind her ear, but she steps back away from me.

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t mean because I’m so irresistible. I mean because you don’t know anyone other than hockey guys and you already declared them off limits. Sooo…”

  “Bull. I know lots of other guys.” I don’t know any other guys but manwhore hockey players.

  “Like who?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Like…um…I need time to think about it.” I scratch my head. No way in fucking hell is there anyone out there good enough for her.

  “Don’t worry about it. I got this.” She grins and tilts her head toward the empty street outside her door.

  “What do you mean you got this? Wait. Tell me you’re not going to sleep with some random asshole.”

  “Not cool, D.” She shakes her head. “Or fair. I don’t ask you about your innumerable hookups.”

  “Yeah. But I’m a…”

  “Uh. I wouldn’t revisit your chauvinistic beliefs at this particular time. I’m not feeling very forgiving.” She twists her pursed lips to one side.

  “I was just going to say I’m an asshole and you’re not.” I lift one shoulder in a slight shrug. She’s right. I was going to give her the bullshit ‘I’m a guy’ reasoning again. But what I should be saying is, I’m a broken guy with a messed up broken past, and she’s…perfect.

  “Can’t argue with you there.” Her mouth tips up in a sweet grin. I want to wrap her in my arms and bury my nose in her hair. I’d be happy just holding her all night and breathing her in. Jesus. Since when have I ever wanted to hold a chick without doing anything else? And all night, no less!

  “Can you get out now, please? I’m exhausted. I can’t talk about this anymore.”

  I start to walk out the door but stop. Even without touching her I feel the warmth emanating from her body and the light radiating from her soul through her beautiful eyes. I don’t care what she says. I’ll never let anyone use her, hurt her. Including me.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I whisper but keep my hands fisted at my sides to stop myself from reaching out for her.

  “Don’t.” Her curt tone shocks me. “I need some time to think about stuff and get my head into school.”

  “Then I’ll call you this weekend. The surf’s supposed to be…”

  “No. My internship starts in two weeks. You have a road trip with a string of away games coming up. I need time to prepare for working at the clinic. I’ll call you when you get back.”

  “Are…are we okay?” In trying to do the right thing, something I’ve always been shit at, I may have lost her anyway.

  “We’re good. No worries. I’ll call you.” She smiles and flicks her chin toward the lonely street. As my legs carry my protesting dick into the dark, desolate night it occurs to me, if I’ve lost her, I may never have sunlight in my life again.

  Chapter Five

  Heaven

  One month later

  I didn’t call D when he got back. I couldn’t. When you practically beg a guy to have sex with you, and he stops mid-foreplay and says something like, um, let me find someone to take care of this for you, it’s a teensy bit humiliating.

  I pretended I was okay with the whole awkward scene, even going so far as to suggest he hook me up with a teammate. But what I really need is to distance myself from D and try to cleanse my system from all Wolfe-related desires.

  Wolfe does things to my hormonal levels which are lethal. I can’t seem to stop myself from wanting my lecherous friend. He’s like a drug I need just to get through the day, even if there are dangerous side effects as long as my arm. I haven’t even gone to any Winds games since he’s been home. It’s too difficult to see him and not crave him.

  Making my way into my house after a long day in the clinic I drop my keys and computer bag on the coffee table and collapse onto the sofa. Hal jumps into my lap, whining in my face for attention. Sheldon saunters into the room and sits obediently at my feet but barks when he doesn’t get the recognition he wants fast enough. I bend to scratch his head while holding Hal under one arm.

  We were extra busy today. Every muscle in my body aches to the point where I should have been the one to climb onto a treatment table. As I sit up and let my head drop back onto the sofa, a muffled rhythm beats inside my bag. It’s D’s ringtone—the one I downloaded: The Wolfe. If you listen to the song, you’ll understand why I’m sure The Spencer Lee Band must’ve known D when they wrote it.

  D keeps calling and leaving voice messages and texts. I answer his texts and make some excuse about school or interning. I don’t answer his calls. I can’t hear his deep, velvety voice without getting a weird ache between my thighs. The stupid thing is, as much as I want to shun my attraction to him, I miss my friend. I can’t keep avoiding him.

