The Score

by Elle Kennedy

  He rubs a hand over his jaw, scratching the dark stubble there. “You still giving Davenport pointers? Working one-on-one?”

  I nod. “He’s eager, works hard. But I think some tips from another forward will do him some good.”

  Garrett nods back. “Sure, I’ll tag along. Wouldn’t mind working with him on penalty killing. He made too many mistakes during that Burlington power play yesterday.”

  “At least we won the damn game.”

  “True. Our record still blows, though.”

  “It’s a fucking bummer, man. My Hurricanes have a better record, and they’re frickin’ middle-schoolers.”

  “Your Hurricanes?” He grins. “Dude, admit it. You’re in love with those kidlets.”

  “Fuck off. I just have fun coaching—”

  “You both need to go!” Wellsy announces, a mix of annoyance and exasperation on her face.

  Garrett is visibly hurt. “You’re kicking me out?”

  “I’m sorry, babe. I love you with all my heart but it’s time for some girl talk, and last I checked, you don’t have a vagina. Therefore, you need to go.” She scowls at me. “You too, Dean.”

  I know better than to argue with Hannah Wells when she’s set her mind to something. She wants us gone, then gone we shall be.

  I drain the rest of my coffee, place the empty cup in the sink, and glance at Allie. “I’ll call you later?”

  “Yep.” She walks up and gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek, but there’s no way I’m leaving without something a little more substantial. Capturing her chin in my hand, I tip her head back and press my mouth to hers. The kiss I give her is deep and hungry, involving a helluva lot of tongue, and lasting long enough to make Hannah squawk.

  “Okay, enough!” she orders.

  As Allie and I break apart, I toss a grin in Wellsy’s direction. “Oh, relax, baby doll. It’s just a little French kissing between me and my girl. Nobody died.”

  Hannah’s mouth falls open. Then she points to the door and growls, “Out.”

  *

  Allie

  “His girl?” Hannah says the moment Dean and Garrett are out the door. “Explain yourself, Allison. I mean it. Explain. Yourself.”

  I swallow some more caffeine. I need to jumpstart my brain if we’re going to have this conversation right now. Though honestly, I’m not sure I can explain myself. I can’t make heads or tails of this Dean thing either.

  I guess I’m his girl?

  Which means he’s my guy?

  Because we’re a couple now?

  Bottom line: I did not expect last night to end the way it did. After the way Sean completely lost it and treated me like a clump of dog shit under his shoe, I should’ve been ready to swear off all men, and somehow I wound up with a boyfriend. Life is fascinating sometimes.

  “When did this happen?” Hannah’s voice softens as she searches my face. “And why didn’t you tell me?”

  I shrug awkwardly. “I was embarrassed.”

  “Why would you be embarrassed?”

  Sighing, I carry my coffee cup to the sofa and sink down on it. I tuck my legs under me and wait for Hannah to join me. “Because…because it’s Dean. Dean Di Laurentis, the biggest player we know.” I feel bad saying it, but I’ve always been honest with Hannah. “He’s annoying and ridiculous and totally not my type.”

  Or at least that’s what I used to believe, before I got to know him. Sure, he’s still annoying and ridiculous more often than not, but there’s so much more to Dean than I ever could’ve imagined.

  Hannah purses her lips. “All right. Start from the beginning. When did this happen?”

  “When do you think?” I say wryly. “The night I stayed over at their house.”

  Her face pales. “Oh God. So this is my fault? I did this to you?”

  I burst out laughing. “No, I did it to myself. I got drunk and wound up in his bed. It’s all on me.”

  “And now you guys are together?” She looks flabbergasted. “How is that even possible? You said so yourself—he’s the biggest player we know. Why would you ever agree to date him?”

  “Because I like him,” I say simply.

  “Are you sure we’re not dealing with a rebound situation here?”

  I shrug. “It might have started as one. I can’t deny that Dean’s attention made me feel good. It was…different than Sean’s attention. Sean always needed me but in ways that I could never satisfy. Nothing I did was good enough for him. I was always making him angry and disappointing him, and a part of me knew we weren’t right for each other, but…I like being in a relationship.” Those last words hang between us like a giant anvil. I don’t even have to look at Hannah to anticipate her next question.

