5. Dalton
FIVE
DALTON
GIRL CODE ONLY COUNTS IF YOU’RE NOT A CUNT
She led us toward the main dining area, which was being used as a makeshift dancefloor tonight. For such a small woman, she carried herself with authority and had zero trouble dragging me around.
“What happened to Girl Code?” I whispered in her ear, needing to cut the distance between us. I’d itched to get close to her again since she slid off my lap—to smell her warm coconut scent wafting from her skin.
“There’s a very clear clause that states you forfeit your right to Girl Code if you’re a cunt. And your ex is a cunt. Shit.” She turned so suddenly I nearly ran her over. I grabbed at her hips, using them to steady her while her hands found my forearms.
My fingertips once again found that smooth strip of skin. I choked back a groan, my mind creating inappropriate thoughts of how it would feel to grip her there while doing things that were not appropriate in public.
“Sorry,” we said in unison, still holding on to one another .
“Sorry? What are you sorry for?” I asked.
“Well, calling someone’s ex a cunt isn’t exactly good manners.” The smirk on her face said she wasn’t too torn up about it.
“Ma’am, I’m the one who should be apologizing. Emma is…” I tried to think of something to say about my ex that didn’t make me come off as an ass.
I mean, I probably already gave this mystery woman a shit impression.
First, I asked her to pretend to be my date, and then my ex treated her like shit. She handled herself fine, though. More than fine if I were being honest.
I thought back to the fiery look that blazed in her eyes when Emma cut in without a second glance. It wasn’t jealousy over me that caused her reaction; it was my ex’s lack of common decency. Same look the team got when someone hit our goalie in a game. When someone blatantly disregards the agreed-upon etiquette of life.
“A cunt.” She lifted a brow in a challenge, amusement in her tone, then tugged me toward the dance floor before I could form a response. “Come on. No one is going to believe we’re a couple with us standing a mile away. Let’s see if you have any rhythm, güerito .”
My mother’s words echoed in my mind. “Live a little, Dalt. You deserve to do things you like, too.” That subject was a sore spot between us for the last few years. I wasn’t sure my mom meant this when she told me to live a little. On second thought, with that woman, this was probably exactly what she meant.
There was no stopping the smile on my face as my fake date dragged me onto the floor, pushing through the crowd with ease. She looped her arms around my neck, and I hesitated, not knowing where to place my own.
“Come on, Longest Ride, don’t tell me you don’t know how to hold a woman on the dance floor,” she taunted, placing my hand on her back before pushing it lower. Low enough that the tip of my pinky grazed her ass, our bodies softly swaying to the music.
Was this a nightmare or a fantasy? Because my restraint was being tested within an inch of its capabilities.
I cleared my throat, running through every bad game I’d ever played, trying to keep my growing hard-on at bay. “Well, I appreciate the assist there…” my words trailed off, giving her an out if she didn’t want to give me her name, but damn, did I want it.
I wanted to know what it felt like rolling off my tongue.
Her brown eyes twinkled under the lights, a look of mischievousness painted on her beautiful face as she chewed on her bottom lip. She had to tell me. I’d beg if I needed to.
What is wrong with you? You just met this woman.
Maybe Jimenez had a point when he told me that my lack of interaction with the female sex was going to cause me to lose my mind because I was seconds away from dropping to my knees.
“Ariella, but my friends call me Ari,” she answered, cutting through my internal argument.
Ariella. It would roll off my tongue nicely if I moaned it. Fuck.
Like a man possessed, I leaned forward, my mouth so close to her skin that my lips brushed her ear when I spoke.
“Tell me, Ariella, are we friends?”
Her soft gasp went straight to my dick. But, of course, she wouldn’t let me have the upper hand. I’d known this woman all of ten minutes, and that was plenty of time to tell she was a ballbuster.
Without missing a beat, she whispered back, “Well, I don’t know. Being friends usually means we both know each other’s names, and you’ve yet to give me yours.”
We pulled away, both grinning from ear to ear. I didn’t know what it was about her, but somehow, she made me feel at ease. Like the carefully curated person I wore for the public wasn’t needed.
“Dalton, but my friends call me Dalt.”
“Tell me, Dalton—are we friends?” Her brow arched, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, playful but daring, as if testing the boundaries between us.
“Yeah, Ari. We are.” My voice was low and steady, nothing like the pounding beat inside my chest as I slid my left hand slowly up her side, tracing the curve of her shoulder. Her toned muscles were warm against my touch. When I reached her hand, I took it in mine and shifted our stance, pressing my thigh between hers to lock us into frame. Her smirk bloomed into a full, radiant smile.
