Chapter 27 Stella
Stella
The boys come back to find Colt and me on the couch, reading in silence. Although I haven’t gotten very far into the book I brought since I keep taking breaks to stare at him in his glasses.
“Nerds,” Drew teases, shedding his wet boots in the doorway. “Cabin to yourselves and you’re reading books. Opportunity wasted.”
“We actually fucked in your bed earlier, but thanks for the concern,” Colt claps back, not even bothering to look up from his page.
I choke back a laugh, but Booker and Beau don’t bother.
Their cackles fill the room, echoing off the beams. Even as the butt of the joke, Drew smiles, knowing Colt isn’t serious.
I guess they’re relieved to see Colt acting like himself again.
“We’re gonna shower and then head up to the resort to hang. You guys want to come?” Beau asks us, continuing to strip off the wet outer layer of clothes.
“Shower with you? No thanks,” Colt continues, obviously feeling better than he had this morning. I laugh again, shoving him with my foot.
“Sure, we’ll go. I was getting a little stir-crazy, anyway,” I reply for the both of us.
Booker politely asks to use my shower, Drew claims the one in their shared bathroom, and Beau—after much complaining—uses the one in his parents’ en suite.
Mr. and Mrs. Warren have been gone all afternoon, saying they were going to go on a helicopter ride over the mountains. Seriously, the amount of money these people have is insane.
When everyone’s dressed, we hop in the rental and head over to the massive main building of the resort.
There are three towers full of hotel suites and penthouses.
The fourth building that makes up the resort, though, is filled with indoor sports, spas, games, clubs, restaurants, and dozens of other places for people to have the time of their lives off the slopes. The place could be its own city.
We wander around for a while. The boys get approached a few times by people who recognize them from previous years. Beau sees a red-headed girl sitting at a lounge table with a few other people—could it be the infamous Danielle?—and darts toward the indoor sports complex with us in tow.
There are four full-sized basketball courts inside, a second level with a walking track and batting cages, a set of doors that lead to a room of workout equipment, and another door on the opposite end that leads to an Olympic-sized swimming pool.
On one of the basketball courts, the hoops have been raised up and a volleyball net erected in the center. I start gravitating toward it before I know my feet are even moving.
My season ended a few weeks ago—volleyball is a fall sport, not a winter one—and we’re currently on our dead period until spring conditioning starts back up. I’ve hit the gym since our last game, but it’s not the same.
“You wanna play?” Booker asks, walking up beside me. “We can do 2-v-2.” He suggests.
“We don’t have to—” I start, but Beau cuts me off.
“I’m down for a game. I call Stella, though,” he taunts the others before jogging over to the court.
“No fair! I wanted Stella,” Drew complains, chasing after him.
Colt laughs softly at my side. “Good luck with that,” he says, nodding his head toward his friends arguing over who gets to have me on their team.
“I’d pick you if you could play,” I reply. Maybe it’s cheesy, but it’s true.
Colt shakes his head. “No, you don’t want me for volleyball. I may be tall, but I’ve got the vertical of a pine tree.” His candor makes me look over in surprise, laughing.
“You’re actually bad at volleyball?” I ask, shocked that he’d admit to being bad at anything, and having serious doubts. I mean, look at the guy.
“Well, I’ve only ever played beach volleyball, and that’s usually done with a good amount of alcohol in my system, so I don’t know if I’m really any good or not. But I’m not lying about my vertical. It sucks compared to the other guys. Good thing I don’t need to jump for hockey.”
“So, who should I pick to be my teammate, then?” I ask with a smirk.
“Oh, definitely Booker.” He shoots me a cocky grin, then adds, “Just to piss those two off more.”
I laugh at his logic and walk onto the court, leaving Colt to stand on the sideline to be our ref.
To my surprise, the boys were actually very knowledgeable in the ways of volleyball. Beau’s form was good, and he explained that his sister used to play and that he used to practice with her. He didn’t sound sad, only nostalgic.