  Pushing myself up and placing Hal on the floor, I slip the phone from its designated pocket in my computer satchel. I’m met with Wolfe’s orgasmic face. My finger hovers over the screen; my heart and vagina are doing battle with my brain. My brain’s too weary to fight and loses the battle.

  “Hey, D. What’s up?” I simulate my cheeriest, most aloof voice.

  “Geez! Did you drop off the planet? I thought you said you were going to call me when I got back?” I close my eyes and drink in the intoxicating voice I’ve missed so much.

  “I know. Sorry. This internship is killing me. I thought I was in pretty good shape, but I didn’t realize how physical this job was going to be. I’m using muscles I didn’t know I had.”

  “You need a break. It’s Friday night, and I don’t have a game. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

  “No!” I blurt out, all attempts at indifference lost. “I mean, no.” I soften my protest. “I’m too exhausted. I’m just going to sink into a hot bubble bath and then climb into bed.” D doesn’t answer. In fact, his silence makes me think the call has disconnected until I hear a sound like he’s clearing his throat.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah…um…yeah. Still here. But you’re going to need to eat dinner. I’ll bring the cardboard tasting vegan stuff you like.” He chuckles, and the sound hits me like a lightning bolt to my heart.

  “No. I’m even too tired to chew. I’m skipping dinner tonight. I had a late lunch anyway. But thanks for the thought. I’ll take a raincheck. Okay?”

  “Okay. How about tomorrow morning? I’ll take you to breakfast. I have practice at six but don’t have a game till eight. We’ll have the afternoon.”

  “Wish I could, but I have a ton of notes to catch up on before Monday.”

  Part of me is wishing he’d ask me once more and insist on coming over—the bad girl part. She wants to say, “The hell with it. I don’t care if you get up, walk out, and go screw every other woman in LA,” but I know the truth. If we had sex, I wouldn’t be able to stand by afterward and witness his innumerable, somewhat peculiar indiscretions and remain his bemused friend. Guess I’m not as freethinking as my mom.

  I’ve never been a very good bad girl. Ironically, it’s sort of my mom’s fault. She cursed me with the name Heaven Lee. Say that once, fast. See what I mean? I feel compelled to live up to the label. If Mom had realized the enormous V-jay blocking mistake she was making, she would have named me Jezebel.

  In fact, if she knew I’m still as unexplored as the newly discovered ETNO planets, she would most likely start pumping a love potion herbal concoction into me. Not kidding. She has an herbal concoction for just about every situation in life. With love and sex being two things topping her list for happiness, Love Potion Number 9 could be her theme song.

  I realize a mother being dismayed because her daughter is a total stuffed shirt yet remains as unstuffed as possible by any human male is a tad unconventional. That’s my mom, an unconventional anachronism right up to her eyelids: a beautiful, happy, loving, born too late, flower child. She believed in
marijuana’s therapeutic properties long before it became fashionable. Now, CBD oil, non-GMO food—predominantly kale-based—home birth, naked yoga, healing crystals and free love with organic condoms, are her formula for a blissful, fulfilled existence. The key word there being, love.

  The day I got my period for the first time, Mom announced it was time for our “mother-daughter talk”—as if I wasn’t traumatized enough by the bloody river gushing from my body. She tenderly went on to explain—along with the sexually graphic description, which I can never unhear—as long as you love the person you’re with, having sex is a beautiful thing. Seriously. Stephen Still’s Love the One You’re With is her actual theme song. Well, it’s her actual default ringtone. I’m thinking she might’ve misunderstood Stephen’s meaning.

  Nevertheless, based on Mom’s interpretation, she assumes I’ve ‘loved’ at least one person somewhere along my young adult journey. I hate to disappoint her by telling her I’m still as pure as the newborn babies she delivers in homes all over LaLa Land. Did I mention she’s a midwife? How can I be the daughter of LA county’s love guru and still be a virgin at twenty-one?

