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“That’s Little Dickie,” Becca told her, amused, adding her own napkin to the mess on the table.
Wait a minute. Sloane froze in the act of wiping the table to turn and gape at her friend. “What? No way! You’re just messing with me.” There was not even the remotest possibility that man, that sexy as fuck man, could be Little Dickie.
“I’m not messing with you! He had a growth spurt starting his junior year that didn’t stop until he was about twenty-four.”
Stunned, Sloane swiveled her head to stare at him again, too shocked to even pretend not to be checking him out. “That was one hell of a growth spurt,” she murmured.
Little Dickie at fifteen had been shorter than his peers. Substantially shorter. At five foot nine she had towered over him, and he had been one of the repeat culprits checking out her chest, which was at his direct eye level. He had also been, while not precisely chubby, on the softer side. Baby cheeks and a little bit of pudge that had made him endearing and cute. Certainly no muscle tone. A nice kid, who lived in a ramshackle house by the lake, a little on the silly side, and sort of the mascot little brother to everyone. He had taken a lot of crap, especially playing hockey, because of his small size, but he had always seemed to take it pretty well, with a good sense of humor. He’d had the nickname Little Dickie for as long as she could remember and it had fit.
“Little Dickie is not so little anymore,” Becca replied. “And if rumors around town are true, that applies to all parts of him.”
Sloane snapped her head back to Becca. “Seriously?” I mean, was it really such a stretch to imagine that enormous and muscular man standing waiting to go on stage could be proportionate? Her mind was blown trying to juxtapose the awkward teen she had known against this mountain of a man. Late bloomer didn’t even begin to describe it.
But then Sloane felt her cheeks burn as she remembered a party her senior year in high school. A dark bathroom, mistaken identity, a hot kiss, and the shocking press of a hard cock against her thigh before the humiliation she’d felt when the lights flicked on without warning.
In those days, she had not had a good sense of what would be considered big versus small when it came to male packages but she had known that she was both scared and intrigued by what she had felt rocking against her.
Then she had felt nothing but horrified when she had realized she had kissed Little Dickie instead of her then boyfriend.
Apparently, the rest of him had grown into his cock. Like feet and hands.
Becca nodded. “Rick, as everyone calls him now, is quite the player. Apparently, he likes to share the wealth, so to speak.”
That was information she didn’t even know how to process or what to do with it. It certainly had nothing to do with her. And yet, why was she letting her gaze drift over to him again? And why did she feel so flustered?
“Shh,” Emily said, hushing them loudly. “It’s starting!”
“Thank you everyone for coming,” Sullivan said. “And forgive me for the mess you’re about to see. Just keep in mind it’s for a good cause.”
Lilly was standing next to Sullivan and she rolled her eyes at his wry tone. “Don’t listen to Sullivan, ladies. This is going to be awesome. I introduce to you the very sexy, very single Tap That Dancers.”
That made Sloane let out a snort. Tap That Dancers? Now that was some funny shit. The guys were being good sports about it, waving and smirking. Brandon was dressed in a tux and he blew some very suave kisses out into the audience. Axl had on stereotypical cop mirror sunglasses with his uniform and he slid them down to eye the crowd of now clapping and cat-calling women. Jesse was on the balls of his feet, like he didn’t know what to do with himself while not in skates. Rick was toying with the zipper on his jumpsuit, making Sloane admittedly curious what his chest looked like under there. Among other things.
The bar was packed. Tickets for the event
had sold out.
Suddenly, Sloane’s birthday felt a little more intriguing than awkward.
Especially once the music started and Rick proved himself to have moves like Jagger.
Yep.
You left home for a decade and the whole world went mad.
Because, holy shit, she was hot for Little Dickie.
Two
The guys walked out on stage, swiveling their hips to varying degrees. Jesse was by far the most rhythm challenged, which was interesting given he was an athlete, and Sloane had to laugh as he moved like a gorilla attempting ballet. “Okay, I admit it,” she said, leaning over to yell in Emily’s ear over the crowd and the music. “This is highly entertaining.”
“I feel super uncomfortable,” Becca said. “Everyone in this room is going wild and I feel embarrassed that these women are all so clearly pining for dick.”
Sloane snorted. “Do not judge the need for dick when you’re getting it. I for one, recognize the same expression on my own face in the mirror.”
Not that she’d been pining for dick, exactly. More like she’d forgotten how to want it. She and Tom had not had a rousing sex life. Ever. In recent years she had started to think it was her. That she just wasn’t appealing, that she was too tall, too gangly. Not sexual.
It might have made her feel horrible all over again except that she knew now with total clarity that it was not her. It had been her marriage. The bad combination of the two of them. She and Tom had been buddies and should never have married. He’d moved on. She’d hadn’t. It had been nine years since she’d had sex with anyone other than Tom.