  “You sure you aren’t rushing into a relationship because you need to be in one?” Her skepticism is digging a hole into what felt right last night, what even felt right this morning.

  Stricken, I look at her. “I don’t know. I tried to tell Dean no. After the first night we had sex”—mind blowing, unforgettable, can’t-stop-thinking-about-it sex—“he kept calling and texting begging for round two and I kept putting him off until it seemed stupid. I wanted him and he wanted me, so why not?”

  “But you couldn’t keep it just sex?”

  I groan. “I tried, I really did, but I’m not wired that way, Han-Han. And I don’t know how it happened, but I started enjoying more than just his magical dick.” She snickers, but I keep going. “He’s good to me. He’s a great listener. He’s fun to be around. The sex is off-the-charts amazing.”

  Wait, did I just put sex fourth on that list? Apparently so. But that’s because…well, because sex isn’t the first thing I think of anymore when I think of Dean. We’ve come a long way from just being two sweaty bodies on an orgasm quest. We’ve watched a French soap opera where, between us, we only understand every third word. We’ve danced together. We’ve hung out. He met my high school friend. He met my dad—

  “And he’s the first person you want to talk to when you’re upset,” Hannah adds shrewdly.

  I press my lips together. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t deny what happened last night. My first instinct was to get Dean’s arms around me, as if he was the only person who could make it all better. And he did. He soothed my hurt pride, my wounded feelings, and held me all night long. I wouldn’t have slept a minute last night if he hadn’t come over.

  “Are you worried he’s going to hurt me?” I ask with a sigh.

  Hannah rubs the rim of her coffee cup a few times before answering. “No. I think I may need to worry about Dean. He’s never rushed to anyone’s side before. I’m not saying he’s selfish. He’s a good friend, but I know Garrett would call Logan before he’d call Dean.”

  “I don’t know why,” I say irritably. “Dean would give anyone the shirt off his back. No questions asked.”

  “Logan’s reliable.”

  “And Dean isn’t? Just because he’s a little sex-obsessed doesn’t make him unreliable!” A few lukewarm drops of coffee spill out as I slam the cup on the table.

  Hannah bursts out laughing, her unwelcome sounds following me into the kitchen where I grab a few paper towels to clean up my mess.

  “What’s so funny?” I demand, tossing the damp towels in the trash.

  “You and your needless defense of Dean.” She rises from the sofa and joins me in the kitchen, giving my shoulder a small squeeze. “Look, if you want to be with Dean, then be with Dean. I’m just worried because you don’t sleep with guys just for funsies. I’m not saying that sleeping with him right after breaking up with Sean is wrong or dishonorable in any way. It’s just not you.”

  I sag against the counter. “I know it’s not me. I keep telling myself that, but…I really like being with him, damn it.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “No. I don’t have that squishy feeling when it comes to him. Not like I had with…” I trail off. I was going to say not like I had with Sean but I can’t remember the las
t time I felt soft and warm toward Sean. The only feelings I remember having are ones of restraint, irritation, impatience, and, last night, hurt.

  Hannah shoves a new cup of coffee in my hand. “Stop overthinking it and just see where it goes.

  26

  Allie

  Over the next week, I take Hannah’s advice and try to turn off my brain. Dean and I start going out together as a couple. Nothing explicit is said. We don’t wear little badges, but our interactions make it obvious.

  When we’re out, he’s always touching me, but not in a way that makes me feel like he’s trying to mark his territory or show off. He’s just super physical. If I’m near him, his hand is somewhere on my body. Usually his palm is glued to the top of my ass, but sometimes he brushes my hair back or dangles his fingers over my shoulder. He kisses my temple and cheek. Not once do I feel like he’s holding me back.

  Of all of our friends, Garrett is the most concerned. Hannah wants me to be happy and as long as I’m smiling, she’s smiling. Garrett, on the other hand, waffles between worry and wary acceptance. He’s convinced that Dean is going to break my heart, which will therefore create a rift between his girlfriend and one of his best friends.

