OMG—your first word was ‘booby’? Why does this not surprise me??
Taking S to the salon. She wants a mani.
You’re scared of tattoo needles?? S just told me u almost got a tat when u were 18 but had to leave b/c u were scared. Bwahahahahaha.
I fucking hate my sister.
My phone stays in the visiting team’s locker room during the game, and not even O’Shea’s cold glares and snarled criticism can bring me down today, because we skate off the ice after third period with an actual W under our belts.
My good mood follows me out of the arena and onto the bus, and I settle in for the long ride, relieved by the latest batch of messages I find.
Driving 2 Boston for lunch. S wants to do some shopping.
Awesome lunch. Heading home now.
Oooh it’s snowing! S and I are taking a walk.
Home. Chilling and girl talk. Tell Tuck his tomato soup is da bomb.
Saw on twitter u won the game! FUCK YEAH!
Movie marathon. Putting phone on silent. See u when u get back.
The last message came in around eight o’clock. Good. I hope that means Allie and Summer are tucked under a blanket in the living room watching a movie and not out causing trouble.
Huh. And Allie was right. It is snowing. Once the bus crosses the state line into Massachusetts, there are suddenly white flakes dancing outside my window. I love winter, so I wholly approve of the sight.
It’s close to midnight when we arrive at our own arena. I ride home in the Beemer with Tuck, while Garrett and Logan head for the dorms to spend the night with their girlfriends.
Ten minutes later, I pull into our driveway. Not a single light flickers in any of the windows, but I catch flashes from the television flickering behind the living room curtains.
The front hall is pitch-black when we step inside. I walk ahead of Tucker, kicking off my shoes as I fumble for the light switch.
I don’t get the chance to flick it, because a bloodcurdling shriek suddenly slices through the silence.
Before I can react, I’m showered from head to toe with what feels like a tidal wave of lukewarm liquid. Another scream shatters my eardrums, and I’m still struggling to figure out what the fuck is going on when something hard connects with my left temple.
Crack.
Pain swims in my head, and I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.
28
Dean
Fact #1: the Hastings police department has about eight officers on staff.
Fact #2: I think every single one of them is at my fucking house right now.
“Do you want to press charges?” The officer in charge hovers over Allie like a protective bear, a sneer on his face as he glares accusingly in my direction.
From my perch on the bottom step of the staircase, I glare right back at him. The EMT who’s examining my temple makes a reprimanding sound when I swivel my head in the opposite direction, but I ignore him. Because what’s happening right now is goddamn ludicrous.
“If anyone should be pressing charges, it’s me,” I say in disbelief.
The cop holds up a hand to silence me. “We’re speaking to Miss Hayes, sir.”
Oh yes. Miss Hayes. The crazy maniac who happens to be my girlfriend. The kung-fu master who knocked me out with a Wayne Gretzky paperweight.
But hey, at least the lights are on. This way everyone and their fucking mothers can witness my disgrace.
“You’re speaking to the wrong person,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “I’m the one who was attacked.”
One of the female deputies narrows her eyes at me. “From what we can see, sir, the young ladies are the victims here.” She waves her hand at the floor. “We walked in to find you lying in a pool of blood—”
“It was soup! Tomato soup!”
“—and shouting obscenities at Miss Hayes and Miss Di Laurentis.”
“Because they knocked me out.”
“Clearly they felt you were a threat if they took measures to incapacitate you,” another officer says coolly. He purses his lips, and the sexual predator mustache he’s rocking bushes up.
Oh my fucking God. I’m going to strangle them. The moment these cops leave, I’m going to fucking strangle them.
“Sir, we’re conducting an interview,” the lead officer snaps. “Please refrain from speaking unless addressed.”
Tucker, who’s leaning against the wall a few feet away, looks like he’s about to pee his pants laughing. His laughter is of the silent variety, vibrating in his broad shoulders and staining his cheeks bright red.
At least Allie has the decency to look sheepish. Summer just looks bored.
