Page 28 of The Girlfriend Card (Vegas Sin #4)

You Got This

Dakota

“ R emember,” I instructed, my voice calm and encouraging, “let the clutch out slowly.”

“Got it.” Ottavia nodded, determination etched into her face as she gripped the steering wheel.

But her eagerness got the better of her, and she dropped the clutch too quickly.

With a chirp of its tires, the turbocharged Porsche lurched forward.

Our bodies jolted forward, too, but our heads whipped as the engine abruptly died and ground us to a sudden halt.

“Sorry! Sorry! I keep doing that!” She turned to me, her eyes large and apologetic.

“No worries.” I waved my hand. “Besides, what’s one more concussion? I was going to donate my brain to science for CTE research, anyway.”

“Dakota! Noo!” She laughed, her hands on her heart. “Maybe I shouldn’t do this? I’m not getting it—”

“Relax, I’m kidding.” I reached over and gently patted her thigh. “Trust me, you’re doing fine. It takes a little practice to get the feel, that’s all. But you’ll get it, babe. I promise.”

She nodded with renewed resolve. “Thank you.”

“Try again. This time, try to let the clutch up as slowly as you can.”

Taking a deep breath, Ottavia started the engine once more. This time, she showed more restraint, the Porsche smoothly accelerating as she gradually released the clutch.

“We’re going! We’re going! ” she exclaimed, her infectious laughter filling the car.

“Now, once the clutch is all the way out, you can take your foot off the pedal.”

She did, her cheers growing as she steered around the parking lot in first gear. “Woooooooooooo!”

I couldn’t help but smile. I felt pretty honored that I was the one to teach her how to drive a car. Seeing that pure joy on her beautiful face, and hearing her honeyed laughter made a warm feeling spread through my heart.

“You’re doing great, Ottavia.” “Now give it some gas. But be easy with it, okay? This baby has a few horses under the hood.”

She gently pressed the accelerator, and the car responded with a spirited growl. I watched her confidence grow as she drove around the empty lot. Slowly, the drone of the engine grew louder as the RPMs climbed.

“Now what!?” she asked.

“Now you have to shift into second gear.”

“Oh God!” she yelled, overwhelmed by the task.

“You can do it! Just let off the gas, press the clutch in, and shift.”

She tried to jam the shifter into second gear, but it wouldn’t go, and I winced when I heard the gears grind with a metal-on-metal crunch.

“Use the clutch!” I reminded her.

“Oops! Sorry!” She tried again, this time using the clutch, and made a perfectly smooth shift into second gear.

“ Perfect ,” I said, impressed by her progress. “You absolutely nailed that shift, babe. Now hit the gas and see how much fun second gear is.”

Ottavia sped around our parking lot training ground.

It wasn’t always perfect, of course, but she got the hang of it pretty quickly—definitely a lot quicker than I did back when I first learned to drive stick at age fourteen.

All I remember from that weekend was not getting it, and my dad yelling in frustration at me because I kept killing the engine and grinding gears—which only made me more nervous, and then I fucked up more.

But Ottavia was a natural. After a short while, she had the basics down well enough that we could talk while she drove us around the parking lot.

“So why is your beer called The Golden Son?” she asked, the Porsche growling as she dropped it into third and blipped the gas. “I know it has something to do with the fact your dad plays hockey, right? But what, exactly?”

“Back when my dad played, his nickname was The Golden One.”

“Ohhhhhh.” She giggled. “I get it now. He’s the Golden One, you’re the Golden Son.”

“Yep. That’s me.”

“So your dad was a pretty big deal when he played then, huh?”

“He was a first-ballot Hall of Famer, so yeah, you can say that.” I snickered. “I mean, he’s not in the mafia, but …”

“Maybe your dad is in the hockey mafia, though?” she joked.

I laughed. “Hockey mafia. Man. What would that even be?” I took a second to think it over. “Actually, I know exactly what it is—it’s the Old Boys Club.”

“The Old Boys Club?! ” Her eyes lit with delight. “That doesn’t sound very intimidating. Sounds corny, actually.”

“Well yeah. They don’t actually kill anyone, Ottavia! They’re just a bunch of old guys in hockey.” We both laughed. “But if you want a job in the NHL, then you’d better be in tight with the Old Boys Club.”

“So who are they? What do they do?”