Sunshine.
She tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes sparkling. “Do you know how to dance Bachata, Dalt?”
I chuckled, letting my thumb brush the back of her hand. “My best friend is Dominican. It was pretty much a requirement for me to learn so we could stay friends. You should have seen him teaching me how to dance it properly. I’ve never had another man’s junk that close to mine,” I said, unable to stop the thought from tumbling out.
She barked out a laugh, completely unfazed by the confession. “Alright then. Let’s see what all that junk rubbing taught you.”
“Never should have told you that,” I said, guiding her backward, sliding into the first slow step, thankful that she’d worn heels. It helped even out the height difference between us.
“Oh, come on, I thought we were friends. Aren’t we supposed to share secrets?”
Her body melted into mine effortlessly, her hips swaying to the beat. I let my hand settle at the curve of her waist, fingertips barely grazing her skin as I matched her movements, every shift in her weight a signal I responded to, drudging up the memories of how the dance went— right, left, right, tap .
The bar around us faded. We moved together— push, pull, lean, sway .
“Okay then, Ari. Tell me a secret.”
She stumbled at the request. The easy smile she’d been wearing faltered and shifted into something more guarded. I clocked the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Listen, this is not something I normally do.”
“What’s not something you normally do?”
“This.” She gestured between us with the tilt of her chin. “Pretend to be some stranger’s date. Let him hold me on the dance floor. Honestly, Keith Morrison would be so disappointed in me.”
I laughed, her comment catching me off guard. “The guy from Dateline ?”
She arched a brow, the corners of her lips pulling up into a bewitching grin. “What do you know about murder shows?”
“Enough to know that if I were a killer, I wouldn’t be dancing with you in a room full of witnesses.”
“Hmm.” She narrowed her eyes playfully, and I used the moment to spin her out and reel her back into my arms. Her body fit against mine like she belonged there, and my heart kicked up in response.
“You’ve got a point,” she admitted, voice breathier than a second ago. “But we need to go over some rules. No last names, no job titles, no phone numbers, no addresses. Got it?”
I frowned, leaning back slightly. “Why’s that? Am I that bad of company?”
Her gaze softened. “No. You’re too good of company.” She exhaled a soft, bitter laugh. “I can’t afford to be tempted by a handsome man with pretty eyes. If I don’t know anything about you, I won’t contact you later…when I’m feeling weak.”
Her honesty hit me harder than I expected.
“That’s…weirdly logical. I’m equal parts disappointed and impressed with your self-discipline,” I responded, confused as to why my chest ached at the idea of not knowing these things about her when my head knew it was for the best. I’d decided I needed no distractions this season, and Ari would be the biggest kind of distraction.
The music shifted to something faster, but I wasn’t ready to lose this moment—not yet .
“Well, if we’re only going to have this one night…” I paused, rubbing at the back of my head. “How about we make it a real date?”
I’d meant what I said earlier. We’d do whatever she wanted, especially now that we had an expiration date.
But the moment the word “shit” escaped her lips and she yanked out her phone, my stomach dropped.
Idiot. I was a complete idiot. I didn’t even know if she was single. Hell, I didn’t know if she liked men.
The silence between us stretched, sharp, and unbearable. I forced myself to stay still, even though every instinct screamed at me to backtrack—crack a joke—anything to escape the awkward, sinking feeling building in my chest.
She tapped furiously on her phone, biting her lower lip. “I just need to check something real quick. Remember my cousin that I told you about?” She looked up briefly as if she were seeing if I was still following. “Well, in the excitement of telling off your ex, I forgot she’s supposed to be here with me.”
I exhaled, though it didn’t make the knot in my gut untangle. Maybe this wasn’t the part where she reminded me we were strangers and I needed to get lost.
“ Pendeja ,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem.” My voice cracked, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, she let it slide.
Her lips curled into a sly smile as she furiously typed a message.
“You’re in luck.” The rock on my chest was a little lighter at those words. “Apparently, my original date for tonight is…horizontally occupied. She says not to bother waiting up for her.” She shook her head, tucking her phone back in her pocket.
“Well,” I said, my confidence returning, “Want me to grab us another round?”
She tilted her head, studying me with those sharp brown eyes. I got the distinct feeling she was weighing whether or not to let me in.
I saw the moment she made up her mind. Her eyes lit up, and those glossy lips of hers formed a mischievous smile. She made me both nervous and excited when she looked at me that way.
