What do ya know? The infamous Damon Wolfe, biggest off-the-ice player in hockey land, may be a little bit jealous. What I’m sure must be a huge, smug, Grinch-style grin crosses my face. But even while I’m basking in D’s anguish and even though Josh is going to be there, if D brings a Miss Tits and Ass to the wedding, I’m seriously going to follow through with the strangling thing.
Chapter Six
Wolfe
I can’t stop glancing over at her. Pippa’s sitting next to me; not because she chose to but because the place card directed her to. She’s fucking luscious in her strapless azure blue mini-dress which succeeds in intensifying her eye color. The reflection of the twinkling lights on the ceiling glistens throughout the waves of her long dark hair as it tumbles down her back. The candlelight from the centerpieces on the table reveals the touches of shimmering copper strands left by the sun.
I want to run my fingers through it. I want her on her hands and knees while I pull on it and drive into her from behind. Fuck. I have to stop thinking about her as a woman…I mean…as a fuckable woman.
I haven’t seen her in almost two months, which might explain the reason I can’t stop looking at her. But I have no excuse for the way my dick jolts every time her arm or leg brushes against mine.
My suit is beginning to feel like it’s suffocating me, restricting me. If I keep thinking about being between Heaven’s legs, I’m going to rip out of my suit pants. Thank fuck we’re at a ranch combination winery resort and the ridiculously expensive wine and bourbon keeps flowing. I’m not going to be able to get through this weekend with a clear head.
The Santa Barbara five-hundred-acre ranch is extravagant. I wouldn’t expect anything less from the Andersens and Haywards. Money flows through them as freely as the wine is flowing from the bottles tonight.
The rehearsal dinner is being held in an outdoor covered patio overlooking the ocean. Although the temperature isn’t what any other American would consider chilly, Californians think anything below eighty degrees frigid. Since temps are threatening somewhere in the low sixties tonight, the massive stone fireplace in the center of the wall to our left is in full swing. With the cool breezes drifting in from the ocean, the atmosphere is what I’m sure anyone with tits would describe as dreamy.
The wedding party is seated at one table, and the family members and friends who arrived early and are attending the rehearsal dinner sit at several others. We’re all staying at the resort for the extended weekend celebration.
Dak and Trace are glowing like they just shoved sunshine up their asses and it’s beaming out of every pore on their bodies.
Two hockey bros down for the count: first Dalt, now Dak. All wrapped up in love’s sweet embrace—or the old ball and chain, depending on your perspective. I suppose it’s cool—for them. They’ve got awesome women. But the whole till death forever thing isn’t for me, awesome chick or otherwise. It’s the reason I can’t take my friendship with Pippa to the next level.
She’s a diamond girl: shiny, flawless, perfect, daddy’s little girl. The kind of girl who deserves all the promises. And I’m going to make sure she gets them by keeping my dick away from her. Even though my dick and I almost made the mistake of getting to know her—intimately. And even though I acted like a complete douche when she told me about the guy she’s dating.
I get sick to my stomach thinking about her with someone else. But I can’t tarnish her with a one-night learn-to-fuck lesson and then get up and walk away. And I would. It’s what I do. It’s what I trained myself to do all those years ago on the streets. I don’t know anything else. I don’t feel anything else after I’ve elicited the last blissful scream of my name from whoever I’ve just been inside of, balls deep.
“Hey. Do you have a library card?” I come up with a cornball line and finally make my mouth move.
She turns to me and rolls her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’m checking you out.”
“Yes. I noticed. But you should really eat something and stop staring at me and slurping down the bourbon.” Pippa’s flippant comment confirms my sly attempt at sideways ogling is an epic fail. “This salad is incredible. It has crab, lobster, shaved truffles, and even a bit of caviar in it.”
“I’m not staring at you. Well, I was. But only because I was admiring that color on you.” I don’t usually notice the color of the clothing I want to tear off a woman. But Pip looks hot as fuck in the blue dress.
I push the lump of caviar to the side of my dish. I hate that shit.
