Dirty Toe Drag by Toni Aleo

Chapter Three

Stella

I thoughtit was just a crush.

It isn’t, though. At first, maybe. But then, that all changed. Some would assume I didn’t meet Wes until after Aiden was traded to the Assassins, but that isn’t true. I actually met him at Brooks House. He came in with a few of the guys from the Assassins, including my friend Posey Adler’s now-husband. There were maybe six of them, but of course, I was totally engrossed in Wes.

He is just fantastic. He has this wildness about him. His eyes are a blazing blue color, and his hair is dirty-blond, long at the top but shaved on the sides. He has a jawbone that I want to lick and curve my tongue along before capturing those thick lips with mine. He was wearing a sexy gray suit that hugged his shoulders and his hips. His thighs were crying in those pants, but what I loved most was that he wore these funky Bob’s Burgers socks with Crocs. I shit you not. It was the funniest thing I’d ever seen, but then he set me with this smoldering look, and I was a goner.

Or so I thought.

I served him all night and he flirted endlessly with me, but I ignored his advances because I knew he was too old for me. I was only seventeen, and I wasn’t trying to get him in trouble. I’m not that kind of girl. No matter how gorgeous a man is or how much I want him. I won’t screw a dude over; that’s just shitty. I did my best to ignore him, with his quick smirk and those dancing eyes, but it was hard.

But then he started singing karaoke.

He was a mess. He sang at the top of his lungs, he played the air guitar, he danced like no one was watching, and above all, he smiled the whole time. A full, happy smile that took up his entire gorgeous face. I wanted so badly to jump over the bar and go dance with him. Lose myself in the music and enjoy being silly. I’m sorry, but watching a man be a complete dork with no cares in the world turns me on like no other.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m always so put together—the hair, the outfits, the shoes, and makeup—but I attract these serious, no-joking fuckboys that do nothing for me. In high school, those guys were all who wanted me. Not to sound conceited, but I’m a very pretty girl, and I’m smart. I’ve been doing makeup since sixth grade, and I was able to wear my mom’s clothes by tenth grade. I never dealt in petty drama or fought with girls in school. I took care of me. It helped that I went to a private school and I’ve worked since I was fourteen, but I feel like I haven’t really allowed myself to be silly. To be a dork. I’m always too focused on looking good to mess up my appearance, and while I love the attention it gets me, it’s always been from the wrong men.

Until Wes.

Problem is, Wes is funny, dorky, hot, but also, like all men, he is a fuckboy.

Listen, I get it. We live in a world where relationships hardly ever happen. Guys like him think there is always something better, and I don’t want that. I want a man who wants me. All of me.

I don’t want to fuck around. I did that all through my senior year of high school and my freshman year of college. It was a blast, but it’s exhausting. It’s the same cat-and-mouse game. Will they call? Do they like me? It gave me serious anxiety, and I don’t think I’m made for the fuckgirl game. I applaud the women and men who love it, but I want security. I don’t mean money either; I don’t need money. I want the security of knowing someone always has my back.

I know that Emery would die—and kill—happily, for me, as well as my parents. But I watch my brothers with their significant others. I watch my mom and dad, and knowing there is love out there like that? It’d be silly of me not to want that. To crave it. To know it can happen for me. I mean, I watched my sister-in-law sing with her whole soul, body, heart, everything for my brother. She loves him. Same with how my parents feel about each other, and I want that all-consuming love.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been in love. Lost my virginity to the first guy I loved when I was fourteen. When he moved, I was heartbroken. And for a while, it made me decide I had to be in love to have sex, so I only loved two more times until my senior year. But after that whole bullshit with Maxim, I decided, fuck boys. I was going to be a free agent, and it was fun. For a while.

Now…now, I want more. Especially after realizing the love I had for those guys was nothing compared to how I feel about Wes. I know it’s totally ridiculous and maybe even just infatuation, but I live for a like or a comment on my Instagram from him. When he comes into Brooks House, I yearn for him to look at me. To notice me. To talk to me. I want so much for us to go out, to be together, and to get to know each other better. I only know stuff about him that I hear when he’s talking to the guys, and I crave more.

