13. Little Dicks
13
LITTLE DICKS
Leighton
When I walk into Moon Over Milkshakes, an oldie-but-goodie is blasting louder than usual at the retro-themed diner, and I wince. The song isn’t bad; it’s just that loud music and I don’t play well together.
I scan the room for my friends, since we’re meeting for a pre-wedding party lunch. But as usual, I’m the first one here since I arrived early. I like to pick the table if I can, especially with this song about beaches and California sunshine blaring. A booth in the back opens up as a group stands to leave, and when the hostess swings by, she asks, “How many?”
“There’ll be five of us,” I say, pointing. “Any chance we can snag that booth in the back?”
“Of course, doll. I’ll have it ready in a jiffy. What’s your name?”
“Leighton. Thanks,” I say as she enters my name into a tablet .
Turning to my phone, I adjust my hearing aids to restaurant mode, which is supposed to amplify speech and filter out background noise. Sometimes, though, the setting just amplifies everything—like, well, the music. Ugh. The song’s even louder in my ears now, so I tweak the settings again, trying to enhance soft sounds. I save the adjusted program, hoping this time it’ll work.
When I look up, the hostess is standing a couple of feet away from me, head tilted my way and eyebrows raised expectantly. I recognize her expression. She’s waiting for me to say something because she just said something—something I missed. A kernel of embarrassment twists through me, but I do my best to ignore it. Besides, it’s not hard to figure out what she said, so I ask to confirm, “The table’s ready now?”
“Yes, it is! Right this way,” she says with a smile, leading me over and asking a question without looking over her shoulder. I catch most of her, “How’s your day going so far, hon?”
Even though I’m a bit frustrated I can’t make out every word, it’s not her fault. “Great, thanks,” I say, but my mind is still whirring as I slide into the mint-green booth while she heads back to the front.
I’m tempted to ask someone to turn down the music. But that wouldn’t be fair to the fifty or so other people here enjoying it. Besides, my friends are easy to talk to; I’ll manage. And really, this is a reminder that I always have to be vigilant when I’m out and about. I don’t have the luxury of fiddling with my phone if it means I might miss something I need to hear.
I’m adaptable and I’ve had to be since I was diagnosed at sixteen with mild to moderate sensorineural hearing loss. I didn’t go to many concerts as a kid (none, actually). I didn’t blast my eardrums out. I didn’t have ear infections when I was younger. It was simply random.
That means I’ll deal with the acoustics and the volume since I’ve had to for years, and I’ve learned where to sit or stand at restaurants and movies, in living rooms and at parties. I’ve figured out how to focus on different people who speak at different levels, and, most of all, I’ve learned how to pay attention. That’s my best asset—my own internal focus. With it, I’ve figured out how to handle all sorts of situations.
How I’ll handle seeing Miles later? That remains to be seen. Just being near him, even at the rink, still sends a spark down my spine. A spark I hope will burn out.
It would just be easier if it did.
Before long, my friends filter in, and I pop up to say hi to Everly, Josie, Fable, and Maeve. I met them all through Everly after we reconnected last fall. After I took photos at the community garden, she introduced me to her girl squad, and we clicked. I even did boudoir shoots for each of them. Hard to believe that just ten months later, they’re my ride-or-dies. Maeve even sub-leased her apartment to me for a while, though the lease recently ran out, so I’ll be moving in a few weeks, but back into the same apartment with my old roomies again. It’s like a merry-go-round with my old roomies—one I’d rather not get back on. That’ll be a pain. But some things are easy—like the fast friendship I’ve formed with these women.
Josie, who’s a librarian, is always full of quick wit, and clever solutions. She recently got engaged to Wesley on the team. Everly’s a warm and supportive badass babe. She’s engaged to Max, the team’s goalie. Fable’s delightfully sarcastic and direct, and is dating her boss, the owner of the Renegades. And Maeve’s our artist friend, full of beautiful chaos and love. She just had her second wedding with her best friend, Asher, who’s also a hockey player. Yes, their second wedding. They got accidentally—well, maybe not so accidentally—married in Vegas and then decided to stay married for appearances. Last week, they renewed their vows, and that’s why we’re here today. Tonight’s the wedding party. But we also need to review the party favors—definitely a priority alongside lunch.
“So, are you ready for the most you wedding party ever tonight?” I ask Maeve as the music shifts to something catchy from another era. I concentrate hard on hearing over the music, especially with the clatter of dishes. But it helps, too, that my friends know I prefer eye contact when we’re all talking.
Her grin spreads wider than a city block. “I can’t wait,” she says.
“The venue couldn’t be more Maeve unless it were a funhouse,” Josie adds, setting her library book down, her huge diamond engagement ring glinting in the light.
Maeve’s hazel eyes widen. “Why didn’t I think of a funhouse?”
“Maybe save that for wedding number three,” Fable says to her, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear.
“Hey, don’t tempt me,” Maeve says, smoothing a hand over her T-shirt that reads I Speak Dog . “I just might renew my vows every year.”
“Well, I agree,” Everly chimes in. “A coffee shop with room to dance is very you. And now that they carry your art? Iconic.”
Maeve gives a playful shrug. “That’s me.” She’s lighthearted about it, but the shop carrying her paintings is a big deal. Maeve’s made serious inroads as an artist in the last several months, and that includes landing placement on coffee shop walls. They’re the new art galleries.
“And the party favors?” I ask, turning to Fable, focusing fully despite the loud music. I’m in vigilant mode. “Are they as amazing as we hoped?”
Fable and I planned the favors, but she picked them up.
