No one answered me.
My nerves broke, and I rushed for the bathroom, puking my guts out in the red-smeared bathroom. I closed my eyes, wishing Dad was here and not out of town. I’d called him while they worked on her, and he’d left immediately on the private jet the Mavericks owned.
Later in the hospital as I sat by her bed, I gazed into her face, self-loathing eating me inside, tearing me down. Her destruction had begun with me. I lay my head by hers and … shit … I fucking cried, hating myself.
A WEEK LATER, my mom agreed to check into a treatment facility for depression. Thankfully, she’d cut herself horizontally and not vertically, missing her vital arties. From her hospital bed, she’d promised us it was a mistake. That she hadn’t meant to go so far. Dad got her another new therapist. I just felt numb.
And perhaps that is why on the day I went back to school, my feet automatically went to the one place I’d been denying them: straight to the desk behind Dovey in history class.
I sat down, my eyes entranced by the way her hair fell down from her high ponytail. I wanted to wrap my hand in it and tug on it until she turned around. I wanted her to face me so I could—
Well, shit, I didn’t know why I wanted her to face me.
She moved, getting a book out of her backpack, the simple motion causing the air to stir and giving me my first scent of Dovey. She smelled sweet with a hint of spice about her, like the wild flowers that grew at our lake house in White Rock.
I stared at her so long and hard, I wondered if she could feel my gaze. Could she feel my intensity? Did she sense that her lightness was the perfect foil for my darkness?
When the bell rang and she stood, I did too. I opened my mouth to say … hell, I have no idea what I was going to say … but I didn’t. I was nervous and jittery, my confidence shot.
She flicked her eyes at me, seemingly not interested.
“I’m Cuba,” I said to her in a rush. She’d been turning to go, but paused and looked back at me.
She blinked up at me, blushed, and then smiled. “Dovey,” she said, hitching her book bag up on her shoulder.
We stood there and she gave me an expectant look, and I fidgeted, realizing it was my turn to talk.
But I had nothing. The guy who’d been with so many girls I’d lost count; the guy who didn’t care about love or relationships or all that mushy stuff. I just stood there like a total idiot. And because I felt panic rising, I ducked my head and walked around her. Pretty much snubbing her. God, I’m an ass. I had no clue how to treat a nice girl.
“Dream bigger than your fears.”
–Cuba
THE NEXT DAY, I walked in the cafeteria for lunch, and Dovey was the first thing I saw, sitting alone at one of round tables in the back.
I stopped and stared, remembering a sickeningly sweet dream I’d had the night before about her. How could I get this girl out of my head?
Maybe I just needed to go for it with her.
I mean, it was obvious I had a thing for her. And fuck it—I was tired of running from my feelings. Maybe, just maybe this one time, I could be responsible and really just … put someone else first.
With clammy hands and sweat popping out, I walked to her. She didn’t even notice me as I stood right in front of her. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I’d only screw it up in the end.
Yet …
Did I want to wonder about what might have been? Life doesn’t give you do-overs. Luke Skywalker didn’t get one when he blew up the Death Star. He’d had one shot, and he’d nailed it.
Yeah.
I took a deep breath and sat down directly across from her.
“I had a dream about you. A good one,” I said, right as she took a giant bite from what I think was a peanut butter sandwich. A glob of strawberry jam slid out of the corner of her mouth, and she wiped it off and looked up. To be honest, she kinda glared at me.
“Yeah? Is that so?” she said, arching a brow.
I nodded.
She talked around her chews. “What’s the joke? Did Spider put you up to this?”
What? Why would Spider put me up to something? I didn’t even like that asshole.
I shrugged. “No joke. I dreamed about you.”
“Do tell,” she said, eyeing my black knit shirt, her gaze lingering over my chest. Some of my confidence came back. Thank God. I was starting to wonder where the hell my balls were.
I leaned in. “You may not know this, but my mother’s a gypsy. She tells me what my dreams mean.”
