Fire and Ice (Sticks & Hearts Book 2)

by Rhonda James

  Best of all, no clingy-ass girlfriend to deal with.

  I don’t want some chick who’s going to be up my ass twenty-four seven. Screw that. I’m my own man. I love my boy, Cage, but I refuse to end up like him. The guy is so whipped he can’t see straight.

  I don’t ever want to become so dependent on someone else I forget how to function when they’re not around.

  I shove my phone in my pocket and glance to where the girl beside me is furiously taking down every word this guy is saying. Her notebook is filled with page after page of shit this guys been teaching us. Meanwhile, I look down and see a blank page staring back at me. My eyes lift to find her watching me. When she catches me staring back, she offers a shy smile before tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Hey, Kennedy,” I acknowledge her, offering a smile in return. I don’t know her very well, but we share the same major so we’ve been in a few classes together over the years.

  “Hi, Derek.” Her smile is wider this time, as if she’s happy I actually remembered her name. Of course, I remembered. I’m not a total douche.

  I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no, I’ve never slept with her. We worked on a group project together two years ago. I remember her, because out of five of us in the group, Kennedy and I were the only two who actually completed the assignment.

  “My mother calls me Derek. Everyone else calls me Davis.”

  She giggles, her hand moving up to cover her mouth in order to keep quiet. “Sorry. Hi, Davis.”

  “That’s better.” I nudge her with my shoulder then lean toward her and lower my voice. “I swear, it’s hard as fuck to concentrate on what this guy is saying.”

  She glances down at my empty notebook and brings her mouth to my ear. “If you like, I can copy my notes and bring them to class on Monday.”

  “That’s really sweet of you, Kennedy, but I don’t want you to go to that kind of trouble.”

  “It’s really no trouble at all. Honest. Besides, you have a game tomorrow and you need to focus on kicking some Warrior ass. This stuff will only be a distraction.”

  “Well, when you put it that way…” I chuckle and stand with the rest of the class. “Thanks, Kennedy. I really appreciate it.”

  “No biggie. You can pay me back by scoring a goal in my honor.”

  At first, I’m confused, but then I remember she used to date the goalie of the Warrior team.

  “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe I’ll even throw in an extra one just to piss him off.” I give her a quick wink then turn and leave the room before I start feeling guilty.

  ***

  “Hey, you.” Cassie bumps my shoulder with her hip before sitting across from me in the cafeteria.

  “Hey, yourself.” My smile broadens when I see her dimpled one. Now that she’s here, I set my phone aside and dig into my food.

  Cassie and I meet every Wednesday for lunch, a tradition we started back in early September, and I look forward to it every week. Sometimes, Cage joins us; other times, he hangs back at our usual table with some guys from the team.

  “Gosh, it feels like forever since we talked.” She places a hand over mine, and a pang of emptiness shoots through me. “How have you been?”

  I know how this sounds…

  But I can assure you it’s not what it seems.

  Sure, I think Cassie is pretty. Gorgeous, actually. But it’s her kind heart I find even more attractive. Besides, a guy would have to be completely blind to miss the way she looks at my best friend. Cage is one lucky son of a bitch, and he knows it.

  “Things have been good. Busy, but good. Went to my parents for Christmas. Rang in the New Year with your brother and Jordan. Spent a couple of days in Atlanta. After I got back, it’s been nothing but practice and games.”

  “Ugh. Tell me about it.” She slumps back in her seat. “Finding time with Brantley has been a little challenging. Coach has been putting you guys through hell in order to get you through this series of games. I finally get it. Scotty used to tell us about the brutal days of January, but I never understood until now. Brantley’s day starts so early, then with classes and a late practice, he comes home dog tired. Honestly, most nights I feel guilty for staying over when I know he needs his sleep.” She blushes slightly once the words slip past her lips.

  My room is right next to where they sleep, so I know exactly why she’s blushing, but I bite my tongue and try to keep my response clean.