“They’re a bunch of retired players who have front office jobs now. They’re your coaches, your general managers, your team presidents. And they usually only hire other guys from the Old Boys Club.”

“And is your dad in this club?”

I shook my head. “Nah. He could be if he wanted, but he made enough money he doesn’t have to work anymore. He spends his days golfing and hanging out at the lake with his hot young wife.”

She laughed. “Hot young wife? That’s a weird thing to call your stepmom, isn’t it?”

“Actually, I think it’d be weirder to call her my stepmom. She’s practically the same age as me.”

Scandalized by my family dynamics, Ottavia’s eyes widened. “Yikes. That must make family gatherings interesting …?”

“Yeeeep. Pretty bizarre.” I clicked my tongue. “I mean, she’s nice enough. It’s just a little weird.”

“How’s your relationship with your dad?”

“It’s good,” I said with a wave of my hand.

That was my normal line, what I told anyone who asked about my dad, what I told myself, even.

But after I spoke, I found myself hesitating, grappling with the weight of something buried deep within me.

It felt like a tangible barrier, like a jarring ball of tightness in my chest, and it made me uneasy, made me want to turn away and think about something else.

But Ottavia turned to me, her pretty eyes so attentive and patient. In her presence, I could feel the trust and comfort she provided me, and suddenly, I found myself speaking words I never even knew I felt.

“I guess it’s a little hard sometimes,” I said, a surprising rawness in my voice.

“Aw. I’m so sorry.” She laid her hand on my thigh to soothe me—before having to jerk her hand away to shift a second later. “Can I ask why?”

“My dad was so good when he played. You know. He could do everything—score goals, make a sick pass, throw a huge hit, beat the wheels off a guy in a fight.”

“He must’ve been your hero growing up.”

“Oh, absolutely, he was. The whole city loved him. The kids at school all wore his jersey. But he was my dad.” My smile strained. “And yet … I guess it’s difficult.” A lump swelled in my throat, and the words stopped coming. I found it hard to continue.

“What’s difficult?” Ottavia asked, encouraging me to dig deeper.

“I guess it’s hard for me to truly get close to him.”

“Why?”

I drew a deep breath. “You know. Everyone looks at me, and all they can see is, ‘the son of the Golden One,’ and they’re always comparing me to him.

But my dad was so good at hockey, that it’s basically impossible for me to be as good as he was.

So when I don’t live up to expectations?

Suddenly, I’m a failure. A disappointment. An embarrassment to the Easton name.”

“You are not a failure. You’re a professional hockey player. You’re among the very best in the world.”

“I know, I know,” I groaned, though I clearly didn’t believe it.

“The thing that kills me is, everyone seems to think that if I just tried harder, or dedicated myself more, I’d be as good as my dad.

But no one considers that the problem might be that I’m just not that guy.

It’s like I’m not allowed to be myself, you know?

I have to play like my dad—which I can’t. It’s impossible . No one can.”

“That must be really hard.”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “Now am I saying that I’m perfect?

No. Hell no. I know I’m not. Because yeah, I like to party.

And yeah, I like girls, too. But guess what?

So did my dad. So did everyone back in my dad’s day—they all partied like animals.

And from the stories my dad has told me, they partied way harder than we party now. ”

She giggled. “After hearing about his hot young wife, I totally believe it.”

I snickered, too. “But whatever. None of that matters. No one cares how much they partied back in the day. All that matters today is that I feel this constant expectation, this crushing pressure”—I beat the center of my chest—“that I be as good as my dad. And it keeps me up at night. Literally! Did you know I have trouble sleeping before a big game? I’ll lay in bed, tossing and turning for hours, because I can’t get my mind to shut the hell up.

And that’s why I was out ‘partying’ before Game Seven.

Because it was the only way to quiet my mind and maybe get some sleep that night. ”

“Aw, Dakota. You poor thing.” She jutted out her bottom lip. “What is it, exactly, that’s running through your mind? What’s making you so upset?”

The turmoil festering in my heart intensified, its energy frantically swirling. It commanded me to stop looking at it, to go the hell away, to leave it buried and alone. But with Ottavia by my side? I wouldn’t.

Instead, I took a deep breath, and let it out.

“It’s the thought that … because I’ll never be good as he is … I’m somehow letting my dad down.”

Whoa.

