by Erin Leigh
His eyes roam my body, making me blush and look down. He crosses the room, not even excusing himself from the people talking to him.
When he gets to me, my whole body is tensed.
He leans against the wall, tilting his head. “Want to go somewhere quiet?”
“How did you know I could play pool?” I change the subject, determined not to be the girl who screws at the PF after-party.
“Your eyes. You looked at the ball, the pocket, and then instantly zigzagged along the table in the exact way I was going to shoot. Only a good pool player would have seen that.”
His thorough answer makes me grin. “You took quite the gamble on me.”
“I trust you.” The words come out like they’re the most unnatural thing for him to say. “Want to go somewhere quiet so you can tell me what’s running through that head of yours?”
“You can’t guess?”
He takes a visual stroll across me, stopping on my eyes again. “You wish you never came here. You’re realizing you’re not actually like these girls, and you don't just like me because I play hockey.”
“Wow.” I pull back. “That's uncanny.”
“You’ve been eyeing up the wives and other girls pretty harshly.”
“The girls all talking to each other in the corner are wives?” I was wondering about them. There are only about five and they seem like the mean girls at school.
“Yeah.”
My jaw drops. “They’re married? What are they, Mormons? Who gets married at twenty?”
He laughs. “Wives are girlfriends. We call them wives. It just means they’re not party favors.”
“Gross.”
“Don't hate the players. It’s a mutually beautiful thing. These girls dig sports players. They’re like groupies. They just wanna say they screwed a hockey player. They care about very little else as far as we’re concerned. Some of the idiots get together with a girl and have that baggage to tote around to the varying teams they land on. Some of them even get married. Then they hit the NHL and it’s all about road trips. It’s not the kind of life you want to have someone follow you around on, with girls like these ones throwing themselves at you constantly. Divorce is super high.”
My insides tighten, but I try desperately to keep the smile on my face and not worry about the fact he just wants this to be casual. But I have no poker face. None.
His eyes meet mine and he pauses his rant about baggage of girls and hoes. “I mean, some of them make it.” The little trip inside his head, seeing what’s really on his mind and how he really feels about relationships is disappointing. And yet, it’s my own fault if I’m discouraged by the truth. He’s never been anything but honest with me. He just screwed me in an alley.
Oh my God.
What have I done?
Oh God. I had sex outside in a dirty alleyway.
Oh God.
Panic sets in.
I turn, and look for the support team.
Sami is having a good time.
Thankfully Liz turns, yawning and searching for me in the crowd. “I need to get Liz home. She’s yawning. It’s almost three,” I say and start to walk away from him.
“Yeah?” He nods, grabbing my arm gently. “I’ll get you both home.”
“No. You stay and have fun.” I shake my head. “It’s okay. We can get the limo driver to get us home. Liz is staying at our place tonight with Sami anyway.”
“I’ll come with you. She or Sami can have my bed. I’ll take the couch.” He doesn't sound like he’s negotiating.
“Okay.” I wave at Liz and point at the door. She looks relieved and nods, saying something to Zach and then leaving his side. He turns and looks at me and then Brady. He offers a smile, but I don't know what it means. I hope he isn’t into me. I really hope he noticed the way Liz has been talking to him all night.
I motion at Sami and the door. She waves me off, laughing and flirting with Mike and Dean.
Zach sees the interaction and gives me a look. “I got that. I’ll make sure she gets home.”
“Thanks.” I wave at him and give Sami a second glance. She winks and nods.
Liz looks back. “She’s staying?” She looks worried.
“Oh, dude. She has a security team and a limo to take her home when she’s ready. Plus, there isn’t a single guy in the room who would mess with her with Zach here. And she’s a harder partier than all of them. And everyone knows she’s seeing Matt.”
“Except Zach. He might mess with her in the limo on the way home.”
I swat Brady. “He’s nice. He’s friends with Matt.”
“I know.” He looks bitterly at the party.
“Stay if you don't want to come. We can get the limo driver to drop us off and come back for all three of you.”
He gives me a scowl. “I’m not mad about leaving. I don't want Sami to stay. I don't like girls I know at shit like this. It’s trouble. The guys finish the game—they’re jacked up on the win and want to fuck. The girls here are aware of that. Sami is aware of that. Poor life choices get made in a situation like this one. And if you were at one of these parties, I would hope Matt wouldn't leave you here alone, with no one but Zach to watch over you.”
I’m stunned. He compared me to Sami for Matt, but for him. I’m his Sami?
“Fuck it, I’m dragging her ass out.” He turns and starts back inside.
I grab his arm. “Whoa, wait. I’ll go. I can get her without Zach acting like I’m stepping on his toes.” I wait for him to agree. He doesn't do it verbally, but I know we have an agreement. Then I go inside and come back out moments later with Sami in tow.
She staggers and laughs. “Party pooper.” She sticks her tongue out at Brady.
“How’d you manage that?”
Sami gives him another sneer. “She said if I didn't come nicely you were going to come in there and carry me out. And I know you would so I came. I don't need Matt to hear that I got carried out of a puck-fuck party.”
