Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
“Oh wow.” Whitney’s gaze lifts as we enter my apartment. “This is way less bachelor-y than I pictured.”
My chest shakes with a small chuckle. “Thanks.”
“Except for that.” She stops just past the entryway, where the apartment opens up to the living room on the left and the kitchen on the right. Whitney stares with an amused smirk at the TV sitting in the middle of the entertainment center.
“I thought it was big in the picture but whoa.”
D-Low is halfway down the steps when I hear him. He comes to a halt, and his lips twist into a grin. “Shep, you sending dick pics?”
“She’s talking about the TV,” I say with an eye roll.
Whitney laughs at him, which only spurs on my roommate. He continues the rest of the way downstairs. I lead her into the kitchen and grab a Dr Pepper from the fridge, then pull out all the movie snacks I have stashed in the cabinets.
“I didn’t know we had company,” he says, then, “Hey, Whit.”
I lift both brows as I stare at him. “Whit?”
“It’s okay. I’m used to people shortening my name, and it’s better than Ney-Ney.”
“I told you I was going to invite her over,” I tell him.
“Yeah, but it was fifty-fifty on if she’d come.” His grin pulls higher. Fucker. Then he says to Whitney, “You’re not a Ney-Ney. And I can’t call you by your last name, for obvious reasons.”
Oh geez. She’s been here less than two minutes, and it’s already awkward.
“We’re going to watch Dirty Dancing on the big TV,” I say, cutting in before he says more.
“Wait, we are?!” Whitney’s voice climbs several octaves, and her face splits into a big smile.
“Yeah, I thought I should finally see it.” I hold up a bag of Reese’s Pieces in one hand and Sour Patch Kids in the other. “Do you like candy?”
She nods, and I toss her the Reese’s.
“What about our Denzel marathon?” D-Low asks. “I was looking forward to rewatching The Equalizer.”
“We can watch it tomorrow after practice.”
He sighs heavily. “Fine. Fine. Don’t mind me. I’ll grab my food and head to my room.”
Whitney looks to me like maybe she feels bad he’s running off. I try to discreetly shake my head. Her sympathy is unwarranted. The number of times he’s switched up our plans for a girl are too many to count. I never held it against him, and I know he wouldn’t either. He’s totally playing her.
“You can stay if you want,” she says, obviously not reading my nonverbal cues.
“Are you sure?” He opens the fridge and pulls out a container of leftover veggie fried rice. “I don’t want to ruin the mood or impose or anything.”
“We’re really going to watch the movie, not fuck on the couch while the TV happens to play a movie,” I say. “That’s your thing. Not mine.”
Another thing I can’t count: the number of times he’s had a girl over to watch a movie and I’ve walked out to find a whole other type of show happening in our living room.
D-Low smiles bigger. “Bummer. My thing sounds better than yours. But Erin is at work until nine, so I guess a movie with you two will kill the time.”
Whitney giggles, clearly finding this more entertaining than me.
“Only if you promise not to overanalyze the plot,” I say to him, then to Whitney, “D-Low gets really invested in the storyline.”
“No, I don’t. I only point out when the plot is stupid,” he says.
“The only thing you two will be overanalyzing when it comes to Dirty Dancing is how much you wished you’d become professional dancers instead of hockey players,” she insists.
I highly doubt that, but I am excited to hang with her, no matter what we watch. “I’ll get it set up.”
From the living room I hear him say to her, “Not as much as I would have been wishing I were black ops, kicking ass Denzel-style. Are you a fan of action movies?”
“Sure. The ones with a decent plot.”
“You two share that in common,” I call over my shoulder. As long as I’m entertained, I don’t really care much about the storyline.
“Denzel makes even bad plots look good. Have you seen The Equalizer?” D-Low asks her.
“No,” Whitney replies.
“Oh no,” I mutter loud enough that only I can hear.
D-Low proceeds to give her the full rundown of the movie, arms waving around excitedly the entire time, and finishes with, “Shep hasn’t seen it either.”
The two of them join me in the living room. D-Low takes his usual spot in the right corner of the sectional with his legs propped up in front of him.