  “What?” D chuckles and blasts me from my inner turmoil. Oh boy. Did I say that out loud? The cricket silence on the phone line after my excuse for not going to breakfast with him, allowed my mind to drift.

  “Huh? I…I said…um…I was just wondering how I got so behind in my work. I have twenty-one chapters to read.” Hang up before you say something else super stupid.

  “Hey, Squirt…you…you avoiding me?” If he did hear my actual question, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he asks his faltering question.

  “Of course not,” I lie “I just really need to focus on this internship right now.”

  And I need to focus on the guy I had lunch with. A guy Dak introduced me to. Dr. Joshua Littner. He’s a theoretical biologist who specializes in conservation biology. He works at the Marine Institute with Dak and Tracey and has become my brother’s latest bromance and current hero.

  Dak couldn’t stop jabbering over what a great guy Josh is when he was insisting I go on a dinner date with him. After the night at my house when D stopped mid…uh…when D turned me down, I decided it was time to quit fooling myself. Time to put myself out there and make an effort to meet someone else. I agreed to meet Dr. Littner for lunch. Somehow it felt less familiar, not as intimate as a dinner date.

  Josh is fantastic: smart, interesting, funny, attentive. And although I was expecting him to be stuffy and professorial in appearance, turns out theoretical biologists can be fun and HAF.

  I’m going to give this new relationship a chance and I can’t while spending time with D. Maybe after I figure out what’s happening with Josh I’ll be able to be around D without getting all warm and gooey; be able to enjoy him as a good friend and nothing else.

  But I can’t explain everything to D yet. I don’t know why. It seems weird to talk to him about another guy after what we did or should I say, what we almost did. It’s not like I have a relationship with Josh yet, anyway. It was only two casual lunch dates.

  I’ll continue using my new internship as an excuse to keep my distance from D for a while without having to go into the dirty details. I know I should be honest. But what am I supposed to say? “Sorry, D. I can’t be near you without wanting to tear your clothes off.” Please allow me to hold onto at least one shred of my dwindling dignity.

  “They’re transferring me to another clinic in a few weeks, and they say it’s going to be even more intense than this one. I need to be proficient in everything before I’m moved to wherever they’re sending me. Soon as I get into the rhythm of things, I’ll have more time to hang out and surf. I miss being in the water. I need to get out there in the waves before I completely lose my mind.”

  “Yeah. I miss…surfing too.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say his quiet tone sounds sad, but this is D. He doesn’t do sad. He does disgusted, pissed off, sarcastic, but I’ve never seen or heard him do sad.

  “You know you don’t need me to surf, right? You’ve gotten really good. You can go by yourself now. Or you could teach someone else like…how about Gigi? I’m sure she could handle a surfboard.” And all kinds of other big things between her legs.

  “Who?” Jesus. He’s forgotten Miss Frenchie Swimsuit Model already? Okay. I’m kinda happy he doesn’t remember her. But she was gorgeous and nice, and she was clearly into him. What more could a guy want? I’ll never understand these manwhore hockey players.

  “Oh. Yeah. No. I haven’t seen Gigi since the night I came to your place and we…um…since that night.”

  “Really? I’m sorry.” Not sorry at all. “I hope it wasn’t because of me.” I hope it was totally because of me. “She seemed so nice.” And gorgeous and French and perfect.

  “Nah. She was…well, you know me. I don’t go back to the scene of the crime more than once.” He snickers but it sounds more gloomy than happy.

  “You okay? You sound strange.”

  “I’m good,” he says, failing at his attempt to be convincing. “Just being my broody self when I don’t get to see my sweet little Pippa.” Of course. What he’s missing is his little doll to joke around and hang out with, someone to keep him smiling—like a court jester.

  “Right. Well, it won’t be long before I see you. We have Dak’s and Trace’s rehearsal dinner and wedding in two weeks. I hear the place is phenomenal. I can’t wait to have a few days to relax and enjoy some party time with everyone.”