Liz winces. “What?” She looks back, horrified. “What did you just say?”
“You heard it right.” Sami laughs again. “Girls who like hockey players are puck bunnies or puck fucks or PFs. They’re just there for the high sticking.” She laughs too hard at her own joke.
Brady chuckles but Liz looks disturbed. She mouths the names and gives me another look.
“I know. It’s disgusting.”
“Everything has groupies. Think about all the girls who follow bands around America or Europe. Or the girls who love actors. Or the girls who adore baseball players or football stars. Everything has groupies. PFs are hockey groupies.” Sami sighs and she folds her way into the limo. “I’m a total puck fuck. I love Matt.” She sits up abruptly and looks at Brady. “That goes to the grave or I pay to have you killed.”
“What does?” He grins.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Blue balls and broken hearts
Brady
The trainer adds another huge stack to the set. “I want three, Brady. Just three.”
I put my hands on the bar and puff my breaths out three times before flexing everything, tightening my core, and lifting with everything in me. I pump out the first chest press, certain I won’t make another, but I’ll be damned if I won’t try. I shake a little but squeeze that second one. The third one is full defeat. The trainer grabs the bar as it’s falling and nestles it back in the holder.
“Nice work.”
My chest is tight from the workout and my balls are aching from the cock tease I live with. And the fact I can’t just screw her and end it.
It’s been a week since the empty promise of making it worth my while if I scratched was texted. Since then I’ve been waiting for my prize, but she’s doing the pulling back thing. We talk but we don't say anything. We stare at each other but look away when the other person sees. It’s gotten annoying but at the same time it’s saving us from making the biggest mistake ever. My willpower is pathetic. I have to count on her.
> The alley proved I don't think about it the way I should.
“Hit the mats for some stretching and then you can hit the showers,” he shouts at Mitch and me.
We walk together to the mats, flopping down, and start stretching.
“How’s Nat?” Mitch nods my way.
“Good. She got some award for some cover she did like three weeks ago. She’s all excited about it. It’s really good too. I didn't even know she was as skilled as she is. It’s like real art.”
He looks dead inside, he’s so bored. “I meant like did you bang her yet?”
My face says everything.
“Right,” he withdraws his question. “Cool about the cover.”
Mike comes and flops next to us. “My glutes are killing me. This was a tough workout.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Mine is my chest. It’s tight as balls. I might need some massage and maybe a little yoga.”
“Yoga?” Mitch cocks an eyebrow.
“Don't hate. It works and Natalie goes to this class a couple of blocks over from XL and I’ve seen what she wears. It’s a tiny little thing, like a swimsuit. I made fun of her, and she said it’s hot and sweaty and all the girls wear it.”
Mike looks alive. “What time is yoga?”
“She goes at like six randomly during the week.” I say it because I know she isn’t going tonight. She was on the phone with Liz from work and said she’s feeling a little stuffy and was going to have to cancel.
“I’m in. Sweaty girls in bikinis and some stretching sounds like just what I need.”
I almost agree but my balls are killing me. I need to rub one out, but I’ve been too tired. I head for the showers, offering a nod. “I’ll text ya the address when I get it from her.”
The shower doesn't help.
The drive home doesn't distract me.
Being at the apartment alone while she’s at work can’t seem to entice me to wank off.
I want her.
The smell of her is in the apartment, every single corner of it. Even my room where she hasn't ever been.
She’s trouble.
I’m in trouble.
I head into the bathroom to take a piss but I pause in the mirror, seeing the face of misery and longing haunting me. I grimace but it doesn't go away.
I have to say something.
My plan to dirty fuck her didn't pan out.
I take my piss and stew about the whole thing.
She’s exactly the sort of distraction I don't need.
I contemplate calling my brother, but I know what he would say. He would tell me that if something is eating at me I just need to say it out loud to the person and it will go away. Bottled things fester. That’s how Dad always used to say it.
It takes me some time and internal wrestling before I finally see that the only choice I have is to say what I think and be done with it. I’ll tell her how I feel and then it’ll be off my chest and I can move on.
She’ll put up a wall, and we’ll stay here in the awkward tension of both wanting something we can’t have.
Looking around the apartment I cringe. I can’t do it here. I have to do it somewhere else.
I glance at my phone and realize she’s off in ten minutes. If I hurry I can be waiting there for her when she gets outside.
I grab my keys and run for the stairs, leaping down them and out of the building. Checking for traffic, I run in the empty gap and hurry across Bushnell Park and past the capitol building.
Hope builds in me as I get close. I’ve never even come close to the moment I’m about to have and as much as it scares me I’m excited.
My legs are taxed, my chest is aching, and my balls are killing me, but the moment I get to the door I forget it all.
She waves and smiles, heading straight for me. She looks perfect, like an angel.
I forget every bit of pain I’m in. I forget the possibility she’s going to tell me she’s not interested. I know in my heart that this is the moment when we start. I’m going to say it and she’s going to agree and we’re going to kiss.
It’s going to be textbook romance chick flick.
