“Of course I am. You have a house in St. Bart’s. That’s badass.” Her expression is thoughtful. “Your parents are lawyers, right?”
I nod.
“I didn’t realize lawyers made tropical-island-beach-house kind of money.”
“It depends on the lawyer. My dad is one of the top criminal defense attorneys in the country, so yeah, he’s doing all right,” I say wryly. “And Mom specializes in real estate law, which is also pretty lucrative. But they both came from money, too.”
“Let me guess. Grandpas Sebastian and Kendrick were oil barons?”
For some reason, I’m stupidly pleased that she remembered my middle names. “Nope, there’s no oil in our family. Grandpa Seb owned a shipping company. Well, he still owns it, but a board of directors runs it now. And Gramps Kendrick was a real estate developer.”
“Like Donald Trump?”
“Pretty much. Did you ever go into Manhattan when you lived in Brooklyn?” I frown as something occurs to me. “Hey, how come you don’t have the Brooklyn accent?”
“Neither of my parents was originally from New York, so maybe that’s why? Dad’s from Ohio. Mom grew up in California. I talk like them, I guess. Anyway, of course I’ve been to Manhattan—do you think I spent my days hiding under the Brooklyn Bridge like a troll?”
I snicker. “Ever spend any time on the Upper East Side?”
“Sure. I had a friend who lived—” Her eyes widen. “Holy shit. Heyward Plaza. I just put that together.”
The awe on her face makes me grin.
“You own the Heyward Plaza Hotel?” Allie exclaims.
“Me, personally? No. But I suppose I might inherit it one day. My mom’s side of the family, the Heywards, owns real estate all over the globe. Hotels mostly, but we’ve got this cool condominium in Abu Dhabi that’s basically made entirely of glass. It’s—”
“Okay, you need to stop talking now because you’re making me want to punch you. I honestly didn’t realize you were this rich. I’m not sure if it’s a turn-on or a ladyboner-killer.”
“Turn-on,” I say instantly. “Everything about me turns you on, remember?”
She snorts. “Uh-huh. If you say so.”
I flash a cocky grin and start pointing at various parts of my body. “My face? Turn-on. Chest? Turn-on. I’d roll over and show you my ass, but we both know the answer will be ‘turn-on’ so I’ll skip that one. Dick? Turn the fuck on. And then we get to the non-physical awesomeness that is Dean.”
“Speaking in the third person? Not a turn-on.”
I ignore the jab. “I’m adorable, first off. My sense of humor is stellar—obvs.”
“Obvs,” she echoes dryly.
“I’m extraordinarily skilled in the art of conversation.”
She nods. “When it’s about yourself, of course.”
“Of course.” I pretend to think it over some more. “Oh, and I’m a mind reader. No lie. I always know what the other person is thinking.”
“Yeah? What am I thinking right now?” Allie challenges.
“That you want me to shut up and fuck you again.”
She shakes her head in dismay. “Goddamn it. That’s actually what I was thinking.”
I smirk at her and tap my forehead. “Told ya. Mind reader.”
“Congratulations.” She sighs. “How many condoms did you bring?”
“One.”
“Underachiever. Stick your hand in that drawer. Should be a few in there.”
I open the nightstand drawer, which—well, lookee here—contains more than just rubbers. My hand emerges with a seven-inch silicone vibrator in a comical shade of pink.
“Aw, who’s this little fella?” I wave the dildo up and down, and it’s flexible enough that it flops around like a real dick.
Allie snatches it from my hand. “Little? You better take that back or else you’ll give Winston a complex.”
“Winston? Are you kidding me?”
“Oh come on, you’re telling me he doesn’t look like a Winston?”
I study the pink sex toy. For something that’s shaped like a cock, it’s actually ridiculously girly. And Winston is a girly name if I’ve ever heard one. “Huh. I guess he does.”
She nods earnestly. “I have a talent for picking suitable dick names.”
I promptly scowl at her. “Don’t get any ideas about naming mine, you hear me?”
“Why? Are you scared I’ll come up with something better than what you’ve already got?” Her tone is pure sweetness.
“Who says I named my dick?”
Allie slants her head in challenge. “Are you saying you didn’t?”
I shrug in response.
“Ha! I knew it! What’s his name?”
My scowl deepens.
“Come on, tell me,” she begs. “I promise I won’t make fun of you.”
After a five-second internal debate, I capitulate. “It’s Little Dean.”
That makes her howl in laughter. “Oh my God. Of course it is. You are such a dork.”
I pinch her thigh in retaliation, but she only laughs harder, so I shut her up by rolling her over and slamming my mouth down on hers. She immediately parts her lips to grant my tongue access, and soon we’re making out and rubbing up against each other like cats in heat.
I ease my mouth away and rasp, “Feel like tying me up again?”
“Nope. I’ve got something else in mind.”
“Damn, but I was really excited about it.”
“Stop complaining, sweetie. Trust me, you’re going to like this.”
It’s her turn to roll me over, and I groan as she starts kissing her way down my body. A moment later, her warm mouth engulfs my cock, and…yeah…Little Dean sure ain’t complaining.
15
Dean
Saturday night’s game against Yale starts off promising.
After Garrett scores an early goal, we successfully manage to keep Yale out of our zone for most of the first period. Well, except for when Brodowski foolishly gets out of position and hands Yale’s center and right wing a breakaway.
Thanks to that bonehead move, I’m faced with an odd man rush and it’s pure blind luck that Yale doesn’t get a goal out of it—the shot smacks off the pipe. I dive toward the puck and snap off a quick pass to Hunter. Our forwards blessedly fly past the center line into Yale territory, while I do my damnedest not to strangle Brodowski as we whiz toward the bench for a line change.