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“The words?” I ask, feeling like he’s speaking another language. The vet has the good grace to look at the counter as he says, “The front had the words bad girl written on it.” Somehow he manages to say all this with a straight face. Which tells me that many dogs eat many weird things and that an important skill for a vet is being able to not laugh when he learns what type of underwear you wear. And I’m not laughing either. Because my dog did not eat my pair. My jaw hangs open. My heart doesn’t want to compute what he just said. But my brain has already processed this awful news. And my
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“Have at it,” I bite out. “And bear in mind I’ve read about five thousand romance novels so I’ve heard pretty much all the excuses. But by all means, you take the floor.” I’ve got the evidence though and I confronted him with it when I walked in the door two minutes ago, wagging a ziplock bag and asking him coolly, calmly, “Any idea why another woman’s panties were in my dog’s belly?” Because damn straight I took that evidence from Dr. Lennox.
Ohh. It’s the VIP tickets he won to spend an evening with the star center of the San Francisco Sea Dogs and his crosstown rival, the top defenseman of the California Avengers. With a wicked smile, I stuff them inside my bra and take off with everything that matters to me and the one thing that matters most to him.
“By the way, what’s the etymology of avocado?” I ask. That perks him up. “It comes from a word for testicles.” I cringe. “This is why I don’t need to learn your weird words.”
Look, I’m not saying I suddenly like hockey or anything crazy like that. But I definitely don’t mind being smushed next to these two big hunks. I mean, fine. There’s a lot of gear on them. Shoulder pads and stuff. But still. They smell nice.
“No one does, but I still love you. And that means…can I be the first to hold up the sign?” Yes! The signs. “Do it.” She reaches for the cardboard signs we made last night and hands one to me. She holds up hers, so everyone can see. I do the same. It takes a while, but after a few minutes, fans in the stands crane their necks, point, laugh, and snap pics. Soon enough, the jumbotron operator must notice because our signs are flashing across the big screen in the arena during a time-out. Aubrey’s says: Hey, cheating ex. Mine reads: How do you like your hockey tickets now?
Did I just discover I’m a thighs woman? I didn’t know that about myself till just now. But hello, strong legs. I like you.
But more importantly, why did no one tell me hockey players wear suits after games? That is information I would have liked to know before now. Suits are kind of my thing. Well, I’ve read a lot of billionaire romances.
Maybe use your words once in a while rather than acting like a caveman. It helps the team. It helps the public image. It helps, gasp, you.
Relationships suck. Romance is a lie. The human race is doomed. Case closed.
“Your dog probably doesn’t wear underwear. But if he does, that’s okay. No judgment.” He holds up his hands and looks Trina’s way. “Freedom of expression and all.”
I’m melting by the time they pay the bill, and so ready to have an everything bagel.
“The Poundcake Factory?” Aubrey asks as she puts the car in drive. “Well, if you weren’t calling it The Pound Palace I wouldn’t have had to make that up.” “No. If you didn’t bang them I wouldn’t have needed to call it The Pound Palace.”
But, in all fairness, I’m pretty sure being told to eat yummy food and go to bed early is, in fact, one of my pre-existing kinks. It’s a life kink, if you will.
“Wait,” Chase says. “He sleeps between your tits?” I glance down at my main squeeze. I’m so used to his sleeping preferences I hardly think about them. “Yeah, he claimed this spot a while ago.” “Fucking alpha dog,” Ryker grumbles then turns the other way with a huff.
“No…what?” “No, you’re not taking him to doggy daycare.” He’s as commanding as he is in bed, and the tone is dangerous for me to hear first thing in the morning. I’ll be ordering new panties before sundown.
“I swear, I had no idea sex like this was possible.” She fans her face. “I knew it. I knew those dirty books weren’t a lie. But rather, a secret roadmap to the promised land. And as God is my witness, someday I will find my way there.”
“I’m sorry I was a unilateral dick.” He nods, accepting it. “And sorry I was a turtle dick.” “What?” “I retreated. Like a turtle.” “You do know turtles and dicks aren’t the best comparisons?” “They kind of are though.”
“Cool. Apology accepted. You’ll find that title on the self-help shelves. It’s called Fool Me Once,” I say, staying strong, even as they step closer, walking past our bright and bubbly romance bestsellers display, full of pastel covers and delicious stories THAT ARE ALL A LIE.
“I can do it,” I say. “You’re going to nail it,” she says, then winks. “Just like they nail you.” “Actually, they double nail me.” She narrows her eyes. “I hate you. All I want is a damn good nailing.” “Some girls dream of unicorns. Some dream of unicorn dick,”
I scripted this morning a million different ways, but never did I think my mom would apologize for accidentally asking if I take a double dose of dick with my morning coffee.