“All right,” she finally said. “But you’re not taking me anywhere. I’m taking you somewhere.”
With my hand still in hers, she dragged me through the crowd, tossing out a half-hearted “excuse me” when needed while shoulder-checking professional athletes without a second thought. The whole scene had me smiling like a fool. She carried herself with effortless confidence, and I’d be a liar if I said that didn’t make her hotter.
“Now who’s the potential murderer? Where exactly are you taking me?” I asked, leaning over her to push the door open. I’d let her pull me around all night if that’s what she wanted, but there was no way I was letting her open a door.
The look she shot me as she stepped outside told me she might not feel the same way.
“Ari, is this going to be our first friend fight?” I leaned in close, keeping my voice low to avoid being overheard. One downside to being an NHL player, privacy was a luxury I didn’t always have. Lately, it seemed like everyone was looking for a way to worm into my life, whether I wanted them to or not. “Because when I’m around, you’re not opening a door for yourself.”
She huffed, the air blowing a piece of her dark hair into her face. “Women can open their own doors, you know.”
“Oh, I know. I’m sure you can do a lot of things all by yourself, Ariella, but that doesn’t mean you should have to,” I said, my voice low, tucking the brunette lock back behind her ear.
Her lips twisted, and her sharp eyes narrowed like she was trying to decide exactly where to aim her next argument. There was no hiding my cocky smile when she rolled her eyes and relented, realizing she wasn’t going to win this one.
“Fine.” A black polished nail poked at my chest, and she winced a bit when she hit the muscle. “But you’re not paying for my meal, okay? I can buy my own stuff, Longest Ride.”
“Not a bull rider,” I said with a laugh. “Besides, I thought there were no job titles allowed.”
She let out a noncommittal hum, her eyes raking up and down, lingering a little longer than necessary on my legs.
“My eyes are up here, Ari.”
“Thanks for the anatomy lesson,” she sassed, though I could swear her cheeks were a shade darker than before. If I’d been Jimenez, I might’ve offered to give her a hands-on anatomy lesson—but that wasn’t who I was.
Or how I was supposed to act .
“Do you have a car?” she asked, pulling out her phone. “Because if not, we’ll have to RideOrder.”
Mine was at the rink, and we could easily walk there, but she’d yet to show any signs of knowing who the hell I was, and part of me really liked that I got to be a nobody for once. It was the closest I’d felt to myself in a long time.
“Sorry, no car,” I said, only half-lying. “Came with some buddies.”
She nodded and opened the rideshare app. “Should be here in a few minutes. I’ll let you pay for half the ride,” she added with a sly grin. “I’m not that into my independence.”
God, her bright smile and how her warm brown eyes seemed to twinkle from within had my head spinning. I wanted to chalk up my reactions to the months of celibacy and the fact that I hadn’t talked to a new woman in years.
Emma was my college sweetheart. We’d met our freshman year after a hockey game, and the rest was history—or so I’d thought. The months apart had given me a new perspective on our relationship. Looking back, I wasn’t sure I’d ever been in love with her.
And deep down, I knew she’d never been in love with me.
I’d been so determined to be a good partner, to show up and be everything someone needed, it never even crossed my mind that she might walk away.
That I wouldn’t be enough.
But then, around four months before, a nearly six-year relationship had ended with a note saying she needed a break .
A silver Corolla pulled up to the curb, but I was too lost in thought to reach for the door.
“Hah.” Ari shot me a look of victory. “After you, sir.”
She dipped into an exaggerated bow, giving me an eyeful of cleavage in the process.
Maybe not always being a gentleman had its perks. Very, very perky perks.
“Quit staring at my boobs and get in, Dalton.”
I grinned and folded myself into the tiny car.
“If you’d let me open the door,” I muttered as she slid in next to me, “we wouldn’t have had that problem.”
“No, but then you’d be staring at my ass,” she quipped, slamming the door shut behind her.
She was so different from my ex, who’d preferred to be catered to, never wanting to pay for a single thing. Hell, I’d footed the bill for lunches I hadn’t even been invited to. Emma had loved being taken care of—she’d never once held a door for me, asked what I needed, or offered to split the burden.
Ari, on the other hand, seemed allergic to the idea of letting me take that sort of initiative. She wouldn’t even let me open a door without a fight.
And, for reasons I couldn’t fully explain, I liked her even more because of it.
This couldn’t be the only time.
My pulse kicked hard at the realization, and I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be the only night I’d get with Ari.