2. Soleil
SOLEIL
Dear Diary,
Hot damn, I love a new notebook!
There couldn’t be a more auspicious way to start a fresh, new journal than by writing the words I met the most amazing guy today…
These are words I have personally never written in a journal before. My journal entries are filled with sentences like, I met the most obnoxious guy today. Or when I was younger: Why don’t any of the guys in my school know how to kiss properly?!
But this guy—I am quite certain I would have no complaints if he’d kissed me.
Here’s another sentence I’ve never written in my journal before: I bet he knows how to spank a girl properly too.
His name is Dean Rafferty, and he’s so good looking that I told him I like to be spanked.
It’s possible I also used the term butt stuff.
I have never had that kind of chemistry with a man before.
Has anyone? It was actual chemistry. Like, I could feel the chemical reactions happening in real time in my brain and my body.
Sparks and zings that I’ve never felt before.
I think staring up at his full, smirking mouth finally unlocked the bad-girl part of my post-pubescent sexual cortex.
*I would look up the correct term for the part of the brain that produces dirty thoughts, but the Wi-Fi router is locked up in the safe today.
Anyway, that part of my brain is the part my poor dad has always feared existed.
The part I never wanted to scare him with because he went through enough when Mom died.
But that was five years ago. I’m twenty-three now.
That’s exactly why we argued last night.
I told him I wanted to finally learn how to skate.
I wanted to go skating with my bestie, Jessie, and I want to take skating lessons.
He needs to stop coddling me. And I need to stop letting him.
Maybe it’s time I let myself be a woman.
Maybe Dean Rafferty is exactly the man to bring the woman out of me.
Except…
Dad would never want me to date him. If I do try to date him it could affect Dean’s relationship with my dad and his job. That could affect the team.
Or…
Maybe we should just quietly, secretly see how things go first, take it one step at a time, and figure the rest out later.
I’m getting ahead of myself! I need to write about what happened because this was significant and I want to remember it.
An important, big day in my life, after so many monotonous days for years.
Not that I’m ungrateful for the life I’ve had.
I love my life. I miss Mom, but I can’t complain.
However, I also have to admit that in recent years I’ve had this quiet yearning for something or someone that I haven’t been able to name.
Something I haven’t been able to put a finger on.
Turns out his name is Dean Rafferty, and I want to get my hands all over him and I want him to put his fingers on, all over, and inside of me.
What?!
I really wish it wasn’t Digital Detox Week because if I had my phone with me today I could have taken a picture of him. I’ll have to sketch him from memory. He had the most gorgeous hazel eyes and a beautiful jawline.
And his butt! Holy bubble buttocks, Hockeyman!
I never paid attention to the hockey player butts around here before because I knew they were off-limits for dad-coach reasons.
Or because they’re friends with Noah and are off-limits for big brother reasons.
Dean Rafferty’s behind is so perfectly shaped it should come with a plaque.
And the plaque would say Sculpted by a thousand squats. And a thousand more.
I can’t decide if I liked it better when I saw him coming or going.
I just know I liked looking at him more than I’ve ever liked looking at anyone. I felt calm and stimulated at the same time. That has to be a good thing, right?
I am so glad I decided to wander into Whisk It Good after having breakfast at Locally Forked. I was very randomly inspired to see if Sheryl had any new mugs in stock. And then I walked into the store, and the first thing I saw was the nicest man-ass in a pair of jeans I have ever seen.
What followed was a strange and exciting dance of banter, awkwardness, intense flirtation, and some really wonderful moments.
Except my brain short-circuited when he told me he’s the new assistant coach of the Comets.
I vaguely remember Dad mentioning back in January that he hired a new hotshot assistant coach from out of town who couldn’t start right away.
This was soon after Kyle suddenly quit to move to LA to live with his new girlfriend.
Dad did not—I am sure of it—mention that he hired the best-looking man in the world who also happened to be single and have an amazing butt.
Or maybe he did and I wasn’t listening. I guess I should start paying more attention when he talks about hockey.
Anyway, for a split-second I was considering whether or not to just walk away once I knew Dean was off-limits. But as soon as I decided to give it a chance… Blammo. Goodbye coach’s daughter, hello spank-talker.