But I know I can’t allow myself to do any of that, because the heartache he’ll cause will be worse than how other teams feel on the ice when he dekes them and scores in such a sick way.

Yes, I watch hockey just for him, and I tell my dad it’s because I want to spend time with him.

No, I am not ashamed. I do want to spend time with my dad.

But I also want to watch Wes.

“I am still very much in support of you riding him like a bull in a china shop and tossing him to the side,” Lake chortles as we walk to our class, pulling me from my thoughts. “I don’t even need to tell you what I’d do to him.”

We share a grin. “He couldn’t handle you.”

“Hell naw, but then, he couldn’t handle you either, my girl.” He pinches my cheeks, and we lock arms as we head toward the design building. When we pass by a group of culinary students, Lake makes a face. “Ugh, they’re all so dorky.”

“Lake. Be nice,” I demand, but he laughs me off.

“For real, though. I mean, why do people make food pretty? It’s stupid. You eat it, and then you shit it out. Unlike clothes, which you get to enjoy.”

I shrug. “Unless someone throws shit on your clothes.”

He smacks my forearm. “Stop defending them! You’re so weird,” he says dramatically.

“Because I’m nice?”

“You are entirely too gorgeous to be this nice. I’ve never met a girl who is kind and hot.”

I hear that a lot. “Hi, my name is Stella Ann Brooks. Nice to meet ya,” I say with a wink, but he just laughs.

“Whatever. It’ll all pay off, your niceness. It’ll be great when we open our own little shop of fun. I can be the diva, and you can be the hot, nice one.”

Guilt eats at me. Lake and I have had a plan for opening our own little boutique, full of clothes and shoes we’d design, since our freshman year. He always says he doesn’t trust anyone but me, but if he knew what was going on in my head, he wouldn’t trust me. I’m struggling with my future, career-wise. Sometimes, I want to believe I’m meant to design for and dress people, but then I can’t shake the pure happiness I feel when I’m in the cupcake shop. In a way, it’s all the same, isn’t it? Can’t we open a shop, and I make cupcakes and he makes clothes?

No, I know we can’t.

When one of the culinary students catches my gaze, she smiles, and I smile back. She may not be what Lake considers “gorgeous,” but she’s pretty, and I’m completely envious.

Because she’s doing the one thing I want to do.

Learning to make pretty food for people to shit out.

* * *

Before I getout of the car, I down a whole can of Red Bull. As exhausted as I am, one would think I would skip going to work at the cupcakery, but I love how my creativity is when I’m there. I feel like I’m flying in a sea of colors, ready to make something incredible. I wish I could be there now, but I do also love Brooks House. I’ve been working here since I was fourteen, and it’s always been awesome, but moving behind the bar is my jam by far. I meet so many incredible people, lots of celebrities, and the Assassins always sit at the bar. I try to work on the days when the guys have a game since Brooks is the place most of the guys come for their pregame meal.

Wes is among those guys.

A family style plate of chicken Parmesan with two sides of broccoli and extra pasta.

Sometimes when I watch him eat, I imagine us doing the Lady and the Tramp bit. He gets one side of the fettuccine and I get the other before we meet in the middle for a lusty kiss. Then we throw the food off the table…

Okay, I gotta go to work.

I shake my head at my silly thoughts and get out of my car to go inside. After greeting everyone and putting on my apron, I head to the bar to set up for the night. It’ll be a good night. Basketball is on, and while the Assassins aren’t playing, there is always a hockey game on TV this time of year. Once I get everything arranged, I clean the bar and wipe down all the surfaces before putting down place settings. I chitchat with some of the waitresses before my mom comes out of her office, announcing doors are opening. We close for three hours between lunch and dinner to make sure each experience is different.

As I lift a crate of hot glasses out of the washer, I place it on the top of the machine and start unloading as my mom sits down. “Hey, baby. How was school today?”