  “Trust me, sweetheart, having you there only makes things better.” I laugh and steal a garlic knot from her tray. “Hang in there, he’ll get through it.”

  She laughs with me while reaching over to stab the last meatball from my plate of spaghetti. This is what we do. We buy a lunch then end up eating half of what the other picked out. She says she enjoys eating with me, because Brantley isn’t as willing to share his food as I am. That’s probably because he has a brother and they fought over the last slice of pizza every Friday night while growing up. Me? I’m an only child, so the only one I had to share food with was the dog, and while he was good at taking food, he didn’t have anything to offer in return.

  “Remind me to buy you a pair of noise reduction headphones for your birthday.” She gives me a cheesy grin before biting the meatball in half. “So, Brantley tells me you met a girl.”

  “Of course, he did.” I cup a hand over my mouth and roll my eyes.

  “Stop it.” She smacks at my hand. “It wasn’t like that. It’s just that once you’re in love, you find yourself wishing the same happiness on others. And I must admit, I rather like the idea of having another couple join us when we go out.”

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, but this girl lives in Atlanta and we only hooked up once. I’m afraid there won’t be any double dates with this one.”

  A pout forms on her pretty face but quickly transforms when Cage comes up behind her and circles his arms around her neck.

  “Hey there, gorgeous.” He brings his mouth to her for a quick kiss. “What do you say we blow off our next class and head back to the house? We’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”

  Cassie blushes when her gaze meets mine, and I chuckle as I hook my head toward the door. “Go on. Get out of here.”

  Within seconds, she’s on her feet and gathering her tray. “It was nice catching up with you. I’ve missed you.” She comes over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Brantley and I are having an SOA marathon on Sunday. You should totally join us.”

  I have no intention of spending a Sunday evening watching those two cuddle under a blanket, pretending to watch television. I know this. But Cage doesn’t. He narrows his eyes in warning, and I simply smirk. “I’ll think about it. Now, go.”

  She hops on his back, and I watch them take off, both laughing as Cage darts through the crowded dining room. Even though they haven’t been together long, those two make relationships look easy. Hell, even Scott admits they belong together, and I know how hard that must have been for him to say. I haven’t allowed myself to admit this before now, but I miss the sexy sound of a woman’s laughter in my ear. And the rush I get from knowing I was the one making her laugh.

  Maybe it’s time I let her know I’ve been thinking about her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LANEY

  Please, God, tell me I’m not dreaming. Tell me he’s here with me. In my bed. Under the covers. Inside me. Tell me his hands are really touching me, teasing me, right where I need it most.

  The harsh sound of my alarm is the one to break the news that it was all just a dream. I roll over, groaning because it’s too early for being awake and because I have an early class I can’t be late for. But, if I had it my way, I would prefer to curl up and slip back into the sexy dream I was having.

  With a heavy sigh, I roll over and see my roommate sitting up in bed. I’m surprised to find her awake. Normally, she doesn’t crawl out of bed until long after I’m gone. One look tells me she hasn’t been awake for long. Her hair is a
disheveled mess, and she yawns loudly with her arms stretched over her head. When our eyes connect, she runs a hand through her tangled mop as a giggle slips past her lips.

  “Holy shit, that was hot! I have just two questions: Who the fuck is Derek? And where can I meet him?”

  Because I’m half-asleep, it takes me a moment to catch on, but when I do, I fall back against the bed and groan into my pillow. My god, how embarrassing. It’s hard enough just telling someone about your sexual encounters. But for me, it’s practically unheard of. I keep my private life very private. I’m not like a lot of other girls on campus who feel the need to share ever little detail with their close friends or roommates. Seeing as how I don’t have any friends on campus and a roommate I can barely tolerate, I’m left with no one to talk to.

  And I’m okay with that.