  I’ve tried to reassure him that I’m all grown up and can handle any heartbreak that comes my way, but then the conversation winds its way back to Sean, who I just want to forget. Dean makes that pretty easy.

  Any time he’s not in class or on the ice, he’s with me. Sometimes he’s reading a book while I rehearse my lines, sometimes he helps me out by reading a part with me. His high-pitched fake female voice has me dying with laughter so it usually takes a few tries to get through an entire scene, and by the time we’re done he’s horny. From my laughter, he says. Although I get the impression that I could do just about anything and Dean would be ready to go.

  The most important thing is that we’re happy—way happier than I’ve felt in a long time. Which is fucking mind-boggling. If someone had told me six weeks ago that Dean Di Laurentis and I would not only be dating, but happily dating? I would’ve laughed my ass off.

  “What do you have going on after rehearsal tonight?” Dean asks from the bed. He’s lying against the pillows, hair tousled, looking like the sex god that he is. I refocus my eyes back to the mirror and away from him so I don’t accidentally stab myself with the mascara wand.

  “Nothing. I’ll probably just grab dinner in one of the meal halls. Why? What are you up to?”

  “I’ve got an errand to run and then I rented some ice time for the Hurricanes.”

  My stomach falls a little. Not see him tonight? I force myself not to show any disappointment. Just because we’re together doesn’t mean we need to be joined at the hip.

  “Want to meet for dinner after?” he adds.

  My heart flips over. “Sure.”

  “Cool. Can you come to the arena? There’s this restaurant nearby that I think you’d like. It’s an Italian place, but it’s got all this fun old-time movie memorabilia.” His hand wanders underneath the blankets, which are pulled down to his waist.

  I poke myself in the eye. “Would you stop touching yourself?” I drop the mascara tube on the table and pick up a tissue to wipe the smear of black I just made at the inside corner of my eyelid because I can’t keep my fricking eyes off Dean.

  “What’s wrong, baby? You jealous? I was thinking of how hot you look.” He rolls to his side. “You make a little circle with your mouth when you put your eye makeup on. It’s basically begging me to stick my dick in there.”

  Nope, there’s nothing warm and squishy about my relationship with this guy. I shoot him a disbelieving glance. “We just got done having morning sex,” I remind him. I apply two quick swipes of the mascara before Dean’s hand can do more damage under the bed sheets.

  “That was thirty minutes ago. Since then, you’ve showered, waved your tits and bare ass in front of me getting dressed, and then made little blowjob circles with your mouth. So yeah, I’m horny again. Sue me.”

  I throw my coat on and lean a knee on the mattress to kiss him goodbye. “You’ll have to jerk off then because I have class and I don’t want to be late.”

  He curls up and kisses my neck first, then my lips. “I’m going to rub one off now so that I can last longer tonight.”

  Damn it. Now I’m horny.

  *

  Dean is on the ice when I arrive at the small arena across from Hastings Elementary. I always thought coaches sat on the sidelines and barked out orders, but he’s in the middle of the rink, his attention fixed on one slight figure wearing pink skates. Pink? I thought the Hurricanes were a boys’ league.

  “You’re getting too high. Stay low so your weight is better distributed.” He crouches low enough that his own head is barely higher than the miniature player and his butt is skimming the ice.

  I watch in amazement as he actually skates a few yards before stretching out a leg and spinning around. His smoothness on the ice is pretty amazing.

  “Come on. Give it another try.”

  The skater wobbles forward.

  “Remember, when you’re perfectly straight, you’re actually standing on the inner and outer edge of your blade. The middle of the blade is scooped out.” Dean makes an upside down u-shape with his finger. “You want to use your edges to keep your legs from spreading too far out. It feels weird at first but I promise you’ll get the hang of it.”

  One pink skate pushes forward tentatively, followed by the opposite one, and the whole motion is repeated again until the figure glides past the crouching Dean.

  “Is this okay?” a little girl’s voice calls out. “Am I doing it right?”

  “You sure are.” He watches her intently as she floats along the ice. “You’re a natural, Koty.”

