I tell my single best friend helpfully.
“Girl, I’ve got a drawer full of toys that keep me quite satisfied.”
“Toys, huh?”
Noelle nods, sipping her wine.
“I’m betting those toys aren’t nearly as good as the real thing.”
“It sounds to me like you might be gloating. Are you gloating? You shouldn’t be gloating. Not with sex-deprived best friends in the same room.”
“I thought you were quite satisfied.”
“I am,” Noelle declares. “I’ve got my super max dildo, a rather enticing clit vibrator, a—”
I choke again. “I get it. You’ve got enough to fill every orifice.”
“And then some,” Noelle says with a smirk. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? You’re so prim and proper, you think your vag was only made for flesh-and-blood cock.”
“I do not,” I exclaim. I really do.
Sure, I have a vibrator, but I rarely use it. No wonder I practically jumped the man.
“Oh, cut the crap.” Noelle is laughing now. “You’re such a prude. It’s shocking that you have a kid.”
“Hey, I’ve had great sex in my life. Just … limited.”
“Tell me how many times a guy’s used a vibrator on you. Or a dildo. Or anal beads.”
It’s a good thing I’m not taking a drink, because I would shower Noelle with it when I sputter and choke again. Shaking my head, I say, “That doesn’t mean I haven’t had great sex.”
Noelle scrunches her lips together, then takes a sip of her wine. It’s evident she is holding something back.
“What?” I’m too curious to let it go.
“When’s the last time you had sex? Before the goalie god?”
I shrug. “Couple years ago?” Three, actually, but who’s counting?
“See, you even phrased it as a question. You don’t know.” Noelle shakes her head. “And then the goalie god goes and screws you against the wall and you kick him out on his ass. Such a waste.”
Laughing, I dare to ask, “And what do you suggest I do?”
Noelle points her wineglass toward me. “I say you let this man teach you a thing or two. You liked sex with him, he’s not asking you to marry him, so girl, go after it. Fuck his brains out and let him return the favor. Experiment. Invite a dildo into the bed with him there. Live a little. Shit. You’re only thirty-four, but you’d think you were sixty-four.”
“Experiment, huh?”
“Yep. You’ve already agreed to be his pretend girlfriend, so why shouldn’t you reap the benefits? We all know Mount Rushmore is kinky. Everyone says so.”
“Everyone?” I don’t like the idea that everyone might know how kinky Mount … er … Kingston is.
Noelle waves her hand as though that isn’t important. “Let him kinkify you. And then, if you can walk away from him after that … we’ll all know you’re irrevocably broken.”
Great.
Irrevocably broken.
Just what I always hoped to be when I grew up.
28
Kingston
Tuesday, November 8th
“Fuck.” Grumbling to myself is the only thing I can seem to do as I sit on the bench and watch the shit storm that is taking place on the ice in front of me.
I’m decked out in my pads, but rather than wearing my mask, I’m sporting an Arrows cap, supporting my team from the sidelines. Since Locke is in goal tonight, I have nothing to do except root them on and be available in the event that I’m needed.
At this point, I’m not sure anything will help us.
Unlike our last home game on Tuesday … let’s just say, knowing Ellie is in the stands won’t do anything to help this game. Since Coach wanted to give Locke another shot, it doesn’t matter.
Tonight’s game has been brutal.
Between the number of penalty minutes we’ve racked up, the fights that have broken out, and the crappy night Locke’s having in the net, we would’ve been better off just giving this game to Detroit rather than showing up.
Even Spencer has instigated a fight or two, which is completely out of character for him.
I watch the line change, keeping my eye on the puck as it moves once again to our end of the ice. Our shots on goal tonight have been pathetic. We’ve let Detroit dominate all fucking night, and it’s starting to piss me off.
Not that I could’ve done anything differently had I been the one in net. It’s simply one of those games that doesn’t go your way no matter how much you wish it would.
“One minute left in the period!” the announcer yells.
One minute left in the game, to be accurate.
With a sigh, I get to my feet, watching as the