“Oh. Okay. Mr. Vuitton. You were only admiring my dress color.” She smirks, scoops the unwanted pile of caviar off my plate, and shovels it in her mouth. Blech. At least she succeeded in temporarily obliterating any desire to kiss her.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry about the other night on the phone. I was overtired from the trip and unusually grumpy.”
“Unusually?” she teases, but stays focused on her disgusting seafood salad. “So, where’s Miss T and A?”
“Who?”
“You know. The skank with the Olympian tits and ass. You said you were bringing her.” She doesn’t look at me, just keeps eating her fucking salad like she’s never seen food before.
“Um…about that. There was no Tits and Ass. I made her up.” The humiliating admission is as far as I’m willing to travel on the honesty train.
I’m not about to tell her, in fact, there hasn’t been any T and A since the night at her house and our curtailed orgasmic interaction. Two months without so much as a ground shaking blow job because all I can think about, all I dream about, is Pippa and her immaculate pussy.
“I know.” She turns to look at me.
“What do you mean, you know?”
“I told you. I knew there was no one waiting for you because you had called to get together with me. What I don’t know is why you were so angry you felt you had to lie to me.”
“I wasn’t angry I was…I was…pissed off about you dating someone and not telling me about it.”
“I was telling you about it, and you got all territorial and crazy. I think you were jealous.” She shakes her fork at me.
“I wasn’t jealous! I was concerned.” I manage to turn the hushed private conversation we’re having into a public outburst when I yell out my declaration. Pippa sucks in her lips to hold back her devious little smile.
“Hey! What’s going on with you two?” Batt, who’s seated to my right, asks. “You having your own private romantic event over there?”
“Yeah, right. Heaven and Wolfe having a romantic conversation,” Dak laughs. He tips back his bourbon on the rocks and takes a long swallow. “Not likely.”
“Why not likely?” Trace interjects. “I think they make a fabulous couple.”
Dak chokes on the spicy liquid sliding down his throat and sprays it out all over his salad. “A couple? Are you kidding? Heaven’s a…a…and Wolfe, he’s a…a…” He flails his drink around in the air like the words, ‘virgin’ and ‘whore’ are somewhere in the air waiting to fall into his glass.
“What exactly are you trying to say, Dak?” Pippa demands.
“I’m not trying. I’m saying, if the thought even crosses one of Wolfe’s brain cells to get with you he’s going to be the only goalie in the NHL with a hockey stick rammed up his ass.” He lifts his glass to me like I’m supposed to toast his ridiculous threat. I put my glass down long enough to answer his toast with two very erect middle fingers.
“Fuck you, asshole.” I pick up my glass and raise it in my own crappy toast.
“Yes. Dak. Fuck you,” Pippa adds and clinks her wine-filled glass to mine.
Everyone at the table stops drinking or chewing and looks at Pippa in wide-eyed shock, and then at Dak to see his response. But Pippa doesn’t give him time to respond.
“What? There comes a time in every girl’s life when she just has to let the ‘fuck yous’ rip.”
Heaven is a unique girl. She doesn’t indulge in cursing because she thinks,
“It’s lazy. There are better ways to use one’s words to express emotion.” An exact quote. Shit you not. I teased her and said that was “fucking bullshit.” She punched me in the arm. Anyway, it’s the reason everyone is so shocked to hear her demonstrative comment to her brother.
“I’ll fucking kill him if he thinks he’s…” Dak pushes his chair back, ready to stand and take me down at the suggestion of my hooking up with Heaven. No worries. He isn’t thinking anything I haven’t thought myself—a million times. I’d kick my own ass around the block if I had a one-nighter with Pip.
Trace grabs his arm to keep him from standing. Batt intervenes, reminding us where we are.
“Now, now, boys. You know I love all you assholes dearly, but remember where the fuck we are and why we’re here. Reel in your dueling dicks for the weekend and let’s celebrate this special occasion.” He raises his glass. “To Trace and Dak. May you have a long, happy and healthy life together cleaning up all the world’s oceans and having lots of your own little tadpoles!” He extends his glass toward me, and I don’t hesitate to clink to his toast.