  There is one person who knows more about me than anyone else, but she’s older and she’s also someone I work with. Anita Jacobs has lived a life most would shake their heads at, but she’s a really great person and a loyal friend. She knows why I’m dancing at the club. She knows, and she doesn’t bother trying to discourage me. She knows it wouldn’t work anyhow. Once I set my mind to something, there’s no talking me out of it. She also knows I couldn’t even if I wanted to. There’s too much at stake for me to walk away at this point. But there will come a time when my mission will be completed. Then, and only then, will I walk away with no regrets and without looking back.

  I sit up quickly and turn her way. “Oh my god. I’m so embarrassed. Was I really loud?”

  “Not at first, but then you started dry humping the mattress and calling out ‘Yes. That’s it. Right there. Oh god. Derek.’ At first I thought you had a guy hidden under your covers. I’ll admit I was a little disappointed to discover you were only dreaming.”

  That makes two of us, I silently add.

  I throw back the comforter and climb out of bed, narrowing my eyes as I run a brush through my hair. “No way was I humping the mattress. I woke up on my back, not my stomach.”

  “Fine. But you were humping the air as if Derek were right there with you.” She stands and reaches for a hair tie, gracefully drawing her hair up into a messy bun that comes out looking as if she’s spent hours perfecting it. “Tell me, who is this guy? Do you have a boyfriend you’ve been hiding from me?”

  “No.” I shake my head. But if I did, I certainly would keep him hidden, because you’re a man-stealing whore. “I don’t know who he is. I don’t even know anyone named Derek,” I lie.

  “Well,” she says, stepping into a pair of leggings, “if you ever do meet this guy, don’t be a greedy bitch and let the rest of us have a little taste. He sounds like someone I could really sink my teeth into, if you know what I mean.” She waggles her eyebrows and actually thrusts her pelvis at me; as if I’m so stupid I can’t read between the lines.

  Yeah, bitch, I know what you mean, and if you so much as touch him, I’ll claw your fucking eyes out and feed them to a pack of hungry dogs.

  She turns her back on me, and I flip her off.

  Thank god she’ll never get the chance to meet him, because I have a feeling one look at Kacey Conrad would make Derek forget I even exist.

  ***

  Thanks to poor road conditions and nearly bald tires that make it impossible to drive over forty miles an hour, I dash into the dance studio with barely a minute to spare. Looks as if I’m the last to arrive. The instructor glances at the clock then back to me before setting her lips in a thin line.

  “Cutting it a little close, Miss Dixon. Try leaving fifteen minutes earlier next time.” With that, she turns her attention toward the front of the room, where her star pupil is busy warming up. “Andrea arrived at six forty-five this morning, meaning she already has a thirty-minute jumpstart on her warm-ups. The rest of you need to learn that if you ever wish to become a successful dancer, you must learn that dedication is key.”

  “But the buses were running late this morning,” Courtney chimes in. Looks as if I’m not the only one.

  I duck my head and get busy taping and powdering my feet. Sometimes I find it’s best to not stir the pot. At the beginning of fall semester, Olivia Sutton made it obvious that I was one of her favorite students. I was always the one singled out to demonstrate technique. And I often led the class through warm-ups when Ms. Sutton was away from the studio. Then one day, that all changed. At first I was a little taken aback, but I later learned a couple of my classmates had been in the club and caught my act. They obviously came back to class and reported their discovery to Ms. Sutton, and from that point forward, whenever she addresses me, it’s always with narrowed eyes and a slight curl of her lip. She can judge me for what I do in my personal life. She can even think she’s better than me. But at the end of the day, she knows I’m a damn good dancer who can dance circles around these other girls.

  One guess as to which student it was that turned the instructor against me; Andrea Mancini.

  “Dedication to your craft requires one to press on when faced with adversity. If we wish to achieve the status of those renowned dancers before us, we must not allow personal tragedy to divert us from our path.” Her eyes immediately go to where I’m on the floor stretching, making my muscles tense and my back straighten. “Diversion only implies weakness and lack of passion for our craft, and there is no place in our industry for those who aren’t fully committed.”

