Page 47 of The One Night Dash
The song drifts to a close, applause rising around us. Dash doesn’t let go right away. Instead, he lowers his head, brushing his lips against the top of my head. It’s featherlight,a whisper, but I feel it to my toes.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough, sexy …
I’m so screwed.
TWELVE
DASH
I am fuckedwith a capital F.
Noelle Pembrooke is everything I’ve been saying tonight. She’s smart, sweet, and sexy. I’ve shockingly let those kind words fall out all damn night. It’s like that movie Briar used to love, the Cinderella retelling with Anne Hathaway …Ella Enchanted. Unlike her, I don’t see it as a curse, and I don’t wanna fight it. It’s all from somewhere deep inside, like my heart? Fuck it, don’t care. It’s out there, and I’m not going to try to shove it back in.
She smells like vanilla and … lavender maybe? Soft and clean. Whatever it is, it doesn’t just waft around me, it’s … with me? Fuck, I don’t know, but when I kissed the top of her head, that wasn’t planned either. It just happened. The whole time we danced, her smell and how she felt against me was like … a memory I haven’t even lived yet. That kiss I planted was my way of sealing it, keeping it there until I could, in fact, live it.
Her body fits against mine like it was built to. The silk of her dress cool under my palm, the heat of her pressed close—too close for me to think straight. My hand found her waist, and for the first time in years, I didn’t care about the cameras, the crowd, the possibility of ending up in a headline. Hell, I want iton screens. I want people to know I’m claiming this girl. In fact, I know I was supposed to back then. But I lacked confidence or, more than likely, it was just the whole college/hockey experience and the time I had to put in. It obviously clouded my ability to see clear enough to go after what I wanted, as opposed to now.
And when her fingers rested on my shoulders? Jesus. Warm, steady. She was claiming a piece of me, too.
She isn’t fragile, she isn’t clinging; she’spresent.Grounded. Perfect. And it makes me want to hold her tighter.
The truth is, I didn’t want the song to end, either. Because, with her in my arms, I wasn’t Dash Sterling, right wing for the Brooklyn Bears, headline-maker, brand deal commodity. I was just a man who knew, just fucking knew …
The click of heels drags my eyes up, and here comes Lauren—perfect hair, perfect dress,perfect sneer. She’s been practicing that look for years.
“Are you seriously out here, waiting for her?”
“Ifbyheryou mean Noelle, then yes. Yes, I am.”
“You need to stop feeding into her poor-me nonsense, that always-a-victim-in-need-of-saving bullshit, Dash. Find someone you’re actually suited for.”
I laugh, sharp and disbelieving, because the alternative is stooping to her level and making a scene. “Are you being serious right now?”
“She’s no victim, Dash. She’s been playing that card for?—”
“If you think Noelle Pembrooke is playing a victim card, it’s because you handed her a whole fucking deck and dared her to deal them out, hoping she would. She never has, not once. She’s an amazing person, and you never wanted anyone to see it.”
Her eyes flash anger. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you get off on making her feel small. Probably always have. Only thing is, you never could actually pull it off,so you just keep trying. Newsflash, Lauren: she’s the kind of girl who never needed a spotlight. The kind who doesn’twantit. She doesn’t need saving, but I’ve decided I’m gonna show up to play hero soshe sees me.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she snarls, and the sound curdles her perfect face.
I let her have it, give her just a taste of what she deserves for the shit I’ve seen her pull on Noelle, and I know that’s not the half of it.
“No idea how I didn’t see it back then, but you’ve bullied her since day one. Couldn’t stand that someone might actually look her way. You shoved tits your parents had to put on credit for your graduation gift in my face until that’s all I could see. And I’m done with this conversation. I’d rather drag my balls over broken glass covered in rubbing alcohol than listen to your voice anymore.”
Her hand cracks across my face before I even finish. Stings like hell, but it’s worth it just to laugh at her.
“This ismyday, not yours, not hers. Mine!”
The bathroom door swings open. Noelle steps out, eyes flicking from Lauren to me, then locking on the red mark blooming across my cheek.
Her gaze sharpens, snapping to Lauren. “Did you just hit him?”
“No!” Lauren gasps.
“So, the handprint on his face is what? He’s out here bitch-slapping himself?” Noelle’s whole body goes scarlet, and it’s not the cute kind of blush—it’s fire-red, angry.