“I overreacted,” Allie confesses.
“Talk us through what happened,” the lady cop urges gently.
I grind my molars as Allie takes a breath. Meanwhile, the paramedic at my side is groping the back of my head like he’s trying to get me off.
“I just finished heating up a bowl of soup in the kitchen. Well, it wasn’t too hot, because I prefer my soup to be lukewarm, otherwise it burns the roof of my mouth and I hate it when that happens.” She sighs. “Sorry, irrelevant. Anyway, I was on my way to the living room. All the lights were off because we were watching a movie. I heard footsteps outside the front door and suddenly someone just walked in like they live here—”
“I do live here,” I growl.
Allie avoids my furious gaze. “I thought it was an intruder.”
“An intruder with a key to the house?” I say sarcastically.
The cops glare at me again. I close my mouth.
“I threw the bowl at his head and grabbed the first weapon I could find.” She points to the Gretzky paperweight we use to hold down the mail on the hall table so it doesn’t fly away whenever someone opens the front door. Now it’s on the hardwood floor next to a massive puddle of tomato soup. I’m surprised the cops didn’t put little evidence flags around it.
“It wasn’t Dean’s fault,” Allie insists. “Seriously, it’s all on me. I freaked out for no reason.” She finally looks over at me. “See? This is why I don’t like horror movies! You watch one scary movie when you’re a kid and suddenly everyone who comes to your door is a serial killer.”
“Are you kidding me right now? You’ll watch a horror movie with my sister but not me? We have to watch the cancer movie?”
“Dicky,” Summer chides. “You’re being grumpy.”
I glare at my sister with enough force to make her wince. “Not one word out of you,” I snap. “And don’t think I didn’t feel you kick me right before I passed out. Who does that, Summer? Who kicks a man when he’s down?”
From the corner of my eye, I see Tucker sink to the floor. He buries his face in his hands, shaking with laughter.
The EMT blocks my line of sight by squatting in front of me. “I need to examine you for a concussion.”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
He whips out a penlight and blinds me with it. Allie appears behind him, worry etched into her forehead. “Oh no. Does he have a concussion?” She kneels down and touches my arm. “Do we need to call your coach?”
Her question captures the attention of the cop in charge. “Your coach? Shit. You’re one of Jensen’s boys?”
I give an irritable nod. I still want to throw down with these assholes for treating me like a suspect instead of the victim.
“What’s your name again?”
“Dean Di Laurentis.”
“Oh yeah, I recognize you now.” He sounds excited. “That was some Frozen Four win last season, kid. You played a good game.”
Mustache Cop strides up. “The team’s not looking too good these days. What’s going on over there?”
“But that Davenport kid is fast,” another cop raves. “Any chance Jensen will put him on Graham’s line?”
For the next ten minutes, the cops badger me about the team and our chances for another national title, while the paramedic forces me to endure his unnecessary concussion p
rotocol until finally determining I don’t need to go to the ER. He gathers up his supplies, and then he and the cops file out of the house. The moment they’re gone, I shoot to my feet.
My wet socks squish uncomfortably with each step. My entire torso is stained red, and tomato soup drips from my hair as I advance on the girls. Well, namely Allie, the person who’d wielded the weapon that knocked me out.
“I’m taking a shower,” I announce. “And when I get out, you and I are going to have a little talk about how fucking crazy you are.”
Her cheeks redden. “I’m sorry, okay? I already admitted I overreacted.”
“You think?” I hop on one foot, then the other, to peel off my disgusting socks. “I’m serious. I’m not done being angry at you, so you better be waiting for me in my room when I’m out of the shower.”
“What are you going to do, spank me?”
I growl. “Don’t fucking tempt me, babe.”
“Gross,” Summer pipes up. “Please don’t discuss your BDSM sex games in front of your sister.”
I point my finger at her. “Not. Another. Word.” I glance at Tucker, the traitor who was getting so much joy out of my misery. “Please escort Summer to Garrett’s room and figure out a way to lock her inside it.”
