by Zoe Lee
Dunk cocked his head to one side. “Depends on what exactly the endzone is in this metaphor,” he said.
Damned if she didn’t blink up at him like Barbie when he said metaphor. What kind of jock who had grown up to be the football coach slash gym teacher at his hometown high school knew what a metaphor was?
It must’ve been her shock that made her answer, “Oh, it’s an orgasm.”
“Damn, Daisy,” he murmured, suddenly looming over her, one hand braced on the wall somewhere over her head, “that was mean, saying it’s only gossip that I make every girl I touch come.”
Her circuits overloaded.
Dunk wasn’t touching her, but he was so very intentionally almost touching her.
She breathed out, along with all of her sense, “It’s gossip until I have proof.”
His hands slid down the wall until his bare forearm below his rolled-up sleeve slid across the outer curve of her shoulder, then his thick sinews flexed and shifted so that he could palm her arm. “What kind of play do you want me to make here?” he asked.
She was so stuck on his sexy mouth, the words barely sunk in. “God, I’m too tipsy to keep up the football endzone orgasm metaphor thingy,” she admitted with a laugh.
He laughed again too, a raspy sort of booming noise, like thunder in the distance.
But before she could untangle her thoughts enough to figure out if he was flirting with her or flirting with her, the swinging door flew open.
Chase came careening through. “There you two are!” she shouted happily, swerving over to throw her arms around them and rock manically. “We’re cutting the cake!” she added, still shouting.
Then, with a lot more strength than Daisy was prepared for, Chase dragged them both out into the restaurant and right up to the table where the gorgeous cake waited.
Jesse appeared behind Daisy with a tray of shots. She eyeballed everyone sternly and handed them out, the color some sort of alarming sunset orange-pink thing that screamed blinding hangover.
“Tequila?” Daisy ventured.
“Kamikaze,” Jesse clarified.
“Um,” Daisy began, not sure that she wanted to drink it, since her fingertips were tingling and she couldn’t feel her feet in her heels anymore.
“Are you a part of the bridal party?” Jesse shot at her.
“Yeah,” she said hesitantly. “But I’m kind of already past my limit—”
“Tonight you are going way past your limit,” Jesse cut her off, and then flashed a sharp, stubborn grin.
Daisy had always been intimidated by her, since Jesse managed to balance clearly not giving a fuck what people thought with being smart and not typically aggressive or in-your-face.
“Okay then,” she said, flushed because she was so damn happy that the bridal party just accepted her, treating her like she’d always been there.
So, while Leda cut the cake with frightening skill for someone so drunk, they waited with their shot glasses hovering at their chins. As soon as Leda gleefully slammed a piece of cake into Jamie’s face—while he just gently swiped some frosting over her lips and waited for her to chomp her slice out of his fingers—they downed them.
And then there was another shot glass in Daisy’s hand and the music started up again, and she started to lose track of where she was and why she’d been so nervous. She danced more, even though it was probably more bouncing than dancing by that point, the bridal party surrounding her.
The music got louder and the crowd thinned out as everyone but the bride and groom, the other bridesmaids, and the groomsmen headed home. People jammed their way into the group to say their goodbyes, driving Daisy backwards until her ass bumped into Dunk’s thighs.
She shot an apologetic look up over her shoulder at him.
His cheeks were red and his grin was much looser and goofier than it had been however-long-ago it had been that they’d talked, and his hands slid over her hips.
“I like your dress,” he ducked down to tell her.
She snorted; from his angle, he could probably see three-quarters of her boobs and the edge of her utilitarian black bra getup.
Jesse came around with more shots.
Everything swam a little, except for Dunk’s giant hands squeezing Daisy’s hips and waist and his hot breath ghosting across the back of her neck.
She let out a quiet moan, hopefully lost under the loud music to everyone but him.
Damn, it had been so long since she’d felt sexy. So long since she’d found anyone else sexy. Her parents and her brothers had left the reception ages ago, and so had Tyler. There was no one paying any attention to what she was doing but her, and Dunk.