Booker was also decent, but that can be attributed to his all-around athleticism.
Every time one of us scored a point, he would come up and give me a two-handed high five with a grin that I’ve only seen on rare occasions.
For the majority of the game, instead of hitting, I played setter to Booker since he had at least four inches on me.
Every once in a while, I got a good hit in, though.
At one point, I hit a hard spike right at Beau’s head, and he had to choose to duck or get a bloody nose. “Damn, girl!” Drew had yelled.
Drew was just…chaotic. He could hit, but aiming was not really his forte. Half of the time, he sent the ball soaring way out of bounds, and then Beau would chew him out, making me laugh every time. However, he was good at blocking the hits we took.
Our game started to attract a little bit of a crowd, random strangers whooping and hollering when one of us would get a point or a block. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time, to be honest.
Booker and I ended up winning 21-15, and when Colt called the game, Booker spun me around like we had just won the Olympics. It’s the most emotional expression I’ve ever seen out of him.
Eventually, we make it out of the gym and back to the lobby, where we find a couple of free couches and collapse. Colt goes off to find us some bottled water.
“We should do that again next year. Make a new tradition,” Drew says, pushing his sweaty golden hair off his forehead.
“Agreed,” says Beau, “But I’m definitely making you work on your hitting between now and then. I mean, what the fuck even was that?”
They get into another petty argument about Drew’s inability to aim where he hits the ball, and Booker and I laugh. Those two are always arguing, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t entertaining as hell.
Booker looks over to where Colt’s coming back toward us, waters in hand. “I guess you’ll have a new partner next year,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“Eh, he said he wasn’t any good. I think I’ll stick with you,” I reply, bumping him with my shoulder, which makes one corner of his mouth tilt up. “Gotta keep the dream team together, right?”
“Right,” he says, grabbing a bottle from Colt as he arrives.
After passing out the bottles, Colt plops down beside me and plants a kiss on my sweaty forehead.
“Ugh, don’t, I probably smell awful,” I say, trying to pull away.
“Watching you kick their asses was hot,” he says, ignoring my comment and putting his arm across the back of the couch behind me.
Drew and Beau both start to argue that we didn’t kick their asses, but then a female voice catches our attention.
“Oh, my God! BoBo, I didn’t know you were here!” The red-haired girl from earlier comes over and cuddles up next to Beau’s sweaty body, smashing her mouth to his in the most forward kiss I’ve ever seen.
My eyes widen, and I look to Colt, who—oh—looks just as confused. On my other side, Booker whispers, “Danielle.” Ahh, so I had been right.
Beau pushes Danielle away from him, gently but firmly. “Hey, Dani,” he says, looking incredibly uncomfortable.
Danielle has long, bright, auburn red hair. She looks to be about five-foot-eight. She’s beautiful in an authentic, natural way. Beautiful like a sunny, spring afternoon.
“I missed you,” she says, still trying to lean into him. It’s kind of sad to watch, actually.
“I, uh, I’m sorry, Dani. But I thought we made it clear, last year was a one-time thing.” He isn’t harsh when he says it, but her face falls anyway.
“I just thought you didn’t want to do the whole long-distance thing, which I totally get. But I saw you over here, and I thought we had fun last year and maybe you missed me, too.” She does the same thing I do when she’s nervous: rambles. I can’t help but start to feel a little bad for her.
She looks around now, as if realizing for the first time that they aren’t alone, and her face grows incredibly red. “I’m sorry, I’ll just—” and gets up to leave before she can say anything else.
Beau heaves out a sigh, running his hand through his hair.
“Awkwardddd,” Drew drawls out, earning a glare from Beau.
“Come on,” he says, “Let’s go find some dinner. And a drink.”
Booker ends up driving us back to the cabin after Beau, Drew, and I have a few too many drinks. After that volleyball game, I realized being around them was like having three new brothers. None of them would let anything happen to me, and I decided to let loose.