Tuck snickers. But he reaches out his hand to her. “Come on, little sis, let’s leave the poor man alone. He’s already taken enough of a beating tonight.”
*
Allie
I’m not too proud to admit when I’ve screwed up.
Tonight? I screwed up royally. Not only did I attack my boyfriend with a paperweight, I then proceeded to call the police, because for a second there I was genuinely worried I might have killed him.
I feel awful. Awful enough that I’m willing to let Dean yell at me for as long as he wants, which is why I’m sitting at the edge of his bed just like he’d ordered.
“Look at that—she listens,” Dean mocks as he enters the bedroom.
He drops his towel and walks toward the dresser. As he puts on a pair of black boxer-briefs, I dutifully wait for a lecture that doesn’t come.
“I thought you were going to yell at me,” I remind him.
He rubs the side of his head, groaning softly. “I changed my mind. My head is killing me.”
Alarm shoots through me. “That’s not good. Should we go to the emergency room?”
“Naah. I’m fine, Allie-Cat.” Guilt continues to twist in my stomach as I watch him rub his temple. “I haven’t been hit that hard in years and I play hockey,” he grumbles. “You’re freakishly strong, you know that?”
“I know.” I offer a sheepish look. “I told you, my dad made sure I knew self-defense.”
“Well, kudos to your dad for making sure you could protect yourself. Followed by a fuck you to your dad for turning you into a deadly weapon.” He groans again. “Jesus. I can’t believe you got the drop on me like that. You’re lucky I love you, babe. If any other girl had done this to me—”
“You love me?” I blurt out.
Dean halts mid-sentence. For a second, he looks genuinely confused, as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. As if he doesn’t realize what he’d said.
But I heard it. Loud and clear. My heart skips a beat. He just told me he loved me.
“You just said it,” I tell him, fighting the huge smile that’s threatening to surface.
“I…” He clears his throat. “Well, damn. I guess I did.”
“Did you mean it?” When he nods, my lips start twitching uncontrollably. God, I want to smile so fucking bad right now. “I want to hear it again,” I beg.
He scrubs his fist over his chin, looking adorably uncomfortable. “Aw shit, babe. Don’t make me say it again. It’s bad enough that I said it first. That’s never happened to me before.”
The smile breaks free. It stretches my face from ear to ear. I fly off the bed and into his arms, too giddy to kiss him like a grown-up. My kisses are sloppy and overly eager and Dean is laughing like crazy as I maul him with my mouth.
I abruptly pull back. “Are you sure your head doesn’t hurt?”
“It’s fine,” he insists, and a deep rumble of delight leaves his throat when I smack some more kisses all over his face.
“Okay, good, because I think we should have sex now.” I push him toward the bed and reach for his waistband.
He’s highly amused. “We should? And why’s that?”
“Because you told me you love me, and I love you too, and you know how turned on I get by all this emotional stuff.” I’m already ripping my shirt off. “You have no idea how wet I am right now, sweetie.”
The humor in his eyes is replaced with smoky desire. “Show me,” he orders.
I ease my yoga pants off my hips. Undies, too. I kick them away and move closer. Then I take Dean’s hand and bring it between my legs. He instantly curls it over me, and I cover his knuckles with my palm, grinding both our hands against my damp core.
Dean groans, and this time not in pain. Or maybe it’s a different kind of pain. His erection tents in his boxer-briefs, a hard, long ridge of arousal that I’m dying to feel inside me.
“Allie…” His voice is husky.
“Mmmm?” I rock my hips against our hands.
“I love you.”
Those three syllables send a jolt of heat to my core. I moan. So does he. I know he felt the way my thighs clenched and the rush of moisture that must have coated his palm.
“Jesus,” he chokes out. “This love thing really does make you wet.”
“Told you.” I give him another shove and he hits the mattress, falling back on his elbows. “I’m going to be coming all over you. Like, exploding ovaries and multiple orgasms kind of coming.”