  “Who’s Koty?” she asks.

  “You’re Koty. Or wait, maybe…Dakota-y? Everyone needs a nickname.”

  “What’s yours?” Dakota puts her tiny fists on her non-existent hips.

  “Awesome. I’m awesome.” He winks at her and then pulls her hands into his, and the two of them skate together. Or I should say Dean skates backwards and Dakota clings to him. Her eyes are fixed on his face, two adoring spots savoring his every movement.

  Despite the chilly air in the arena, I’m completely warm. Dean’s patience toward this young girl is making my ovaries explode. This is a side of him I’ve never seen before, never thought I even cared about.

  Sweetness unfurls inside of me, filling in the cracks and holes I didn’t realize existed, taking me completely by surprise.

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “No. I don’t have that squishy feeling…”

  I think back to my conversation with Hannah, and…fuck. What am I feeling then? How is it that everything he does makes me smile? Why was he the first one I turned to when I was desperately upset? Why—

  An ear-piercing whistle cuts off my silly thoughts, and I’m grateful for the interruption. The sound of what seems like a hundred sticks pounding against the ice fills the arena. I notice a line of pint-sized hockey players on the other end of the rink.

  Dean gestures for them to skate forward and they all race to do his bidding, sending up a wall of shaved ice when they stop at the center line.

  “While Dakota practices her skating, I want you to break into two groups. The first group will carry the puck, head up from the blue line and back again. The second group stands in the middle of the ice. No reaching or trying to steal or checking. Just stand there. Once the first group returns to the blue line, switch. Most important part of this drill is keeping your head up.”

  Dean arranges the boys who serve as the obstacles at varying points along the ice and then remains in the middle of the action as the team splits into two and starts racing up and down the ice, swerving neatly to avoid their teammates.

  “He’s doing a great good job with them,” a deep male voice tells me. I turn to find an older man joining me on the bleachers.

  �
��Dean?” I ask. The man nods. “Yeah, he looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

  “He is. I’m Doug Ellis.”

  We shake hands. “Allie Hayes. Friend of Dean’s. He was bragging about how well the Hurricanes are doing this year. Better than his team.”

  Ellis chuckles wryly. “Briar’s not going to get another Frozen Four appearance this year, which is too bad. How’s Dean taking it?”

  “All right, I guess. He wants to win, but…I don’t think hockey is his life. He plans to go to law school next year.” Dean hasn’t spoken of the pros at all, not the way Garrett does. From what I can tell, he loves the game but the game doesn’t define him, which I appreciate. Sometimes Garrett’s hockey talk gets really tiresome. I’m not sure how Hannah handles it, but I guess when you’re in love you overlook things like that.

  Beside me, Ellis sighs. “Seems like a damned shame, this law school thing. He’s got teacher written all over him.”

  We watch the players run their drill, while Dean takes the time to speak to a few of the skaters who aren’t as fast or as smooth as their teammates. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the kids listen intently. He pats them on the head or back before he lets them go.

  “Do you have a kid out there?” I dip my head toward the ice.

  “Not anymore. I have a son who played on the Hurricanes but he’s in high school now. One of the other PE teachers offered to take over for me after Wyatt moved on, but I wouldn’t give up this coaching post for anything. Kids at this age are special. They’re hungry to learn, still think an authority figure is there to help them, not hold them back, and just the threat of discipline works as effectively as the actual act of punishment.”

  “It’s all downhill from there, I take it?”

  “You have no idea.” He shakes his head in mock dismay. “The older they get, the more they think they know. Dean, though, he’s got the touch. I’ve had older kids hang around just to listen to him talk to the Hurricanes. And it isn’t just the boys that are drawn to him.” Ellis points to Dakota. “That little girl looks at him like he hung the moon, and she looked that way even before he gave her the pink skates. He’s patient and speaks to the kids like they’re important. You don’t see that in a lot of college students. Hell, you don’t see that kind of behavior in most adults.” Ellis shrugs. “If Dean took an interest in coaching, he’d be great at it, but I guess spending your days with middle-schoolers isn’t a glamorous job like being a lawyer.”