  “Excuse me, Ms. Sutton, but there are a number of successful dancers who managed to study dance and hold a job. Having another interest doesn’t mean I’m not dedicated.” I cast my gaze on Andrea, who is surrounded by her groupies. “It simply means I can work all night and still come into the studio and dance circles around the rest of you.”

  So much for not stirring the pot.

  “In your dreams, Dixon.” Andrea’s hand goes to her hip, and she throws her shoulder back.

  “Face it, Mancini, you know I’d wipe the floor with you.” I take a step toward her and bring both hands to my hips.

  “Oh yeah? I’d love to see you try.” She’s trying to sound tough, but I hear the waiver of doubt in her voice.

  My shoulders go back and my chin juts out, and it’s all I can do not to reach across the room and knock her on her ass. “Anytime. Anyplace.”

  “Enough!” Ms. Sutton steps between us and places her hand around my wrist. “This is not the time or place for this. Miss Dixon, it’s rude to make that kind of statement in front of your fellow dancers. You are all excellent dancers. I’ll expect you to meet me after class, so we can continue this discussion in private.

  “No!” I yank my arm from her grip and take a step back. “Don’t place the blame on me. You’re the one who made this public with your speech about dedication and personal tragedy. What would you know about either of those things? What with your perfect family and your perfect career?” I wave my arm over the room. “You’re all so quick to judge. It’s none of your goddamn business what I do in my private life. If any of you have a problem with it, I suggest you go fuck yourselves.”

  I turn on my heel and snatch my bag on my way out the door. I don’t have to turn around to know they’re all staring after me with their mouths hanging open in shock, I can feel their eyes burning holes right through me.

  But it doesn’t hurt. Not anymore.

  That’s what happens after months and months of the same bullshit.

  After a while, you start to develop asbestos skin.

  I’m freezing by the time I reach my car and climb inside. In my haste to get out of there, I neglected to put on a coat, or shoes for that matter. I turn over the ignition and crank up the heater, silently cursing the Michigan winter. While I wait for the car to warm up, I plug my phone into the radio transmitter so I can listen to my music. I envy other students who own newer cars equipped with Bluetooth entertainment systems. I scroll through my playlist, trying to find a song that matches my current mood. I make a selection, and soon Halestorm is blasting through the spea
kers of my ten-year-old car.

  I drop my phone in the cup holder. A text comes through, as I’m about to back up. My heart skips a beat when I see who it’s from.

  No way. This can’t be happening.

  But when I look down and read the words, there’s no mistaking who sent this.

  Played a game of tennis and now I’m all hot and sweaty. U should see me. Turns out tennis players are smokin’ hot.

  First I dream about him.

  And dry humped the air. Don’t forget that, my subconscious reminds me.

  Then he sends a text out of the clear blue.

  It’s been two weeks. Why reach out now?

  Maybe he’s been thinking about you, too, my subconscious pipes up again.

  I brush that thought from my mind and quietly tell her to shut up.

  The events of the morning run through my head as I drive back to the dorms. Now that I’ve ditched class, I have the entire day to myself.

  It isn’t until I’ve settled back on my bed that I allow myself to read through his words again.

  For now, I allow myself to forget that it’s been two weeks since I woke up alone in his hotel suite. It would have been nice to kiss him goodbye. But maybe that would have made saying goodbye even more difficult. Instead, I smile at the memory of the breakfast he had delivered soon after I climbed out of his plush bed.

  A bacon and mushroom omelet. Fresh fruit. Orange juice.

  Even in the heat of that moment, he was listening. Not only had he heard me. He remembered.

  And that is what propels me into action.

  My fingers move quickly, and I can’t help smiling as I type out my response.

  I’ll be the judge of that. Stop teasing and send me a picture already.