Dean reaches into a drawer for a condom, and I’m on top of him before he even has his dick out. “Love you,” he whispers, then presses his mouth to mine.
The kiss is sweet and gentle, sending flutters of pleasure through my body. His hand trembles as he puts the condom on, and our mouths are still locked when he rolls me over and pushes just the tip of his cock inside me.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and cant my hips, trying to draw him in deeper. It works. With a soft groan, he slips in another inch, then another one, until finally he’s all the way in, stretching me, filling me.
Our eyes lock in a hazy stare as he starts to move. I feel so fucking full. It’s incredible. Dean pushes a strand of hair off my forehead and strokes my cheek, making love to me in a lazy, blissful tempo that has my toes curling.
“Love you,” he says again, and damned if my entire body doesn’t sing with joy.
I hold him tighter against me, welcoming each slow thrust. He slides his hands under my ass and lifts me up so that his pubic bone presses into my clit every time he drives deep. It brings stars to my eyes. Makes me gasp and moan and writhe until my whole world centers on Dean. When my orgasm ripples through me, I have the words “I love you” on my lips.
His green eyes burn with emotion. He lets out a husky groan and sags on top of me, thrusting deep one last time. Then he says, “I love you too” as he trembles with release.
29
Allie
The rest of December flies by. Before I know it, the holidays are upon us, and I’m rewarded with three weeks of downtime, family time, and stuffing-my-face-full-of-holiday-treats time.
I’m spending the break with my dad, but I’ll be in Connecticut with Dean for the first two days. His family is heading to St. Bart’s for a couple of weeks, so this is my only chance to see him until he gets back, at which point he’ll join me in New York for our last three days of freedom.
Dean had asked me to go to the island with him, but as much as I hate turning down a free trip to paradise, I’d rather be in Brooklyn. Who knows where I’ll end up after I graduate—I need to take advantage of every second I have with my dad.
Still, I can’t say I’m not bummed when I have to leave Connecticut. Although Dean had told me his par
ents were cool, laidback peeps, a part of me had doubted it. I mean, they’re filthy-rich lawyers who own three houses. Hell, maybe more than three. Dean doesn’t have a bragging bone in his body, so for all I know, his family has a house in every country on the globe.
You’d never know it just by looking at them, though. Dean’s mom wore jeans and a flannel shirt the whole time I was in Greenwich, confessing to me that her favorite thing about having time off is ditching the business attire she wears to the firm. Her name is Lori, and apparently she kept her maiden name and practices law as Lori Heyward.
Dean’s dad, Peter, is equally easygoing. He did some paperwork in his office every morning, but for the most part, he spent all his time with his kids, going skiing with Summer, playing two-on-one hockey with his sons on the outdoor rink behind their mansion. Yep, they have their own skating rink.
Dean’s brother Nick is one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. He brought his new girlfriend, a lawyer at another firm, and though she was uptight at first, she was sweet once I got to know her.
And Summer…well, she’s just Summer. No filters, larger than life, contagious laughter. Sometimes I think I love Dean’s sister more than I love him.
As sad as I am to say goodbye to the Heyward-Di Laurentises, I’m excited to see my dad. I decide to splurge and take a cab from Greenwich to Brooklyn, and it’s late afternoon when I roll my huge suitcase into the front entryway and call out for my father.
I find him in the living room, wearing sweats and reading a book called The Physics of Hockey. He greets me with an indulgent smile, then fusses and gripes as I kiss his cheek and hammer him with questions about how he’s feeling. He finally cuts me off to ask about my visit to Connecticut. When I reveal what an amazing time it was, he looks slightly disappointed, which makes me frown.
We speak on the phone a couple times a week, so he’s already aware I’m dating Dean, but he’s been surprisingly tight-lipped about it. After I told him, he simply grunted and hasn’t commented on the relationship since.
He comments now.
“He’s not long-term, AJ,” Dad says with a tired sigh. “I hope you know that.”