5. Dash
FIVE
DASH
It’s not like I haven’t seen Noelle a dozen or more times since Nalani and Koa did the whole second chance dance.
And it’s not that she wasn’t cute as hell in that quirky, awkward way freshman girls are when they fly the nest and end up in unknown territory, with a roommate like Lauren who was born knowing what she wanted.
She had to find her footing, and boy, did she ever.
I didn’t think her face could blush any hotter than it had when I made the crack about never having been tied up, but I was wrong.
And hell yes, after reading what she wrote, it wouldn’t surprise me if she doesn’t play hard like that.
But I’m blocking that thought because, well, because I should, and also, I want to see if she tells me the truth.
She leans in and places her other hand over mine. “Sometimes, we don’t tell people things, because we don’t want to hurt them.”
“You momming me?” I laugh.
“Just let it go.”
I put my hand over hers, lean in, and talk just as soft and sweetly as she did to me. “I got an invite, too.”
“What?” she asks, completely shook.
I unhook our pinkies and sit back. “Lauren reaches out on occasion.”
“What about her future husband?” She shakes her head. “He couldn’t possibly want Dash Sterling at his wedding.”
I place a hand over my chest, above my heart. “Am I that unlikable?”
Her eyes lock on mine, steady, unflinching. She leans closer, voice dropping until it’s almost a whisper meant only for me. “You …” Her lips part, hesitating. “You and her—” She breaks off, shaking her head again, as if even the thought tastes wrong.
I hold out my pointer finger. “If you make some lewd motion that involves a pointer finger and a circle …” I stop, daring her to make an O with hers.
She bats my finger away and laughs. And goddamn, I like the sound of her laugh.
It’s not polite or restrained or fake; it bursts out of her, bright and unguarded, like she forgot for half a second who she’s laughing with.
And that’s what gets me—not the sound alone, but the fact that I always liked Noelle.
She’s authentic, unfiltered, doesn’t even hide quirks, would wave me off when I asked a question during lit class because she was that in the moment with every damn thing they made us read.
I catch a slight buzz off the fact I made her laugh when she was having a shit day.
I lean back, grinning slow, letting the moment stretch. “Careful,” I murmur. “You keep doing that, I’m gonna start thinking you actually like me.”
“Are you actually going to the wedding?”
Right now, I wish the answer was yes, but I shake my head. “I RSVP’ed no, got a call, both Lauren and Louie on the line asking if I was sure I couldn’t make it.”
“What?” Her voice squeaks. “That’s … that’s …”
“Lauren.” I chuckle. “As you know, she tries to bully everyone to get her way. He’s so whipped he offered to pay travel expenses from our Utah game so I wouldn’t miss it.”
“They know your schedule?” She looks shook … again.
“They own a box at the arena.” I laugh.
She makes a face, a little pained, a little angry, and then … dejected.
“You’ve never seen her at a?—”
“No.” She squares her shoulders and sits straighter. “I mean, it’s not like we stayed close.”
“Close enough she invited you to her wedding.” I hate seeing her fighting emotions she shouldn’t have to, and I really don’t wanna see her sad or worse—cry over Lauren, so I tell her, “Don’t go.”
“But I?—”
“Fuck her. Don’t go. Get all the girls to come to the game in Utah. Post the fuck out of pictures of you all having the time of your lives.” I stop. “Wait, are they going?”
She shakes her head. “Not invited.” She blinks a few times. “Unless they just told me that.”
“Nah, Koa would have mentioned it.”
She shrugs. “I RSVP’ed yes—I have to go. Plus, I have—or had—the perfect dress.”
I wag my brows. “You wanna show her what peaking after high school looks like, don’t you?”
“I totally peaked in high school. This”—she waves her hand up and down herself—“is not me at my second peak. That’s still yet to come.”
The waitress sets down our plates, burgers stacked tall, and a basket of golden fries.
I shove the entire basket of fries across the table. “All you,” I tell her, leaning back in the booth. “I’m not doing carbs right now.”
Her brows shoot up, that wicked little spark flickering in her eyes. “Oh, so what—you’re trying to make sure I don’t fit in that dress?”
I bark out a laugh, sharp and sudden. “If that’s your angle, it’s a terrible one. Because I can imagine you looking good in and out of that dress.”
