Chapter 7
Seven
Lucas
Holy shit.
Denise Stryker actually gave me the time of day.
I must be hallucinating.
Or maybe the drink Moose gave me did actually have alcohol in it. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that.
But the ache in my thighs and the tingling sensation of wherever her lips had been lead me to believe that maybe I’m not imagining things and what I thought was impossible actually just happened less than an hour ago.
I’ve imagined a moment with her for what feels like forever. Her kissing me. Or letting me touch her. And I have my fair share of fantasies that I save for times when my dick is too hard and all I can think about is how Denise’s name would taste on my lips as I come.
But tonight was so much better than some fantasy I play out in my head with my dick in my hand.
The ceiling in my room is spinning and not because of alcohol.
I can unfortunately hear Preston and Grace just down the hallway in the other room—well okay, I can hear Grace’s string of moans as if Preston’s performance is the best she’s ever had.
And usually, I’d pound on the door and tell them to keep it down but that’s all background noise to the memory of Denise moaning my name. The way she tasted so sweet. Her warm, smooth skin beneath my palms.
From the day I met her—six months and five days ago to be exact—I’ve tried to picture that very moment she’d ever give me the time of day.
She and Amiyah came walking into the ice rink on a random Tuesday evening practice. I knew Coach had daughters. I heard him and Joshey talk about them in passing a few times before then. And I’ve seen Amiyah around campus, even witnessed Denise at a couple parties once she arrived at Kingswell.
I thought then she was beautiful, which was further confirmed when I got a closer look. And then she opened her mouth.
“Can I fucking help you?”
The words weren’t even directed toward me but to our forward defenseman, Cash.
Coach had just finished giving everyone the speech about how his daughters were off limits and purely there to watch. Told us to pretend they didn’t exist and if we didn’t, we’d be benched for the season.
Of course, Cash took that as a dare and he went straight in for the Stryker sisters but as he skated closer, toward the seats in the stands they were sitting at, I guess something he overheard them saying had caught him off guard because he didn’t end up saying anything.
He just stared.
Amiyah, who had been talking animatedly, stopped and Denise, who had been sitting there listening to every word, despite the look on her face that said she wanted to be anywhere but there, looked up at Cash. Her arms crossed. Strawberry tinted lips pulled into a scowl.
Cash stumbled over his words. Coach called him out. And we all teased him for it.
But there was something in that brief moment that made it hard for me to look away from Denise.
Maybe it was the confidence. Or the take-no-shit attitude.
Hell, it could’ve even just been that I’m probably a masochist and the thought of her berating me turned me on.
But there was also this way that Denise softened whenever she was talking to Amiyah. Or her dad. Even Joshey was granted that look a handful of times.
It wasn’t this grand thing. I don’t even think she noticed she did it. Whenever Amiyah laughed, the corner of Denise’s mouth would slightly twitch, as if she couldn’t help herself.
It happened after that moment with Cash.
Amiyah made a joke. Denise tried not to smile.
I’ve caught it when her dad passionately goes over plays.
Or when Sarah or Bethany dish her shit right back.
I chalked it up to me just finding her hot.
Who wouldn’t?
The way her blonde shoulder-length hair practically glows in the sunlight would stupefy anyone. And her seafoam green eyes constantly look like they’re either judging or assessing if you’re going to be a problem for her or not.
Sure, she always has her makeup, hair, and nails done. Always dressed as if she has somewhere better to be. But behind all of that, I always got this sense that there was more to uncover.
I thought that maybe after finally getting a chance with her that this ache in my chest would go away. The need to constantly try and be around her would dissipate. The addictiveness of needing her to say anything as long as it’s directed toward me would disappear.
If anything, it made it worse.
I want more.
Not just sex but of her unguarded laugh.
Her eyes on me.
The way her teasing grows just a little softer, like for once she might actually care about hurting my feelings.
I know this essentially means I’m screwed.
This shouldn’t even be a big deal. I should be able to say I’ve had her once and I’ll find someone else.
Someone that doesn’t scowl when I look at her too long or someone who is a little nicer.
The rational part of me knows that wanting Denise isn’t the safest option. Because there’s a very high chance that she’ll never want me back. Not in the way I want her.
Hopelessly desperate.
But then there’s also a part of me that’s fine with being whatever she wants me to be, as long as I’m hers in some way.
I run a hand over my face, letting out a deep sigh. The apartment has now grown quiet. My blanket still rests on my hips. My body continues to tingle and burn just at the memory of where Denise’s hands had been.
And a smile still rests on my lips just from thinking of when I’ll get to see her again.
I’m fucked.
Screwed.
Utterly and acceptingly pathetic.