“Even better,” she says, pausing as the server arrives. We order quickly, knowing our go-to dishes. Then Fable returns to the topic of the favors, meeting Maeve’s gaze. “You wanted classy chocolates, and we delivered.” She dips a hand into her bag, fishing around before pulling out a robin’s egg blue box and setting it on the table. She slides it to Maeve with a perfectly straight face. I keep my expression even too. “Here’s a sampler. Open it.”
“We wanted you to try them out before tonight. Just in case,” I add, since that’s what Fable and I planned when we plotted out these favors.
Maeve laughs. “I never say no to opening a present before Christmas—or dessert before a meal.” She opens the box, her expression blank for a beat. Then her eyes pop, and a wicked smile forms on her lips. She raises her head. “You didn’t?”
“Oh, we did.” I smile too. We planned the favor together at the shop the other day, and seeing her reaction makes it worth it. “Do you like it?”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.” Maeve opens the box to reveal a set of chocolates from Elodie’s Chocolates, each one cheekily phallic. “Aww. You know me so well.”
“We do,” I say, and oddly, I feel that way despite only having met her a relatively short time ago. It’s a good feeling. The best feeling. I feel like they’ll be around for a long time, and I like that reassurance .
Maeve pops a little chocolate dick into her mouth, chews, and sighs like a food show host.
“So…are we handing these out tonight?” Josie asks innocently.
We all burst out laughing. “As much as I love dicks, the answer is no,” Maeve says. “There will be adults there.”
“Surely you don’t mean the hockey team by adults?” Everly teases.
“You don’t want the whole team getting tiny dicks as a gift?” Josie deadpans.
“The Sea Dogs can eat dicks all night long, but it’s more like my aunt and her friends that I probably shouldn’t give mini cocks to,” Maeve clarifies, since her aunt’s hosting the party. “Let’s keep these just for us,” she says, giving Fable a pointed look. “These are a joke, right?”
“Do they taste like a joke?” Fable counters, then relents. “Of course. They’re just for us.”
Everly sobers, leaning in, her blonde ponytail swishing closer to me. “Your dad will be there too?”
“Yep,” I reply, shrugging. “Everyone’s going.”
She gives me a knowing look. “So…that means Miles too? How’s that going to be for you?”
Inwardly, I feel a twist of nerves but I keep my expression neutral. They know the basics—I’ve told them about the one perfect date we shared. A date that couldn’t be repeated. But I haven’t told them how hard it’s been to keep my distance. What’s the point? I need to keep moving forward.
In life, in work…in everything.
I shrug, forcing a smile. “It’ll be fine. Good, even. Let’s just say it’ll be interesting.”
The food arrives, and as I eat my veggie burger, my mind wanders once more to tonight. I’ve seen Miles a handful of times in the last year—in the stairwell, in his car after the community garden event, in the hallway post-auction.
Tonight will be different in one big way. There won’t be a chance to be alone.
MainLine is buzzing, the spacious coffee shop packed with friends, family, and…the team. Lights glint off glasses and silverware, and the space feels sparkly with celebration. The music is softer here, with an old standards vibe, and I’m grateful. But I’m still on edge, knowing he’s somewhere in the crowd.
It’s summer and hot for September. I’m wearing jeans and a silky black sleeveless top—at least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s not that Miles likes the ink on my arms so much he once bought me earrings that reminded him of my tattoos—earrings I’m wearing tonight.
I don’t have to look for him; he’s already here, chatting at the counter with the guys. I should’ve been ready for it—that jolt I felt when I saw him earlier tonight—the first time I’ve seen him since the season ended. But it surprised me again tonight, maybe because he looks so good. Like he’s worked out even more in the off-season. His arms are stronger, chest broader, and his hair a little longer and messier.
I’m not complaining.
I’m acutely aware of him across the coffee shop, which is closed for the private party but serving champagne and, naturally, coffee spiked with liquor. But I stick with a group of friends, where Maeve is thanking us for the real party favors—chocolates shaped like paintbrushes, hockey sticks, and a ring for their marriage.
“You’re the best, and I love you,” Maeve says, pulling us into a group hug. When we let go, I grab my camera from my bag and snap a few pictures. “I can’t resist,” I say, since I want her to have pictures of tonight.
“You’re the best,” she says again, then nods to my camera. “And you better send me those.”
“Obviously,” I say. “Also, just try to stop me from taking more all night long.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she says.
“Good.”
“But I don’t want you to feel like you have to,” she adds, and it’s thoughtful the way she looks out for me professionally. There’s no need though.
“Trust me, I want to,” I add.
“Thanks.” Then she leans closer, her gaze straying across the room briefly before she turns back to me, saying in a lower voice, “And someone can’t take his eyes off you.”
My body reacts instantly—a tingle slides down my spine, chased by excitement. I shouldn’t want this. I really shouldn’t. And yet I want to eat up her comment with a spoon.
Stupid. So stupid.
“Well, he should probably stop, since my dad is here,” I say. That’s why I can’t talk to Miles tonight—I don’t want to give a thing away. This is just a party, and I’m just another face in the crowd tonight.
“And your dad’s walking toward him right now,” Maeve adds.
Tension flares in me. Worry, too, for no reason. It’s not like my dad is talking to him about me .
Still, I whip my gaze to them, curiosity gripping me.
Yep, there’s the coach talking to one of his star players, and since I have a solid view of my dad’s face, I’m pretty sure I can make out most of the words my father’s saying to the team’s center. Especially if you become co-captain.
I blink, then mutter, “Holy shit.”
“What?” Maeve asks.
Of course she doesn’t read lips. I do. I turn to her. “I think Miles is up for the captaincy.”