“Really?” she said. “I thought your mother was Brazilian. Aren’t gypsies Romanian?”
“My father’s side is Romanian.”
“Nope.” She packed her lunch up. “Your dad is Archie Hudson, owner of the Dallas Mavericks, and as American as apple pie.”
“True. But I did have a dream about you.”
She made a scoffing sound. “Hello, I’ve been here since freshman year, and this is the first time you’ve noticed me? Face it, I’m not part of your little group over there.” She pointed out the cheerleaders and jocks at a table in the back. “Not buying it.”
Then she got out her math homework and ran a quick finger down the page like she was checking over it.
She was ignoring me. When most girls would have be falling all over me.
“So what clique do you belong to?” I asked, eyeing the empty seats around her.
“The non-conformist one. I don’t fit in with the Goths or the geeks or the choir people or the skaters or the druggies. You get the picture. I like being alone.” She shifted her body out of the chair and stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a math class to get to.”
I stood too. “Wait.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t ask about the dream. Don’t you want to know?” And then out of nowhere, I felt myself blushing, and she saw it too, because she went still, taking in my fire-engine-red face.
After one more searching glance, she settled back on the hard chair. “Dream, huh.”
I sat back down. “And by the way, I’ve noticed you even before our class this year. You’re different.” My voice went low. “And I saw you dance.”
“When?”
“Back in the fall. The football field has a clear view into the windows of the Symthe Dance building. You have ballet practice there every day from two to five, and I had practice at three. It was bound to happen.”
She crossed her arms, but I saw a glint of something in her eye, as if I’d intrigued her. “Did you like what you saw?”
“I got tackled by a lineman called Tank while I stood there watching you. He hit me so hard, I had to go to the doctor and get checked out.”
Her mouth parted. “Because you were so enamored with seeing me dance?” she said.
“Yep.”
She grinned. “Maybe you still have that concussion.”
“My head is clear as a bell, Dovey.” I winked at her, relaxing for the first time since I’d sat down. She was funny, and I liked how she was kinda distrustful of me. Because it meant she was smart too. And sexy. And her eyes were the most beautiful color of blue. And her skin was silky and pale, unlike my own darker complexion.
Her full lips curved up in a little smile, and right then, I wanted my hands on her. I ran my eyes over her grey tunic, imagining her tits and how small they’d be, yet they’d fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. I bet her nipples were red and if I sucked on them—
She sighed. “Okay, I’m curious. Tell me about this dream.”
I cleared my throat, picking through the memories. “It started out with you in this blue dress, cut down to here,” I murmured, grazing my hands down to my stomach. Yeah, I loved low-cut.
“Blue isn’t my color. I’m more of a black girl. Sometimes grey.”
I shrugged. In most my dreams she was naked. “Anyway, this dress had lace on it and … I don’t know … stuff. And it matched your eyes, a deep blue like a stormy sea.”
“You’re very poetic,” s
he said.
“Thank you,” I said, my mouth twitching.
She chuckled, and fucking elation went through me.
“I made you laugh. I like it,” I said.
“Okay, blue dress, very revealing. Is there more?” she asked, waving my hand.
“You had on these amazing heels. I don’t remember the color … maybe an animal print … but I do remember they made you tall, your face almost level with mine.” I rubbed my jaw. “I liked those shoes.”
“Like these?” she stuck out her leg, showing me her plain flats.
My eyes ate up her legs, getting all kinds of turned on. I bit back a groan, picturing them wrapped around my waist. At this rate, I’d come in my pants.
“No, but I like those too,” I murmured. “Your legs are long, Dovey. It’s hot.”
She straightened like she was leaving. “I don’t think I like where your dream is headed.”
Wait, don’t …
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was just you standing on these stone steps, maybe in front of a museum or a library. You were waiting for someone, and when I showed up you ran straight into my arms. Like we’d known each other forever. Like we were a couple.” I glanced down at the table and then back at her. “And then I kissed you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Tongue?”