His breath got hotter and stronger as his mouth dropped just above her shoulder and she leaned back. Just a fraction, but he had to have felt it. His lips dragged up the back of her neck and whatever lingering, silly idea of good girls don’t blew away.
“Take me somewhere,” she begged, letting her head fall against his chest.
Practically giggling, they snuck off the dance floor and into the small office, where he pressed the button to lock the door.
Dunk smiled at her, raising one dirty blond eyebrow in challenge.
“Daisy Rhys,” he murmured, his voice even raspier after all of the drinks and the celebratory yelling, “where do you want me to take you?”
Her fingers covered her answering smile and she tipped her head back, feeling her hair starting to bust out of the trillion bobby pins trying to keep it locked up. “The endzone?”
Chapter 2
Dunk
Two dogs barked and snarled outside Dunk McCoy’s window.
He twitched, right leg kicking out as if he were a dog, too, dreaming.
“Cookie!” one of the dog owners shrieked.
Dunk’s leg kicked out again, only this time he lost his precarious balance on the edge of his bed. He thudded onto his floor in a tangle of sweaty sheets and one of his mother’s afghans. Waking up fully, he registered the flickers of pain in his elbow and hip where he’d hit the floor as he let his body go boneless, groaning.
But those flickers of pain were negligible, really, because his brain was throbbing horrendously like his thumb had that time he’d hammered it instead of the head of a nail by accident. His tongue was thick and, even though he had absolutely no recollection of either thing, tasted like the unmistakable combination of tequila and puke.
“Holy shit, I’m dying,” he wailed.
It was all Leda’s fault, like all of his worst physical pain, except for the time he blew out his ACL getting tackled when he was twenty-two.
As he clawed to his feet and staggered to the bathroom, he decided this was the worst hangover he’d had in years. It was maybe only second to the Halloween hangover of ‘03, the weekend of his seventeenth birthday, after Margot Tremmel cheated on him.
The only upside, he thought as he swallowed some aspirin and got into his shower, washing sluggishly with his eyes closed, was that this was a happy hangover.
Last night had been Leda’s wedding, and he’d never been prouder of one of his best friends than when she plowed her way through her vows, in defiance of the tears glistening in her eyes.
Although, he only remembered the day up to sometime during the reception. Squinting, he tried to piece it all together. He remembered the fucking fantastic duck thing he’d gotten for dinner, the delicious Irish whisky Jamie’s father had shared with him and Jesse, four or five of the toasts, and dancing with Leda and his mom and Daniela Torres.
After that, it got hazy. He thought there had been tequila splashing over the back of his hand and one of Chase’s heels stabbing him in the shin accidentally, and he remembered his mom taking off his bow tie before she and his stepdad took off.
Somehow, he’d gotten home.
He moved as fast as his sad body would allow to look out his window. He saw with relief that his truck wasn’t parked, which meant someone had brought him home, or he’d walked the several miles from Wild
Harts.
And then he’d had an awesome dream.
It was possibly the best sex dream he had ever had, he decided as he dragged on boxer briefs, sweatpants, and an MHS Football tee shirt.
He actually blushed now, even though all he really remembered about the dream was how pleasure had shuddered through him head to toe.
“Way to get some last night, dream-me,” he congratulated himself.
Then he went out of his garden apartment, up three stairs, and walked barefoot around the house and up onto the back porch, tripping only once on a frisbee.
His mom, Shelly, looked up from crocheting and observed dryly, “You’re alive.”
“I wish I were dead,” he mumbled, collapsing into the chair across from her. He pressed his clammy forehead against the cool plastic table.
Shelly chuckled and then he felt her fingers ghost over his hair and press gently against his temples. “You’re so melodramatic when you’re hung over,” she teased. “Do you want some bacon and eggs?”
“Can I have some coffee too?” he begged, dragging open one eye to look up at her.
“Will you change the oil in the CR-V?” she countered.