“It’s one of four of his movies that we have left,” I say to her.
“I can only think of two or three that I’ve seen,” Whitney says.
D-Low lets his fork clatter against the side of the glass container. He looks at me with a faux serious expression. “I don’t know how to tell you this, buddy, but I think you have to cut your new girl loose.”
I smile—not at what he’s saying but at the way he called Whitney my girl. I like it.
“You two haven’t seen Dirty Dancing, so I could be as concerned about him as you are about me.” She waggles a finger at him.
“I guess there’s only one way to solve this,” he says as he picks up his fork again. “We have to watch both.”
“Maybe I should have mentioned that I don’t do well with blood and gore.” Whitney winces, squeezing her eyes mostly shut from where she sits next to me. Her legs are pulled up beneath her, and she leans into me. We decided to start with The Equalizer. Save the best for last, as Whitney put it.
I bring my left hand up and shield her view from the TV screen. “How does a hockey player turned coach manage to get by hating the sight of blood?”
“When it’s my blood and gore, I’m less squeamish. I hate seeing other people get hurt.”
“That’s sweet.” My mouth twists into a smile. The volume of the movie is loud and D-Low is several feet away on the other end of the couch.
“Thank you.” Her expression takes on a look of gratitude that seems to go far beyond what I’ve said. “I needed this today.”
“Rough day?” I ask, peeking at the TV. Denzel is still kicking ass.
“Practice wasn’t great,” she says.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Now?” she asks with a laugh.
“It looks like we have another few minutes until the blood and gore stops.”
“Yeah, but you’ll miss the movie.”
I lean in, holding her gaze, then whisper like it’s some big secret, “I don’t care.”
“Uh-oh. Don’t let D-Low hear that,” she warns.
I drape an arm around her shoulders and pull her into me. This is nice. There’s something about having her in my space that feels good and less stressful than our previous hangs. Or maybe I’m just starting to relax around her a little. “What happened at practice?”
I’m not good at talking, but hockey I can manage.
She takes a moment, like she’s collecting her thoughts, before she says, “Grady switched up the schedule for the rest of the week. He thinks the JV team needs more real, game-time situations, so he wants to ramp up everything we’re doing with more drills, more scrimmages, pushing the kids twice as hard. ”
“O-kay,” I say slowly. I gather that she doesn’t agree, but I’m not sure with which part.
“He’s a good coach. The boys like and respect him, and he’s had more success than any other coach—”
I let the hand that’s blocking her view of the movie drop so that the backs of my fingers caress her cheek. “Even good coaches get things wrong.”
She leans into my touch, and her expression softens.
“What do you think he should do?” I ask her.
“I don’t know,” she says, tone filled with dismay. “I think that hard work and experience are important, but . . .” She hesitates again, biting the corner of her lip. “It feels like it should be fun or what’s the point?”
“Winning?”
“Yeah. You’re right.” She nods. “I know that’s a big part of it too, but I wish there was a way to do both.”
“Oooh. This is my favorite line!” D-Low shouts.
Whitney and I glance at the TV in time to hear him recite it perfectly in time with Denzel.
When the movie is over, we all get up and stretch. I grab Whitney another Dr Pepper, which she shakes off. “I can’t have any more sugar.”
“Amateur,” I tease as I reach into the cabinet and pull out my stash of Milk Duds.
“How is it possible you can eat any more candy?” she asks, mouth gaped wide as she waves a hand in front of me.
“He eats like trash,” D-Low says as he rinses out his container and puts it in the dishwasher.
“I do not,” I argue. “But I do have a sweet tooth.”
“I never would have guessed given your coffee order.”
“You can’t make coffee taste like this.” I hold up a piece of chocolate candy and then toss it in my mouth.
“Actually, I think you can,” D-Low says.
I shake my head. “It isn’t the same.”
D-Low’s phone pings. He checks the time on the microwave. “Oh shit. I didn’t realize how late it is. That’s probably Erin.”
He pulls out his phone and starts tapping away on it.
“Five minutes until we start the next one,” I say, but he doesn’t answer.
“Do you want to order some real food?” I ask Whitney.