I move out of the way of the steam. “Good, long. Today is always my long day.”

“Then why don’t you skip nights on long days?”

“’Cause I like the money,” I say with a grin, and she gives me that serious concerned-mom look.

“Don’t overwork yourself, honey.”

“I won’t,” I promise. Though, that’s a lie. I’m exhausted; I’m just lucky I don’t look it. Despite my mom’s age, no one could say she looks tired. She’s elegant, with dark brown hair down her shoulders and caramel eyes that shine in the sick-ass jumpsuit she’s wearing that we got at Prada last summer. She’s always wearing heels and is as gorgeous as ever. My mom is such a hottie.

“Oh, Emery told me you woke her this morning. Please be quieter. You know she needs her sleep.”

I give her a blank look. “Mom, that crazy child of yours was watching crime docs and saying she could kill me with spells. She’s insane. Get her help.”

She snorts, not the least bit worried about my crazy sister. “It’s a phase. She’ll grow it out of it, just as you did with that Bieber kid.”

I gasp. “Mom, I still love the Biebs.”

“For the love of God,” she murmurs, but then something catches her eyes. Her face fills with blissful happiness, and when I follow her gaze, I see my dad is coming toward us. He’s wearing golf shorts and a collared shirt since he spends most of his time at the course now. He has on a dark cap, hiding the graying in his hair, but his beard has the same graying. I swear his eyes are brighter now that he’s gotten more gray hair. He wraps his arms around my mom, kissing her loudly on the cheek. As she laughs, leaning into him, I notice Shea and Elli Adler are right there with him.

I assume Shea was at the course with my dad since he’s wearing the same type of thing, just with bright blue eyes behind some thick black glasses. I’ve always found Shea super hot, but I would never admit that. Posey and Shelli would kill me. Elli Adler is a walking angel. She’s got on a maroon power suit, her hair up in a high bun, and high, high heels. Best part, her new grandson is strapped to her chest.

“Aw, Zac!”

Elli grins as I come over and kiss on the new baby. Everyone thinks he looks like Posey, but all I see is Boon. Even with him so little, he looks like a little lumberjack ready to smash trees in half. “So cute!”

Elli kisses my cheek, and we share a smile. “Hey, Stella. How are you?”

“Great!”

“How’s school?”

I exhale and nod. “Great.”

I hate that question. It makes me feel as if I can’t quit college to pursue cupcakes. Someone would ask how school is, and when I would tell them I’m making cupcakes instead, they’d be disappointed. Especially my parents. I go behind the bar to get everyone waters as they sit and get down to business.

Aiden and Shelli’s gender reveal.

“So, Shelli doesn’t want a balloon. She wants Aiden and her to shoot a puck—”

“Of course not,” my dad says, interrupting Elli. “Because when has Shelli ever wanted anything simple?”

They all laugh at that. “As I was saying, they want the color to explode when they hit the puck.”

“I love it,” my mom gushes, clapping her hands. “We’ll cater, of course.”

Elli grimaces. “Actually, they want a taco truck.”

Between them, Shea clutches his wallet. “I thought we were done after the wedding? Why are we paying for this?”

My dad laughs as Elli smacks Shea. “Because it’s a gift. Plus, we didn’t do this for Posey. She just got knocked up and didn’t tell anyone.”

“And she’s normal and doesn’t like a bunch of hoopla,” I supply, and everyone nods but Elli.

Shelli and Elli are the best of friends. “Maybe, but we aren’t giving that comment life.”

I grin as I turn to serve a new guest, doing my job, even though I can hear them talking and planning. They’ve all been friends so long, through bad times and good, but most of all, you can see the love between them. Not only as couples but as friends. It’s beautiful to witness, especially when their love brought along all us kids.

It’s crazy how not too long ago, they were planning birthday parties. Now they’re planning gender reveals.

Funny how that happens.

But also, would it be totally inappropriate to make out with Wes at that event?

I feel since we did at the wedding, we have to keep the tradition going…

Don’t we?

No…? Yeah…? No.