Even though Dak and I aren’t on a hockey team together or aren’t housemates anymore, I still love the pain in the ass like a brother. And Tracey is one of the finest women I know—other than Heaven. I’m happy he’s found his happily ever after, even if I’m not looking for one of my own. I also understand and respect his wanting to protect Pippa from me. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t expect anything less. It’s exactly what I’m trying to do.
“To Dak and Trace,” I reiterate Batt’s toast. “Still not sure why she decided to marry this big windbag instead of me but I guess I’ll have to learn to live with it.” Everyone laughs as I raise my glass to Dak.
“Yeah. Right.” Dak smirks and touches his glass to mine from across the table. “Trace is way too smart to be interested in a player like you, bro.” He glances at Heaven. The responding ‘oh sures,’ ‘ah huhs,’ and ‘rights,’ ripple through the people seated around the table.
“Oh no. You weren’t a player at all,” Trace teases. “It wasn’t a naked girl sprawled out on top of you when I walked into your room while we were dating.”
“Oh. Yes. I seem to remember something like that,” Nikki continues to taunt Dak. “I’m not sure, but wasn’t Dak lying on his back naked while the lady in question—and I use the term loosely—tried to ride him like a cowgirl?” A unison of agreement is heard around the table.
“I clearly remember Tracey was a basket case when she came home for the holidays after that little misunderstanding,” Sloan, Trace’s sister, sneers. She doesn’t seem to be enjoying the memory as much as everyone else.
Her Guccified boyfriend seated next to her—who looks like he’s in a constant pose waiting for the next photographic shoot—lets out an evil sounding snicker. Sloan picks up her wine glass and takes a long swallow without acknowledging her date’s strange display of malevolent pleasure at Trace’s distress. In fact, the only person at the table other than me who seems to have noticed the guy’s strange response is Batt, who’s leering at him like he’s about to rip his head off. Since we’re technically stepbrothers, I figure we may have developed similar radar when it comes to picking up on dickhead vibes. We make no comment on the guy’s strange reaction.
“Oooh. I have one,” Heaven calls out, pulling my attention back to the current group task of busting Dak’s balls. “Remember the time you thought Mom and Dad were away for the weekend, and you brought those two girls home and…”
“Okay. Enough,” Dak interrupts. “We all know the episode with Bri was a misunderstanding. Since the first time I saw Trace, I haven’t laid eyes on any other woman. She’s the love of my life.” He leans over and kisses Trace on the cheek.
“Aww, that’s sweet, bro. But it wasn’t your eyes you were laying on Bri,” Dalt laughs. And Trace pushes Dak’s face away from her in a playful rejection because the whole Bri event was resolved between them a long time ago.
“Nice. To my best friends in the whole world and my loving, devoted sister,” Dak raises his glass this time. “I just want to say fuck you very much for being here on this special occasion.” Everyone laughs and raises their glasses in a toast.
“But seriously,” Dak continues. “Thank you all for being here and sharing this weekend with Trace and me. I don’t think she would have taken me back and said yes to being stuck with me forever if it hadn’t been for you guys. You’re our family forever, and we love you.” The ‘awws’ make their way around the table this time.
I glance over to see Pippa brush a tear off her cheek. I hold myself back from running my thumb under her eye to catch a tear.
The main entrees are served amid our toasts. They’re the most decadent, delicious looking burgers I’ve ever seen made from Wagyu beef and foie gras topped with truffle sauce and shaved black truffles, all served on a brioche bun. Everyone goes back to eating when they’re served.
“Oooh ma gawd,” Pippa moans through a mouthful of burger. “Sooo good.”
“You do realize there’s a vegan option on the menu, right?” She’s been driving me crazy for months with the disgusting vegan restaurants she always wants to go to for lunch. I mean seriously. What the fuck?
She wipes her mouth with her napkin after swallowing the huge burger bite she was moaning over. “Of course I know there’s a vegan option. If there wasn’t, my mom would have to eat the floral centerpieces.” She goes back to drooling over the lavish burger on her plate.
“So why are you eating seafood and meat? I thought you never touched the stuff.”