After I spoke those words, my heart lurched so hard in my chest, I was certain Ottavia had killed the engine again—but nope, the engine continued to purr. Ottavia slowed the car to a gentle stop and shut the engine off.

She turned to me with sorrow in her eyes. “Dakota …”

“I know.” I rolled my eyes at myself, embarrassed at how vulnerable I’d made myself. “I didn’t even know I had that inside me. And it’s stupid of me to bitch about, because really, I’ve been given so many advantages just because of who my dad is. So who am I to whine about it?”

She reached over and gave me her hand. “It’s just like what you told me at lunch. Just because you’ve had advantages doesn’t mean your struggles and your pain aren’t real.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Chuckling, I squeezed her hand tight. “Maybe we’d be wise to listen to each other, huh?”

“Easier said than done, I know,” she said with a wry smile.

“God. Ain’t that the truth.” Embarrassed, I looked around and realized we were stopped in the middle of a desolate parking lot. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you stop driving. You can keep going.”

But she shook her head. “What’s the rush? I like talking to you.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “Actually, this is the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Part of me grinned that she’d called it a date, and wanted to pump my fist. The other part of me recoiled, appalled.

“Ottavia, please tell me you’re joking. That can’t be true.”

She snickered. “I’m serious! I think it’s so sweet you took me out here to teach me how to drive.”

“Even though I turned your driving lesson into a sob story about my dad?”

“It wasn’t a sob story. You were opening up and sharing a part of yourself with me.” She brushed her hand along my forearm. “And by the way? I think it’s incredibly sexy that you’re strong and secure enough to be vulnerable.”

“Ha. Wow. I don’t know what to say.” I couldn’t help but let out a surprised chuckle. “Ottavia, you’re not at all like the girls I’m used to.”

Her smile put a twinkle in her beautiful eyes. “Is that a complaint or a compliment? I can’t tell,” she teased.

“It’s definitely a compliment,” I said, unable to resist the smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth.

“Yeah?” she asked.

Our eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between us.

I nodded, my heart thumping with anticipation. “Yeah.”

An unspoken desire hung in the air, drawing us closer together.

“Well, thank you,” she whispered as I slowly leaned in.

I cradled the back of her head and gently guided her mouth to mine. Her plump lips were as smooth and silky as the petals of a rose, and we shared a tender kiss.

“Dakota.” She spoke my name in a sigh. Roused by the longing in her sexy voice, my cock began to pump and stir.

We pressed against each other once more, deepening our kiss, a heat growing between our juicy lips.

Our tongues entwined, igniting the spark of passion into a fiery blaze.

Her taste filled my senses—she tasted so pure, so right , like she was made for me and I was made for her and this was the moment we’d both come to realize it.

“Ottavia …” I growled.

Lips locked, tongues wrestled, and hands began to roam in a delicious tangle of need and lust. We both wanted more, the flames of desire rising between us—but with the engine off, the sporty coupe was quickly reaching a boil, too.

When the air was too thick and humid to bear, we shared a soft laugh and reluctantly pulled apart.

“ Whew ,” she said, fanning herself.

“Yeah, crank that A/C, girl,” I said.

She started the engine, icy relief blasting from the air vents, and looked at me.

“Now what?” she asked, biting her lip.

As much as I wanted to reach over the center console, scoop her up, and pull her into my lap?

I didn’t want our first time to be in a cramped coupe in the middle of an empty parking lot.

Any other girl I’d been with? Hell yeah.

But not Ottavia. Something told me she wasn’t just another notch in the belt.

I gestured at the road ahead of us. “I think you’re ready to take this thing out for a real drive.”

Her eyes widened. “What?! No way—I can’t! What if I stall in the middle of traffic?”

“Then you’ll start her up again. It’s no big deal.”

“Okay, but what if I crash ?”

“You won’t.”

“But I don’t have a legal driver’s license!”

“Who cares? I’m a millionaire, and you’re a billionaire. Together, I’m pretty sure we can pay off any ticket.”

“I dunno …” She bit her lip, grinning with excitement.

“Babe. Trust me. You got this. You can do it.”

“Think so?”

I nodded. “I know so.”

“Okay. Okay!” She clapped her hands, psyching herself up. “I can do this.”

She shifted into first and got the Porsche rolling without killing it.

“Nice! There you go!” I encouraged her as we rolled toward the main road.