“Most definitely,” I murmured.
“Long? Short?”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Hot and deep. Languorous.”
“Languorous? One of your SAT words?”
I grinned. “It means leisurely and unhurried. It fits.”
She nibbled on her nails, her eyes on my lips. I licked mine, and her face went pink.
“Is that it? No nudity?” she said.
She totally sounded disappointed.
I put my elbows on the table, settling in. “Nope. Isn’t it enough to be the most romantic kiss known to mankind? Incredible doesn’t even touch it. The way your mouth fit to mine …” I broke from her eyes, blushing again.
When I got the nerve to look at her again, her attention was on my tat. Ah, did she like ink on guys? I crossed my arm, flexing my bicep a little so she’d have a better view of the twisting vine as it crossed my arms.
I imagined her mouth tracing those roses.
As if she read my mind, she turned pink when she looked up and met my gaze. I grinned.
Then the bell rang. Dammit. I didn’t want this to be over.
She let out a sigh and stood. “This was fun, but I have class.”
I rose and grabbed her backpack before she could. “I’ll walk you.”
She shrugged like whatever and we walked out of the cafeteria together and down the hall.
“This is me,” she said, stopping at a classroom a few minutes later. I peeked in. Geometry. I suddenly wished I was in here with her.
I shook my head. That was ridiculous.
I handed her the backpack, our hands brushing, sending little shocks through my body.
And right there, I went for it. I hadn’t officially asked a girl out on a real date in months, but with her, I was making the exception.
“I bought two tickets to see Les Miserables in a few weeks. Primo seats. Wanna go?” I asked.
“Guys like you aren’t part of my plan,” she said.
“If that’s a challenge, then I accept.”
“No challenge, just the truth.” She moved to walk away, but I pulled her back with my next words. Because I was feeling all kinds of insecure. “Okay, tell me straight. Are you just completely disinterested in me? You say one thing, but your body is saying something else.”
“My body?” She looked annoyed, but I kept on.
“Yeah, I’m getting this vibe from you. Makes me want to ditch school and drag you out to the barn at the back of campus where we can be alone. Maybe it’s all me, I don’t know, but I think you feel it too.”
“You really put yourself all out there, don’t you?” she said, her eyes big.
“Maybe. If this is my only shot, I’m going for it.” I paused. “Let me in, Dovey.”
“Why me?”
I didn’t know why her.
But I sensed this was my only chance to get her attention, so I did something crazy.
I leaned in to her and sang out in a low voice, “Why do birds sing? Why do phones ring? Why does my heart fly? For all I know, you’ll make me cry. Why do fools fall in love? Why were you named after a dove?” I stopped and grinned, impressed with my spur of the moment performance.
Her mouth gaped. “That was the most atrocious thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It was pretty cheesy, wasn’t it?”
“Pure crap,” she said, but then smiled.
I laughed, and I mean, I laughed. And the sound was so real and easy and good and she was just fucking perfect.
“Don’t tell anyone I sing silly songs,” I said teasingly. “Football players are supposed to be tough and mean.”
She gave me a thoughtful look. “Everyone says you’re pretty good on the field. That no quarterback is safe.”
I didn’t believe my own hype, actually. “Whatever.”
“I hear you’re the best defensive end BA has ever seen and a four-star recruit by ESPN.”
I scratched an eyebrow. “Maybe.” I leaned in closer. “Maybe you can come and watch me practice? I could use my own personal cheerleader in the stands.”
“I thought the season was over anyway.”
I shrugged. “I’ve got a recruiter coming to see me soon. Wanna be ready.”
“Ah, well, I’m pretty busy.” She paused, a weird look on her face. “But I’d love to see you in uniform.”
My eyes widened. Bingo! “That can be arranged. Maybe you could wear your little ballet skirt?”
