Megan and I link arms to avoid getting separated and make our way through the sea of bodies. I inhale a gust of perfume from a platinum blonde in a short skirt. I manage to survive the perfume assault only to breathe in a cloud of something more potent from the guy beside her. My eyes start to water, and I almost turn around to tell him to go easy on the Axe body spray before he kills someone.
“Look, Fitzy, girls!” Dean announces when Megan and I reach the booth. He rapidly addresses the other guys. “Quick, make room for them before they disappear.”
Laughter breaks out, and I notice most of the players are grinning at one guy in particular, who I’ve seen before at some of the hockey parties Hannah dragged me to. I think his name is Colin, but I usually hear him being referred to as either Fitz or Fitzy. He’s a big guy with messy brown hair, dark scruff on his face, and what looks like a tattoo peeking from the collar of his shirt. I suspect he’s definitely rocking a chest tat, because I’ve seen him in a T-shirt, and I remember him having full sleeves on both arms.
The boys shuffle around to accommodate us. Megan slides in next to a guy with a buzz cut. He introduces himself as Hollis. I squeeze in between Tucker, who’s engrossed on his phone, and Pierre, one of the French-Canadians on the team. He greets me with a smile, and a pair of adorable dimples pop out. Rounding out the group are two players I’ve never met. In his heavy accent, Pierre introduces them as Wilkes and Ekberg.
Dean, who is across from me on the other side of Hollis, winks when our eyes lock. “You made it. Didn’t think you would.”
“We were in the neighborhood,” I say lightly.
“Glad you were, because this was becoming a total sausage fest. Seriously, the birthday boy didn’t invite a single chick tonight.”
“Fitzy is allergic to women,” Hollis says helpfully.
The birthday boy—or man, rather, because there’s nothing boyish about this guy—rolls his eyes. “I didn’t realize that wanting to celebrate my birthday with the guys was such a crime.”
“Did you even stop to consider the implications?” Dean shoots back. “What about the time-honored birthday blowjob? Did ya think of that? Or do you expect one of us to do it?”
“I’m sure Pierre’s down,” Hollis pipes up. When the French-Canadian gives him the finger, he smiles sweetly. “What? I thought that’s what you guys did up in Quebec, no? Blow your buddies while whispering sweet French nothings to them?”
Pierre snorts. “You’re from San Francisco. I’m pretty sure that’s the blow-your-buddies capital of the world.”
A round of smack talk ensues, which is cut short when a frazzled waitress appears to serve Megan and me. Meg orders a vodka cranberry. I ask for a glass of water.
“Water?” Dean mocks after the waitress dashes off. “You sure you don’t want anything else, baby doll? Maybe…hmmm…how about tequila? I always pegged you for a tequila girl.”
I narrow my eyes at him. Fortunately, nobody else puts much stock in the comment. Why would they? It’s not like any of them know that tequila is the reason I wound up in bed with Dean. The only person who knows is Dean, who promised to keep his mouth shut about it.
But…the teeny smirk on his face is making me antsy.
Why do I get the feeling he’s about to spill the beans?
11
Allie
I’m still glaring at Dean when my phone vibrates in my purse. I absently fish it out and my breath catches when I see the message.
Him: Remember when I took that tequila shot off your tits?
I look up to find Dean blinking innocently at me. But I can see his arm moving under the table. Sure enough, a follow-up message appears.
When I poured it all over your nipples and licked up every drop? Mmmm. Getting hard just thinking about it.
Argh. I can’t believe he’s sexting me in the bar. During his friend’s birthday hang.
I grit my teeth and text him back.
Me: Cherish the memory, sweetie. Cuz it’s never happening again.
Him: U saying u didn’t like it when I was sucking on those sexy nipples?
The nipples in question tighten into hard peaks. I know the padding of my bra hides the traitorous response, but the way Dean’s smug gaze drops to my breasts tells me he knows.
I draw a breath and answer, Meh. It was all right.
His smile widens. “Naah,” he says in response to something Wilkes just asked. “I’m not worried. Yale’s goalie has nothing against G’s slapshot.” I guess they’re talking about their game against Yale on Saturday, but I’m too busy watching the subtle movement of Dean’s arm. He’s typing something else.
Him: Hmmm. I see. What about when I licked your pussy? Just all right too?
I ignore the sharp clench between my legs and scowl at him.
“Allie,” Megan says in exasperation.
“Sorry. What?”
“I was asking about your play. Rehearsals started this week, didn’t they? How’s it going?”
“Pretty good,” I answer in an absent tone. I can’t tell if Dean is typing something else. I hope not. “The guy who’s playing my dead husband is fun to work with. How’s yours going?”