“Tomorrow,” he promised.
With another chuckle, she put aside her crocheting and went inside.
Dunk stayed where he was, feeling pretty proud of himself for not whimpering every time his pulse beat as loudly as a drum inside his skull.
Eventually Shelly came back with a plate, her chocolate Labrador Fudgesicle wriggling outside too. Fudgesicle sprawled out over Dunk’s feet, his fur soft against the tops of Dunk’s feet, while Dunk ate.
“Did you see how happy Seth and Aden were last night?” she sighed.
“They looked almost as happy as me,” Dunk said with a smile.
Aden, Leda, and Seth Riveau were his oldest, best friends. Dunk was thrilled that Leda had found a man who made her happy, who made her a better person. And he was also proud because he’d played a key role in her and Jamie’s love story—Aden and Chase’s love story too, for that matter.
“Just as proud a brother as Seth and Aden,” his mom said indulgently. “I’m surprised y’all didn’t burst into tears when they left the reception.”
If Dunk’s throat tightened up a bit—and not from nausea—then it was no one’s business but his own. He was thirty; things were changing for everyone, whether it was getting married or starting to want kids or growing serious about their careers. Leda had just married Jamie and Aden was living with Chase now, and he was so happy for them, but now they spent less time out. And he needed as many friends as possible out with him; they smacked him on the back of the head before he said something completely dumb.
“We might’ve cried,” Dunk admitted with a smile. “I don’t recall.”
“Do you recall that you’re going to Smokin’ the Competition tonight?”
Dunk shook his heavy head, which was starting to clear up the tiniest bit thanks to the food and coffee. “I am?”
Shelly laughed and told him, “Seth and Chase both told me so that I’d make sure you knew. Apparently your cell ended up in the chocolate fountain and is dead. Y’all decided BBQ was in order for tonight.”
“What would I do without you?” Dunk asked, then sighed as he put down his fork. “Okay, I feel alive for real now. Thanks, Mama, that was so good. Thanks for telling me about dinner, too. I don’t know why we’re having dinner tonight though.”
“Probably a post-mortem,” she guessed. “I saw some fun stuff.”
Intrigued, Dunk’s eyebrows popped up. “Like what?”
“Well…” she said, propping her chin on her hand and grinning.
Dunk mirrored her pose and listened intently as she recounted her observations from the wedding. She was friendly and helpful, and between her loud, raucous laugh and the twinkle in her eyes that she’d gifted to Dunk, everyone always talked to her. Whatever Dunk had missed once he’d gotten too drunk to retain, his mom had caught.
With every anecdote, Dunk’s hangover melted away, leaving him still a little sad, but on the whole, as happy and light-hearted as ever. After all, Leda deserved the love of a guy like Jamie. Life wouldn’t be the same now, but if he’d learned how to adapt to college, without all of his lifelong friends, well, he could damn well adapt to this too.
As he and his mom were just starting to meander on over into other gossip, his stepdad, Terrence, came home from work. He winked at Dunk as he jogged up the stairs and swept Shelly into his arms.
“Missed you,” he mumbled, his hat knocked off his head.
“See y’all later,” Dunk said cheerfully, feeling well enough now to bound up and head for his recliner.
As he rounded the corner, his mom’s laughter floating on the air, he whistled for Fudgesicle, bringing him along to watch some ESPN Classic.
He stayed sacked out in his recliner, perfectly molded to his ass and back, until it was time to haul himself up out of it and go over to Smokin’ the Competition.
“Hey, Dunk,” the hostess chirped as he came in.
“Hey, darlin’,” he said as he strolled past, “I see my gang’s all here.”
Everyone looked tired but pleased as he joined them.
Only Aden was still looking like he’d rather be hugging a toilet than sitting up waiting to order BBQ. Chase was leaned up head to head with Seth, swiping her thumb over and over his cell phone screen, scanning through the pictures he’d taken. Munn and Jesse were sprawled out in their chairs, Munn wondering how a just-married, hung over couple could survive the cross-country flight to California for their honeymoon. Jack held the menu, perusing it as if it were a concert brochure for an opera at the Kennedy Center, classy as always.