Visions of me slipping my hand up under her skirt flashed through my head. Again. Maybe she’d unlace my football pants, take my cock out and—fuck—I had to stop this line of thinking. Because, I think I really liked this girl, and something in me wanted to do right by her.
I wanted to woo her.
And that was the craziest thought I’d ever had.
I grinned at her red face. “Ah, I shouldn’t have said that. You’re thinking dirty thoughts.”
“Am not,” she said, but she didn’t sound sure.
“Uh-huh.” My lids lowered.
“How do you know?”
I leaned in. “I can read a girl. And based on the red face and dilated eyes, you like me.”
Her breathing escalated, making me scoot in a tiny bit closer. I inhaled her wildflower scent, my heart beating like a drum.
“Get to know me, Dovey. Let’s hang out. I promise I won’t bite unless you want me to.”
She let out a long sigh, like she was getting ready for a sermon. She said, “I appreciate your balls in coming up to me. I even applaud your whole ‘I dreamed about you’ line, because it was smooth. Just the right amount of humor with a touch of sexy. It’s obvious you’re a master at picking up girls. And the kissing part? That was excellent. Very subtle, and just enough to get my mind to thinking about us … you know … kissing.” Her words faltered. “But at the end of the day, it won’t work. We aren’t compatible. We come from two different places. You’re rich; I’m not. You like to party; I don’t. You like high heels; I don’t wear them. Good grief, your friends call you Hollywood. Then there’s me. I work my ass off to get everything I have. So yeah, not feasible.”
I straightened up. “I’ll meet you after dance. I want to see you again before I go home.”
She sputtered. “No. I just gave you a list of reasons why we can’t go out.”
“Yeah, I may have missed some of it. I was watching your mouth move,” I murmured. “Got distracted by your lips.”
“Is this a joke?” she asked.
“I don’t play pranks.” I waved at the space between us. “We have a connection. I knew it the moment I sat down with you. You want to resist me, that’s fine. I like
it. It’s like foreplay.”
I slid off my leather varsity jacket and wrapped it over her shoulders. “Meet me outside your building so you can give me my jacket back. That’s all. No more songs.”
I tweaked her nose. “And my dream was real.”
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, making me chuckle. I gave her one last lingering look and turned and sauntered away. Totally pretending that I wasn’t a bundle of nerves.
“Gypsies? Oh, he was good. Very good.”
–Dovey
HOLY SHIZZLE. CUBA Hudson asked me out. What was the world coming to?
He slowly disappeared down the hall, headed to his own class. I watched until the other students swallowed him up and he was gone.
Why me?
“Bad juju,” I murmured to no one is particular, stroking the supple texture of his coat. I made sure no one was looking and buried my face in the collar, inhaling his scent, sandalwood and musk. I wanted to wrap my whole body in it and roll around on the ground. I wanted to wave it around like a matador in front of all the snooty girls in my class. I wanted to take it home and sleep with it, maybe cuddle up to it like a teddy bear. Then I burst out laughing. Craazzzy.
Because a guy like him would never want a girl like me.
At the end of classes, I hurried to the studio, changed, and lost myself in dance for the next three hours. I exercised and tried to forget about the sizzling way he’d looked at me. I tried to forget about how drop-dead gorgeous he was with those powerful arms and broad shoulders. I sure didn’t think about his soft dark hair with red highlights from the sun or his intense yellow eyes. Or his hot as hell tattoo that I wanted to lick from beginning to end. Or the way he strolled around BA with his confident swagger, like what was between his legs was big and…
Stop!
Instead, I focused on his bad points and came up with two: his cockiness, which was off the charts insane, and then his reputation as a ladies’ man. The gossip was he’d never had a serious girlfriend. He was a serial dater who tended to drop a girl when a better one came along. And even though these girls were often broken-hearted, they still considered him a friend. That takes skill and cunning, proving he was no dumb jock. A freaking genius was more like it, if you considered how he’d played me, how he’d seemed to know exactly what to say to reel me in.
Very Wicked Beginnings Page 4