I had to get out of the store before Sheryl saw me because I didn’t want her to mention Dad or mention me being there with Dean to Dad or anyone else.
I am so glad Dean showed up at the park.
It was such a beautiful day. Remarkably sunny and kind of warm for mid-February, which is crazy because it was really cold yesterday.
It’s like the universe wanted me to have an excuse to invite him to the park for a walk.
There was hardly anyone else around since it was 10:30 on a Tuesday.
He rolled up in a white Chevrolet Malibu, which he quickly informed me was a rental: “Had a 1970 Dodge Challenger in Calgary. Got it pretty cheap, worked on it myself when I had time. She was such a beauty. But I was advised to sell it because it wouldn’t be practical to drive around these parts. ”
“Oof,” I said. “I bet it wasn’t easy to let her go.”
“It really wasn’t. She was irreplaceable, but…it was the practical thing to do. No regrets. I’ll buy a truck one of these days.”
“Trucks can be fun too…” I said, in the most flirtatious way I could have said those five innocent words, as if I’d ever had a really good time with a guy in the back of a truck.
I barely knew this man, but there I was in a parking lot, imagining making out with him in the back of a pickup truck under the stars.
He’d probably bring pillows and extra blankets and make sure I came first. “Well. Wanna go for a walk with me?” is what I said out loud.
“I do,” he said. “I really do.” And for a second I thought he was going to reach out to take my hand.
What’s crazy is I wanted him to. But he didn’t.
He did, however, lightly touch the small of my back when he said, “Lead the way.” It sent a shiver up my spine and warmth through my belly.
I’ve read about that kind of thing happening in books but never felt it before.
We walked along the lakeside promenade. He’d never been before, and I was so happy to be the first person to show him my favorite part of Kenton.
The bandshell is closed up this time of year, and the park was deserted.
The lake wasn’t exactly inviting, but that slate-gray water is beautiful now in a stark, cold way.
I love painting that view in the winter.
I could even see buds on the trees. It’s like all of Kenton was slowly starting to wake up in the way my insides were as soon as I met Dean.
We didn’t talk at all for a few minutes, and that was nice.
Then we naturally came to a stop by the beach, which was empty, and looked out across the lake to the mountains.
We just stood there at the edge between the path and the sand, side by side, breathing in the cool, fresh air and taking in the scenery.
Listening to the ever so quiet waves and the occasional bird.
Back at Sheryl’s store we were flirting like it was a nightclub, but standing there like that, just experiencing something quietly, it felt intimate. It was so romantic.
At a certain point it felt like we were both waiting for the other to break the silence. To see who could handle it the longest. And I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to steer the conversation away from the Comets, but I had questions. Who was this guy, and why was I so into him?
I asked him how he got into coaching junior hockey, and he said he played in the NHL for Calgary for two years and then he injured his hip during a game at twenty-three, had three surgeries, and the team told him to cut his losses.
“Labral tear with cartilage damage. There was a chance it could have healed well enough after the first surgery and I could have gotten back out there. But it didn’t.
Spent a year recovering, feeling sorry for myself, doing rehab.
When I turned twenty-four, I started coaching junior league.
I wanted to stay in hockey, and junior was the fastest way into coaching. ”
“I’m really sorry that happened,” I said. “I bet you had been dreaming of playing in the NHL since you were a kid.”
“Enh. Only since I was ten,” he said with a half grin, but I could tell he was a little sad.
“So, how’s your hip now?” I found myself asking. “Does it still hurt? Does it limit your ability to do…things?”
“To be clear,” he said, turning to look me straight in the eyes, “my hip is too damaged to perform explosive lateral movement at high speed. It can’t withstand an eighty-two-game schedule, sprints, and back-to-backs.
But I can still play casual hockey and perform in every way I need to in everyday life.
My range of motion and stamina is better than most twenty-eight year olds’.
” He was so chill the way he said, “May not be at the pro-athlete level anymore, but I’m still fully capable of maintaining vigorous thrusting motions from many angles for long periods of time. ”
Shew!