Her cheeks flare, but she doesn’t miss a beat, snatching a fry and pointing it at me. “Line crosser.”
“Yep.” I snag the fry and put it in my mouth, slow, loving that she’s fixated on my mouth. Why? My talents aren’t only on the ice, if you know what I mean, and it’s been forever since I dared take a taste.
“You said no carbs.”
“Exceptions,” I say around the bite, smirking. “Look too damn good not to want a taste.”
Her lips part like she’s got a comeback locked and loaded, but the waitress swings by to refill our waters and the moment fizzles. She drops her fry back in the basket, cheeks still pink, and mutters something about needing to check if her phone’s ready.
We eat quietly, and I stop paying attention when I realize it makes her uncomfortable, which is bullshit; she’s a beauty. Perfect curves, not too thin. An ass that would jiggle. Yeah, she’s hot. She kind of always has been.
I pay the bill before she can argue, not that she doesn’t try.
“I’m going to Venmo you,” she says, stuffing her hands in her pockets.
“Like hell you are.” I laugh, opening the door for her to head out.
She grumbles, “I can’t believe I forgot my bag.”
“We were on a mission,” I remind her. “Do you still wear a backpack everywhere you go?”
She grins. “I need to find one that matches my dress. Lauren hated those things. But you know what?”
“No, tell me.”
“When she needed a dress strap stitched on the way to formal, or a pad when she?—”
“Ew,” I cut her off.
“Fine.” She rolls her big brown eyes. “But you have sisters, a mother, and nature is?—”
“Nope, there is no way you can normalize that a woman can … you know, for that long and live.”
“But do I really have to normalize something that is actually normal?”
I give her the side eye, and she giggles.
I throw open the door to the cell shop. “After you.”
We head inside, and she approaches the counter with a polite smile, but this time, it has a don’t mess with me edge.
A kid emerges with a plastic tray and sets it on the counter. Her phone sits in the middle like a corpse.
“Yeah … this one’s cooked,” he says, sliding it forward. “Motherboard’s fried. Smarter to buy a good used one than have it fixed.”
Her shoulders slump, but she lifts one like it’s not a big deal. “It’s fine. I’ll send it back to the provider.”
I lean an elbow on the counter and pull my own phone out of my pocket. “You take one of mine until you get yours back.”
She blinks. “One of—what do you mean, one of yours?”
“I’ve got two.” I shrug. “Personal and team-issued.”
“You are Dash Sterling,” the kid says, with actual voice inflection for the first time. “I knew it.”
“Hockey fan?” I ask with my PR smile.
“Not really, but my situationship is a fan of the billboard of you in Times Square.”
I chuckle. “I’ll get you a couple of tickets to our next home game. Maybe, that way, she’ll be more than a situationship?”
“I mean, sure, I’ll take the tickets, but gotta be honest, I’d bring a friend, my dad, but not her.”
Noelle giggles, and I look at her. “What part of situationship did you not understand?”
The kid chuckles, too.
I roll my eyes and look back at the kid. “I was trying to do you a solid; now what do I owe you?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “But a selfie would be cool.”
“Done.”
I point to her phone. “Could you put that in a body bag?”
He does just that, and when he hands it to her, I ask, “Your name?”
“Please don’t file a complaint. As much as this job sucks, I need the fifteen hours I get.”
I shake my head and smile. “For the tickets. You can grab them at the box office. We have a home games next Tuesday.
“Tony, Tony Keats.” He continues, he and Noelle saying the same thing at the same time, “Like the poet.”
“Oh my God.” She laughs.
“He’s the one who wanted boob pillows?” I joke, and they both look at me like I just slapped a nun. I roll my eyes. “Let’s roll, Pembrooke.”
Inside the SUV, I pull my phone from my pocket. “You can use the personal one while you wait on insurance. That way, you’re not walking around off the grid like it’s 1999.”
She shakes her head fast. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not hijacking your phone. I’ll live without one for a few days.”
“Not happening. I don’t like the idea of you, or any female, being unable to get in touch with someone if need be.”
She hesitates, biting her lip, glancing between me and the phone like it may bite her. “Dash?—”
“Take it, Noelle,” I cut her off, low and firm. “Humor me. I won’t relax if I know you don’t have a line to someone if you need it.”
Her mouth opens, ready to fight me on it, but then she sees something in my face, and it just registers that I won’t budge.