  My brother and Trace finally decided to tie the forever knot. They’re getting married and having the ceremony and reception at a resort vineyard which overlooks the ocean. The venue is supposed to be spectacular and impossible to book. But since it belongs to an old family friend of Dalt’s and he’s Dak’s best man, he hooked them up.

  I’m thrilled for my brother, getting to marry his soulmate in a dream location. But selfishly, I’m not looking forward to being partnered at the romantic, lovey-dovey wedding with the groomsman Trace chose for me. Something tells me it wasn’t a coincidence I was paired with Wolfe. I’m sure Tracey and Nikki put their beautiful, conspiratorial, matchmaking heads together to plot the pairing. But since Josh is on the guest list, I’ll be able to focus on him when all my wedding party duties are fulfilled and keep my mind—and hands—off D.

  “The wedding’s not for two weeks,” he repeats what I just told him.

  “I know. Tracey must be frantic. Even with a wedding planner, the final two weeks must be…”

  “We’re not going to see each other for another two weeks?” He interrupts my try-to-change-the-subject ramble about the wedding. “What the fuck? I thought you said we were good?”

  “We are good, D. In fact, you’ll be happy to know you can stop looking for my Mr. Right.”

  “Yeah? Why’s that?” For the first time since I told him not to come over, his voice is back to its usual confident tone.

  “I’m dating someone—a doctor, an animal conservationist. He’s a great guy. I think you’ll like him. You’ll get to meet him at the wedding.” So much for not wanting to tell him about my non-relationship yet. But why should I feel awkward telling him about Josh? D’s the one who said he wanted me to date someone else. At least it’s better he finds out now, rather than waiting to surprise him with Josh at the wedding.

  “You’re bringing a date to the wedding?” His question is so quiet I almost can’t hear it through the phone speaker.

  “No. I’m not bringing him. He’s on the guest list. He works with Dak, and he’s his friend.”

  “Dak introduced you to this…this…guy?” He snarls the question a bit louder but doesn’t wait for me to answer. “He must be a great guy for Dak to give him the green light to fuck you,” he sneers, his voice no longer soft or sad.

  “Are you mad at me? I thought you would be happy. Isn’t this what you—”

  “I have to go. I’m meeting a chick at Pelican Hill. I’m late,” he interrupts.

&nb
sp; “You’re meeting someone at a hotel? But I thought you…”

  “Yeah. She’s a great girl. I think you’d like her. Mile-long legs. Sweet ass. Gorgeous tits. And she knows how to use them, if you know what I mean. Maybe I’ll bring her to the wedding so you can meet her.” He’s never talked to me like this. I know he has the ability to use his words like arrows to shred his target. I’ve heard him do it more than once to other people. But never to me. He’s trying to hurt me with his vicious words. But no way does his mean boy act fool me.

  “Wait. Could you speak up a little? I can’t hear you over the noise of the spaceship.”

  “What are you talking about? What spaceship?” D hisses into the phone.

  “The one filled with aliens who just laser fried your brain.” I can’t resist taunting him about his ridiculous behavior.

  “Hardy-fucking har. You’re a laugh a minute,” he says, but he isn’t laughing.

  “You think? Because right now you seem to be the one joking around. I don’t believe you have someone waiting for you since you asked to come here with dinner for me. And even if there is someone, since when do you describe your skanks’ geographical topography to me and what you do with all their hills and crevices?” Also, if you bring her to the wedding, I may have to strangle you with the bride’s garter. I keep that one to myself. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you being so cruel?”

  “Cruel? I’m not being cruel, Pip. I thought you’d be happy for me.” Mimicking my words, he emphasizes the word happy. “You know. Because I found someone who has everything I need, everything I want.”

  He’s lucky I can’t transport myself over the cellular pings, or I might have to strangle him now instead of waiting for the wedding day.

  “Gotta go. See you in two weeks.” He disconnects the call.

  Does his apparent anger and cruelty upset me? Hell no. I’m enjoying this. Am I being self-centered relishing my best friend’s distress? I guess. Do I care? Ahhh. Nope.