“D,” she sighs out my name like I’m too naïve for her to waste her words on. “I’ve been eating vegetarian or vegan food my whole life. It’s what my mother served us, the only thing we ever had in the house. I’m a big girl now, making my own decisions. There comes a time in every girl’s life when she has to say fuck it and enjoy diverse choices, tastes.” She purses her lips and gives me a narrow-eyed glare.
“Huh. Seems to be a whole lot of things a girl has to say ‘fuck’ to this weekend.” I smirk.
“Exactly. And I intend on doing just that.” She quirks a brow and then goes back to chomping on her burger.
Damn. I don’t think we’re talking about food anymore. Sounds like she’s planning on fucking Dr. Douche this weekend.
“Speaking of which, where’s Dr. Do…the infamous doctor tonight?”
“He’s not here yet. He had lab hours. He’ll be here for the wedding, Saturday.”
“How fucking awesome for you,” I mumble under my breath.
“What?”
“Huh? Oh nothing. Can’t wait to meet Mr. Wonderful.” I polish off the last swallow in my glass and raise it to the waitress to signal for another bourbon.
“What can I get you, sir?” the perky blonde asks as she bends down to shove her ample cleavage in my face—cleavage I’m uncharacteristically not the least bit interested in.
“Michter’s Sour Mash. Double. Straight up.” It’s going to be a long fucking weekend.
Chapter Seven
Heaven
I don’t see D all afternoon on Friday. Dak and the guys hang out doing whatever it is guys do the day before a wedding. We girls go to the beach and then spend the rest of the day being pampered in the spa with massages, facials, mani-pedis, and never-ending champagne. By the time we all meet in the bar later in the evening, I’m rubbed, scrubbed, and blissfully floating on champagne dreams.
The cozy ambiance in the lounge immediately makes me feel as if I’ve stepped back in time. The entire repurposed building was built with huge stones like an old castle. The stones make up the interior lounge walls, as well. Roughhewn beams cross the ceiling. The crackling flames dancing in the fireplace and the flickering candles encased in sconces on the walls make their sultry swaying impression, adding to the old-world charm.
My gaze settles on the bar along the back wall. The well-stocked bar, with its high-priced beer, wine, and liquors from
around the world, belie the room’s seventeenth-century ambiance.
But the trendy bar isn’t what’s holding my interest. The too-beautiful-to-be-human leaning against the bar looks good enough to eat in a silver-gray sports jacket with a black t-shirt underneath and black jeans hugging him in all the right places. D’s wavy hair is hanging loose on his shoulders. His chiseled cheekbones are even more prominent as his sly grin holds the attention of the person sitting on the barstool to the left of him. Crap. The person holding his attention is the stunningly beautiful blonde who was our waitress at the rehearsal dinner. Is it surprising it took him only hours to find someone to hook up with? Not at all. Do I hate her with every fiber of my being? Almost. But I can handle this.
“I’m a strong, powerful woman in control of my own destiny.” I chant aloud the mantra Trace has been reciting to me ever since I’ve known her. She said her mom recited it to her almost like a lullaby from the time she was a little girl and it got her through some tough times.
“What? You okay?” Nikki asks as she follows my gaze across the room to where Blondie has her hand running up and down D’s arm.
“I’m fantastic.” The mantra works in making me feel empowered and happy with the world. Or maybe it’s the champagne bubbles. Whatever it is, I tell Nikki I’ll catch up with them in a few and approach the bar like a woman on a mission. My mission—to squeeze into the right of D and order an AMF, aka Adios Mother Fucker.
Trace let Dak pick the signature cocktail for their wedding since he wasn’t allowed to choose anything else. He claims he chose it because it’s the same color as a beautiful Caribbean ocean, which is also the same color scheme as the wedding. But I’m sure he picked it because it has an obscene name and it’s made with equal parts vodka, rum, tequila, gin, and blue curacao. It’s a celebratory-to-the-max-drink waiting to happen. My brother may be a crude jackass, but in this case, I’ll cut him some slack. The alcoholic content is precisely what I need to get myself in a party mood.
Cross Crease (On The Edge Book 3) Page 8