Dunk blew out a breath of pure satisfaction and straddled a chair backwards.
“And how hung over are you today?” Jack murmured.
“Like a three maybe, now,” he replied.
“Shelly cooked for you, didn’t she?” Seth said with a groan of jealousy.
“If you’d crashed on my couch, she would’ve cooked for you too,” Dunk pointed out.
Seth laughed and tipped his head to one side. “No, thanks. Three’s a crowd.”
“What?” Dunk asked blankly.
When Munn reached over and pressed his thumb into the side of Dunk’s neck, he flinched because, shit, that actually hurt.
“What the hell—?”
“Mighty nice hickey you’ve got there,” Munn said.
Dunk clapped a hand over his neck and immediately began to protest, “There wasn’t anyone in my bed this morning, I just had this fantastic…”
He trailed off and then his eyes bugged out as flashes of his best sex dream ever came back to him, like teeth scoring his neck.
“There’s really a hickey? It’s really a hickey, I mean? Not just a bruise?”
Aden snorted, proving that he was alive behind his bleary expression.
“It’s definitely a hickey.” Jesse promised sardonically.
“Did you black out last night?” Munn asked.
“I—kind of, I thought it was just a perfect dream,” he half-babbled. “Holy shit, if even a quarter of what I remember from my not-a-dream was real—”
Chase burst into peals of laughter at that.
He took a second out of his excited revelation to send a quick grin her way. But then his mind snapped back to the flashes of the dream—memory, damn—from last night, like a blurry home video or censored news footage. It was oddly similar to the way he remembered the best plays he’d ever made while playing football, all movement and the impression of working hard to breathe. Except, this memory was sexy as hell.
“I have to find this woman,” he declared.
“To apologize for forgetting you actually had sex with her?” Chase snickered.
“No,” he denied hotly. “I just said, it was the best sex ever. I have to find her.”
Jack patted Dunk’s shoulder, face soft with condescension. “How romanti
c.”
“It’s not every day you have perfect sex, Jack!” Dunk practically bellowed.
With a giggle, Chase pursed her lips and declared solemnly, “You have to find the girl. She probably thinks you don’t find her attractive. She’s probably wondering if you’re in love with someone else, or gay!”
“If I was in love with someone,” Dunk said, cracking his knuckles, “don’t you think you’d have figured it out by now? You’re too sharp to miss that.” He offered them all his very best pathetic puppy dog expression and begged, “Come on, help a guy out.”
“Chase does have the guest list,” Aden began slowly. “You think you’re Prince Charming?” He raised an eyebrow and grinned, and it was a little evil. “Let’s send you on a quest. But I’m looking at the list and then giving you the potential Cinderellas.”
Dunk screwed up his face while the others snickered.
Seth commented serenely, “Payback’s a bitch, McCoy.”
Dunk had stolen Chase’s rental car keys so that she couldn’t leave town—but to help Aden face up to his feelings for Chase and tell her before she left town. And he had been a royal fucking ass to Leda last New Year’s—but to create a reason for Leda and Jamie to be alone together so that they’d get a chance to realize how good they’d be together.
“Come on, I’ve gotten punched and tackled like ten times as payback!”
“You want to find this perfect sex Cinderella?” Aden demanded. “Then you’re going to go through me. You go where I say, when I say, and see if you find…”
“The vagina that fits your penis perfectly,” Jesse suggested gleefully.
Dunk’s head thunked on the table, the fork laying there stabbing him in the forehead, and muttered, aiming for defiant and confident, “Let’s do this. I want to find this girl, I don’t care how dumb y’all think I am. If women don’t take me seriously, I might as well be gay anyway.”
Jesse, who was gay, laughed her ass off.
Chapter 3
Dunk
Dunk stood in his bedroom, scratching his belly.
