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His condo has very few personal touches, but the ones I saw point to a man with plenty of life experience and substance to spare. He’s not some meathead jock. He’s not some horny college frat boy who thinks he can impress me with how fast he can shotgun a beer then expect me to fuck him in the back seat of his car. No, Dawson is a man with something between the ears. And that’s even more attractive to me than his smokin’ hot body.
Sammy stops walking then turns and scrutinizes me. I try to shy away but she grips my upper arms, her eyes boring into me. Sammy has always had this preternatural ability to see through me and just knows when I’m hiding something from her. It’s like she can read my mind. It’s invasive and creepy. She’s worse than my mom. Sammy finally lets go of my arms and steps back, a wide and wolfish grin on her face.
“You went home with somebody.” She shakes her head and eyes me up and down. “My little Devon finally went home with somebody. So, come on, if not the water polo guy, who was it?”
“It’s not like that. I didn’t sleep with him.”
Sammy grins fiendishly. “So you say. But who was it?”
I sigh. Sammy can be a pit bull. When she gets her teeth into something, it’s almost impossible to unlock her jaws. She’s not going to stop pressing until I give it up.
“Fine,” I say. “His name is Dawson Davis—”
“The hockey player? You’re kidding me?”
“Wait, you know who he is?”
She scoffs. “He’s played for LA for the last eighteen years, has won three Cups, has a pile of Conn Smythe, Selke, and Hart awards, and is a lock to be a first-ballot Hall of Famer, babe. Of course, I know who he is."
“I don’t even know what any of that means,” I admit. “But honestly, I didn’t even know LA had a hockey team until last night.”
She shakes her head again. “You’re clueless. Adorable but clueless. But what I want to know is how this all happened. How did you end up going home with Dawson Davis?”
A small smile touches my lips as I tell her the story, starting with Zack being a creep and ending with me walking out of his condo this morning. As I tell her, my lips warm at the memory of the kiss we shared, as does my body, and I feel myself growing wet again at the mere thought of his hands on me. By the time I’m done with my story, Sammy is bouncing up and down, an excited smile on her face, and she actually squeals with delight.
“I cannot believe you’re going to sleep with Dawson freaking Davis, babe!” she exclaims.
“Woah, woah, woah. Let’s back that pony up.” I hold my hands up. “I never said I’m going to sleep with him. All I said is he wants to take me to dinner.”
“Which, of course, will lead to a lot of naked time with Dawson freaking Davis. You are going to have to tell me everything. I mean, you do realize that, right? Like every single minute detail. I want it all, girl.”
From the corner of my eye, I can see people starting to look at us and feel my face growing warm not with lust this time, but with embarrassment.
“Could you keep your voice down?” I hiss. “It’s not like I want this to be broadcast all over campus. And I’m sure Dawson wouldn’t like it either.”
Her smile widens but she does as I ask and lowers her voice. “Dev, what’s he like? I mean, I’ve seen him give postgame interviews, but what is he really like?”
“He’s… nice.”
She looks at me with a deadpan expression. “Nice? That’s it? That’s all you’re going to give me? Come on now, what is he really like?”
“He’s nice,” I say with a laugh. “Intelligent. Thoughtful. He made me breakfast this morning and showed me his house in Montana. Said he’ll take me horseback riding because I’ve never been.”
What I don’t tell her is that he’s also forceful. That he’s commanding. That he looks at me like I'm already his and that I somehow belong to him. I don't tell her that because some girls might see that as creepy.
But the way he looks at me, the way his eyes just drink me in—it's a turn-on. It’s something I like. Something I crave. And trust me, it’s not something I would have ever expected of myself. I belong to nobody. But as the memory of his gaze lingers in my mind, I find that I’ll carve out an exception for Dawson freaking Davis.
“Oh. My. God,” she squeals. “Babe, this is incredible. Unbelievable. I mean, what are the chances that you would hook up with Dawson Davis?”
“Is that where you went last night? Hooking up with some hockey player?”
I turn and feel my heart drop into my stomach when I see Zack Winters standing there, a deep frown on his face like he’s a disapproving parent or something. I didn't see him walk up and have no idea how long he's been standing there or how much he overheard.
Zack is tall—though still half a foot shorter than Dawson—and kind of gangly. His mousy brown hair, hazel eyes, and pale complexion add to his nondescript appearance. He’s the kind of milquetoast person you’d meet and totally forget about five minutes later.
Zack has been in a couple of my classes, and he’s glommed onto me. I made the mistake of talking to him and being friendly, and now he won't leave me alone. Lately, his behavior has gotten weird. Creepy. He’s turned up in places I’m at, claiming it’s all a strange coincidence or twist of fate that brought us together when I know it’s anything but that. Lately, he’s been acting possessive and jealous whenever I’m talking to somebody, and it’s starting to freak me out.
I've tried to subtly sever ties. I always leave class before him or make some excuse as to why I can't hang out and talk. I’ve tried to be nice about it but he just hasn’t taken the hint. If anything, he’s clinging to me even harder. I refused to go to campus security because I didn’t want to be a bitch or get him into trouble. I have a hard time being mean to people. But that’s a decision I’m starting to regret because he’s obviously just not getting it. Or more to the point, he’s not wanting to get it.