“You’re impossible,” she mutters, snatching the phone and placing it on her lap.
“Yep.” I grin, satisfied.
“Impossible,” she repeats.
“Maybe. But at least now I can text you when your perfect dress is ready.”
“True.” She sighs and leans back.
Joel pulls into traffic without a word.
For a while, it’s quiet. Just the hum of the city outside, the rhythm of tires over asphalt, her soft exhale as she stares out the window. I should leave it. Let her cool off. But I can’t help myself.
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
Her head whips around. “Oh my God, I suck. You’ve done so much?—”
“Messing with you.” I point to the phone. “You wouldn’t last a day without it.”
Her brows shoot up, lips parting like she’s ready to bite back. “I would’ve managed.”
“Sure,” I say, grinning. “Like cavemen managed without heat. Doesn’t mean it was a good time.”
Her sigh is dramatic, arms folding across her chest, but I catch it—the tiny tug at the corner of her mouth.
“I don’t need you to babysit me, Dash.”
“I know.” I tap my knee against her. “And trust me, that roster’s full anyway.”
“Very from what I see at Icehouse after games.”
“What the hell?” I laugh. “I’m not babysitting bunnies. I?—”
“I mean”—she scrunches up her face—“do you ID them?” She laughs again, and I can’t even be mad. That laugh is lethal.
“IDs get checked at the door, smartass. I was talking about my sisters. Well, one. She’s in love”—I pause—“again.”
She smiles. “What does again mean?”
“Means every asshole who says the right thing, she ends up calling me and saying, ‘I think he’s the one, Dash.’”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty.”
“It’s good she’s optimistic.” She nods once.
“Why is that good?” I ask.
“Lots of reasons, like, no one has torn her heart to shreds.”
“Someone shred your heart, Noelle?”
She forces a laugh. “Why would you ask that?”
“In college, your nose was stuck in a book, you weren’t trying to hook up at the parties I saw you at, and I’ve never seen a guy with you at a game or at the bar after.”
“I focus on what makes me happy. Books make me happy.”
“I’m focused, too, but we all have needs.”
She silently laughs. “We do. And some of us just don’t share that information.”
I lean in and whisper, “You have a secret lover?”
“I have what I need when I need it.”
The fact her face isn’t on fire is kind of disappointing, to be honest.
“So, you haven’t caught feels?”
“I have a very specific idea of what I want my life to look like, and if …” She pauses. “Why am I getting interrogated?”
“Not an interrogation, just curious.”
“I could turn the tables and ask you the same questions.”
“My stance hasn’t changed since college. I don’t have the time or energy to put into a relationship. So, yeah, I’m not a choir boy, but I don’t pretend to be.”
“Admirable,” she states.
“I think so.”
“Don’t get defensive. I was being real. I’ve been on enough dates to know the difference between types of players, and to Icehouse after enough wins to know none of you are bending down on one knee to get laid.”
“Wish Briar knew the difference.”
“That bad?” she asks.
I rattle off four or five scenarios.
“Ouch.”
“Got a list started of asses I want to kick on the off-season, too.”
“Why wait?” she jokes.
“Jail. Coach D would be pissed if I got locked up and messed up her playbook.”
“Maybe your sister, Briar?”
I nod to confirm.
“Maybe she’s bored at school. Maybe she needs a hobby or to join a club?”
“She plays D1 soccer at Lincoln; she’s scheduled tight. She just has a knack for running into idiots.” I force a laugh, because yeah, I could dissect this for hours, but it’s not a Noelle issue; it’s mine.
“Is she safe?” Noelle asks.
“You mean, like protection?” I cringe.
She laughs. “I mean that, and does she tell a friend if she goes on a date? Does she share a location with someone who will look out for her? Does she make sure not to go somewhere that would put her at high risk?”
“I would assume so. I mean, fuck.” I sit back and roll the tension from my neck.
“I’m worried about her getting used and some dipshit breaking her heart, not all that.
” I lay my head back against the leather headrest and look up at the ceiling of the SUV.
“Until now.” And then it fucking hits me like a freight train. “Are you?”
“Damn right I am. I could take down twenty men with everything I carry in my backpack, and that’s without even opening it.”
I roll my head to the side and look at her. “Do you have a good security system at your place?”
“Kevin McCallister has got nothing on me.”