The three of us are singing along to “Dancing Queen” by ABBA in the back seat—because they decided to connect my playlist to the car’s radio—and we probably sound terrible, but Colt and Booker are laughing at us so hard I can’t find it in me to stop.
I lean into Drew, both of us pretending to hold microphones as we belt out the chorus, and when I look up at Colt, his eyes are shining with amusement and something else.
Beau grabs my wrist, pretending to sing into my fake microphone, and I bust out in a fit of laughter, breaking eye contact with Colt.
When we pull up to the cabin, Booker tries to tell us to be quiet for Mr. and Mrs. Warrens’ sake, but his commands are lost on deaf ears as Drew and Beau burst through the front door, still singing at full volume.
Colt holds my hand, helping to steady me up the front stairs of the cabin. I’m definitely more drunk now than I was on Halloween.
“Are you ready to go to sleep?” He asks, leading me up to my room.
“Not really, no,” I answer honestly. If I go to sleep now, I just know I’ll have the worst hangover ever in the morning. I need to let some of my buzz wear off.
“Want to get in the hot tub?” Colt suggests.
“There’s a hot tub?” I nearly shriek, and Colt shushes me before I can get too loud.
“Yes, but be quiet. If they find out we’re going out there, I won’t get to have you all to myself.”
My stomach flips at his words, even though I know we won’t be having sex in the hot tub—one, that’s unsanitary, and two, he’s still not healed.
I give him a look that, hopefully, looks mildly seductive and walk over to my dresser, pulling out the black bikini I packed.
Turning around, I lock eyes with him and then pull my sweatshirt up over my head.
His eyes peruse up over my bare stomach, hesitating when they reach my breasts and the light blue bra containing them.
Next, I shimmy out of my leggings, turning away from him before I start removing my bra. I can feel his eyes on my back, on my ass, on my legs. I pull the bra off and replace it with the black bathing suit top.
“Tie it for me?” I ask, peering over my shoulder.
His rough hands trail over my bare skin, pushing my hair over one shoulder.
He leans down and kisses the exposed side of my neck with feather-light lips.
He takes the two strings over my shoulders and ties a bow at the base of my neck.
Next, his hands skim lower, sending shivers down my spine as he reaches under my arms for the other set of strings.
His fingertips brush against the sides of my boobs, and I gasp a little, barely audible intake of breath.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers in my ear. He pulls the strings tight around my ribs, tying another knot at my back.
Before I can turn around, his hands are on my hips, his lips kissing a line of fire down my spine, lower and lower. He pulls my underwear down my thighs and rubs both hands over my ass with a squeeze. “Turn around.” His voice is gruff, gravelly.
Turning, I see him on his knees before me, and my breath hitches in my throat.
He takes in the sight of me, bared to him.
Slowly, he reaches up and grabs the bathing suit bottoms from my hand.
He holds them open before me, wanting me to step into them.
I do as he wants, letting my head fall back as his fingers drag up the sides of my legs.
He plants a kiss on my hip bone, letting his teeth scrape against it in a mocking bite. I physically feel the moisture growing between my legs. It’s torture that I can’t have him the way I want.
When he stands, he doesn’t bother adjusting himself in his pants.
He’s fully hard for me and wants me to see it.
His amber eyes bore into mine, willing me to understand just how badly he wants me.
Stepping forward, I wrap my hands around his shoulders and bring my mouth to his.
I could spend every day for the rest of my life kissing him and never grow tired of it.
He opens, and his tongue brushes against mine. It takes everything in my power not to strip him naked right here. He’s not ready for that, no matter how badly both of us want it.
We stand there, in each other’s embrace, kissing like it provides a breath of fresh air, and we’ve both been drowning. He’s strong and soft and comforting, all in one. I bite his bottom lip gently, and he groans into my mouth.
Eventually, he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine. “I’m going to go put my trunks on. The hot tub is on the balcony,” he says, motioning toward the door at the back of the upstairs landing that leads to a balcony I didn’t even know existed.