I don't recognize myself but maybe that's not a bad thing.
“Hey!” She strolls over, shouldering her workbag.
“Hey, I can carry that for you.” I reach out, not for her but for the bag.
“Thanks.” She blushes and nods, looking down as she hands it to me. She hasn't met my gaze since the pool game and the promise. I don't even care about the promise.
I need to say it before I lose my nerve. “Can we talk?” I blurt out as we stroll back toward the capitol building.
“Sure. I think we need to anyway.” She sounds funny.
“I have to say something that's been eating at me. I think if I say it I’ll feel better, and it’ll stop taking over my life.” The words aren’t the way I intended them, but I can’t stop myself. My nerves are shot.
“Okay.” She looks straight ahead, still not meeting my gaze.
When we get to the capitol building, it starts to rain as I open my mouth.
“Oh shit!” She lifts her hood and runs for the side of the building.
I jog after her with water dripping down my face as I struggle for the words I was so confident of a moment ago.
“Is something wrong?” She looks worried. Her bright-blue eyes are wide and scared. I wonder if I look the same. I’m terrified.
“Yes.” My lips tremble as the rain creates so much noise around us I can barely think. “I want to try to date.”
“What?”
“You. I want to—I uhm I like you. Not as a friend. I like you more. I like us, together. We fit.” I’m blowing this. What the hell was that? I’m cooler than this. Be cool, for fuck’s sake. Be cool.
Her perfect lips part, confused and stuck on the words she wants to say. Her eyebrows draw together, but I see the horror of the answer in her eyes. “Oh.” She swallows and nods. “Okay, uhm.”
I’ve taken her by surprise. She doesn't feel the same way at all. “Brady.” She starts but she can’t finish.
“Nat,” I whisper her name as my heart cracks, freezing over in my chest. “I-I just had to say it—needed to get it off my chest.” I force a smile across my lips. “It’s just—we—already.” My words die off as the pain in my body becomes overwhelming.
Her eyes sparkle. “I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to make you think that I wanted—”
“You didn't.” I shake my head, but I’m hovering over her, staring down at her pink lips like an idiot. “At all.” It’s a complete lie. She fucking did make me think she wanted me, but I don't want to be that douche. I shrug. “I just—it’s been on my mind. Now it’s not.” I cock an eyebrow and a grin and nod toward the apartment. “Ready to go?”
She swallows hard but she nods. “Yeah.”
“How are you feeling?” If I keep being normal maybe she won’t notice how close I am to screaming and ripping her bag apart.
“Good. Still stuffy.” She sounds weird still.
“What were you going to say before I acted like a chick?”
“I think I forgot my phone in the office. I have to go back. Can I meet you at the apartment, and we’ll talk about it there?” Her voice cracks.
“Yeah.” Thank you, Jesus.
“Cool.” She looks like she might say something else but she doesn't. She nods and turns, walking quickly in the rain.
I sigh and look up, wishing I could go back but at the same time sort of glad it’s over.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
He loves me not
Natalie
I lean against the bathroom door in my office as tears stream my cheeks. I don't even know why I’m crying. The look on his face. The heartbroken look on his face. That’s why I’m crying. He looked like he died a little bit.
“I’m such a fucking moron,” I whisper into the phone. “I was just about to tell him I couldn’t do this anymore because I can’t fuck a greasy guy like him. I need resp
ectable and decent and he’s not. He doesn't want that. He fucking just said he doesn't.”
“No, this is my fault. I never thought in a million years Brady Coldwell would end up into you like that. I thought he might screw you a few times and make you forget about William the knob.” Sami sounds like she might cry too. “I thought you would start your sexual revolution, not start another relationship.”
“His face was so horrible. He was stuttering and looking so lost and then he tried to play it cool, and it was like someone was stabbing him.” I feel sick, like actually sick. The head cold is nothing, compared to this.
“Oh God, you know it’s bad when a guy like him becomes a puddle. No chick is prepared for that. You have to move out. Even if you like him back, you have to move. You can’t start something with a guy you live with already.”
“I know.” I nod. “I can’t do this to him, and I can’t be with him. I just got out of a terrible relationship, and the living together, I’m not there. I don't want to date. I just wanted to be properly—”
“Screwed.”
“Yup.” I sigh and cover my face. “I’m going to text Liz and see if I can move in with her. She said her roommate was thinking about moving out with her boyfriend.”
“Okay. If that works out I’ll see if I can get up there this weekend and help you move.”
That makes me laugh and cry. “You mean pay someone to move me.”
“Duh, how else does someone move?”
I laugh and wipe my face. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
We hang up and I stare at the wall, wondering how the hell I am going to go home. Everything is a mess.
My phone buzzes, scaring me. I groan when I see the name. “Hello?”
“Natalie, darling. I wanted to apologize for the other night. Your father and I talked, and he said I was wrong. I see now I might have been a touch angry.”
I love the way my mother takes responsibility. “Hi, Mom.” I’m emotionally exhausted and not in the mood for this at all. But I don't need her driving up here to see me.
“How are you, dear?”