“No, but I’d take some popcorn. Maybe the salt will even out the sweet.”
Chuckling, I go to another cabinet and grab popcorn. “Good thinking.”
There’s a knock on the apartment door, and D-Low jogs toward it. “I got it.”
Whitney continues to giggle as I pull out more snacks, including two different types of popcorn.
A moment later, D-Low returns with Erin.
“Hello,” I greet Danny’s girl as I pull out a bowl from a cabinet.
“Hey.” She waves, smiling at me, then Whitney. “Oh.” Her gaze moves to D-Low, and her smile turns mischievous. “Is she hanging out with us tonight?”
D-Low fights a laugh, but amusement still laces his tone. “Yes, but not the way you’re thinking. This is Whitney. She’s with Shep.”
“Oh.” Erin’s face flashes with surprise. “Ooh. Really?” She barely gives me a moment to answer before she focuses her attention on Whitney. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Erin. Are you two doing the long-distance thing?”
“N-no.” Whitney stumbles over her response. “Why?”
“Oh, it’s just I’ve never seen Conrad with a girl before, but it would make sense if you live out of state or something.” She points her finger between us.
“I’m local,” Whitney says. “But we usually hang out at my place.”
D-Low hides a laugh behind a cough. “We were about to watch a movie.”
“O-kay.” Erin wraps her arms around my roommate’s waist and tips her head back so that D-Low can place a kiss on her lips.
“No. Don’t even think about it.” I point upstairs. D-Low and Erin are handsy as fuck. I’ve walked in on them making out more times than I can count. They will not be deterred just because Whitney and I are in the same room.
D-Low chuckles. “’Night kids. Have fun.”
“I thought we were watching a movie,” Erin says as he pulls her behind him toward the stairs.
“We’ll watch in my room,” he says to her, then looks down at Whitney. “Good to see you again, Whit.”
“You too,” she calls after him.
When they’re gone, she asks, “What was that about?”
“You heard his thing with watching movies.”
“Right.” Her eyes spark with heat.
“Maybe it’s your thing too.” I step forward and wrap my arms around her lower back.
“Currently, my thing is you.”
“What a coincidence.” I pull her flush against me and drop my lips to hers.
She melts into me, then giggles. “You taste like chocolate and sour gummies.”
“So I taste delicious?”
Her response is a murmur and then I sweep my tongue into her mouth.
I step backward until my back finds the kitchen counter.
Resting against it, I widen my stance to put me closer to Whitney’s height.
Her hands rest against my chest as she kisses me back with the same intensity making my blood buzz with need.
I hum into her mouth. “I promised we’d watch your movie.”
“Only Johnny Castle could pull me away.” She presses her lips to mine one more time before she steps back.
We settle on the couch again—this time in the middle of the big sectional. Whitney is giddy as the movie starts. I’m having more fun watching her than I am whatever is happening on-screen, but she keeps looking over for my reaction, so I force myself to watch.
We’re only about ten minutes in when Whitney readjusts her position so she’s sitting closer with one leg draped between mine.
She glances over and smiles at me, then stares back at the TV.
A minute later, she follows that up with draping a hand on my inner thigh.
All pretense of paying attention to anything but her is gone.
Still, for her benefit, I try to keep my thoughts and body in check.
Not an easy feat. Especially when her fingers absently brush higher. She’s about three inches from my dick, and it is all too eager. I’m reciting the alphabet backward slowly, hoping that if I just stop thinking about her touching me, I might be able to regain some composure.
Whitney seems completely oblivious to my discomfort. God, why wouldn’t she be? She wanted to watch her favorite movie and I’m over here imagining her naked with that perfect mouth wrapped around my—
“I changed my mind.” She straddles me before I’ve processed her words, but as her weight presses down on my crotch, words aren’t really necessary.
“But what about Johnny and Baby?” I ask, not all that convincingly, considering I’m already lifting my hips up to get more friction and sliding my hands under her shirt.
“We can restart it later.” She moves over me slowly, eyes fluttering closed. “Or tomorrow.”
“We can watch it as many times as you want,” I promise. And hopefully they all end like this.