Gabe chuckles. “The blonde, the redhead, and the brunette.”
“Exactly! And sure, we could be fraternal triplets, but then he said, ‘You all look alike,’ and I think it’s because we had that sister energy. That connection.”
“I definitely see that in the three of you.”
“We thought that was the best compliment in the world. My mom said to the guy, ‘No, but they wish they were.’ And that was true. We wanted to be sisters so we could be together all the time. To hang out together, play cards, watch movies, go to the mall, get our ears pierced—we wanted to do everything. And now, as we all race toward thirty, we still love our time as a trio.”
“It’s a rare and precious gift to stay friends that long. I’m glad you have it. I’m glad they’re your family.”
“Me too.” I smile since he gets it. He completely understands our tight bond. “Speaking of family, how is your pops doing?”
Gabe offers a small smile. “I saw him a few days ago, and he kept talking about a dog he missed. A female schnauzer, he insisted. He only wanted the female schnauzer. But he never had that kind of dog. He always had collies.”
“What did you say when he was talking about a dog he didn’t have?”
“I kept reminding him of Daisy and Violet. Those were his collies. Eventually, we talked about other things. Baseball, the fire department, and the mac and cheese that Emily—my nana, his wife—used to make him. He had no trouble remembering the recipe for the mac and cheese,” Gabe says with a laugh.
“Did he give you the recipe?”
“Yeah, it was basically cheese, more cheese, and even more cheese.”
“Sounds yummy.”
“It was his favorite thing to serve me when I was at their house as a kid. All things considered, I guess he’s doing okay.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “You know, he’s the reason I kick your ass at Words with Friends.”
“He is?” Gabe’s talked about his grandfather frequently, and someday I hope to meet the man he admires so much.
Gabe’s voice tightens, like this is hard for him. “When he first realized he was struggling with his memory, he pulled me aside and told me he was going to give me the most important piece of advice ever: ‘Do crossword puzzles, young man. Exercise your brain. Don’t be like me.’”
A lump rises in my throat. I knew Gabe loved his puzzles and his grandpa, but I didn’t make the connection before—that it was the older man’s words of wisdom that spurred him on. They led him to keep that part of him—his mind—as active and well-oiled as his body. It’s far too easy to neglect the brain, but that isn’t a choice Gabe has made, and that’s hella sexy.
I’m tempted to squeeze his bicep, to run a hand lightly through his hair, something, anything. Instead, I keep my hands to myself and use my words. “You’re pretty damn sharp, Harrison, so I’d say both the brain and body workouts are doing the trick.”
“Thank you.” He gives me a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. “Same to you.”
Tingles swoop down my body from the compliment, and we’re quiet for a moment as I stare out the window, savoring the delicious view of curving hills and winding roads that bend through the towns I love.
As if he can read my mind, he says, “We live in a beautiful place.”
I sigh contentedly. “The only time I’ve lived elsewhere was college in Berkeley, and though I loved it, I’m so glad I moved back.”
“I’m glad my parents retired here when my pops settled here after Nana passed. Gave me an excuse to move away from the city.”
“I’m glad you moved here too, even though it’s sad that that’s the reason.”
He tips his forehead to a sign up ahead. “Welcome to Petaluma. Now, why don’t they say, ‘Welcome to Petaluma, home to a fantastic taqueria, the closest Target, and one helluva sex shop’?”
“You’d think the chamber of commerce would be all over that.” I gaze at the sign, but a gray mass on the side of the road snags my attention.
No! There’s an animal on the shoulder. I jerk out my hand. “Gabe! Look!”
He slows down then pulls over. We get out and walk around, and I gasp when I see an owl on the edge of the gravel, exactly where an owl shouldn’t be. “Is he okay?”
“I’m not sure.” Gabe bends to one knee, taking a look at the creature, which is sitting up but not trying to fly away. “I’m no vet, but I’m betting he has an injured wing.”
“Should we take him to Wild Care?” I ask, urgency coloring my tone.
“Definitely. But we need to be careful how we move him. You stay next to the little guy.”
I do as instructed, kneeling next to the small bird with a spotted brown coat. “You’re going to be okay, little buddy,” I tell him, though tears prick my voice. I don’t know what to do for him, but as I peer back at Gabe, who’s grabbing a blanket from the bed of the truck, he seems to know exactly how to help.
He rejoins me on the gravel. Gently, with steady hands, he slides the hurt bird onto the blanket. Gabe is the picture of cool calm. “Go sit in the cab and put your seat belt on. You need to hold this little guy.”
My heart speeds even faster. I do as he says, buckling in. A few seconds later, he carefully lifts the bird in the blanket then sets him on my lap. The animal wiggles a bit. “Just keep him here, nice and safe, okay? If he tries to wriggle out, put the blanket over him, since they like darkness.”
“I can do that.” My voice is as jumpy as my skittering pulse.
Gabe slides back in and starts the engine. The hair on my arms stands on end as I stare at the hedgehog-size creature with frightened yellow eyes. He’s settled down a little.
“It’s instinct for you, isn’t it?” I ask.
He glances over at me as he navigates back on the road. “What do you mean?”
I nod to the owl. “This is why you do what you do. You’re naturally good at helping.”
“Maybe,” he says quietly.
“It’s not a maybe, Gabe. You knew exactly what to do with this owl. Did you always want to be a fireman? Well, besides being a pitcher?”
“What kid doesn’t?”
“But what made it serious for you?”
His expression turns somber. “My nana had a heart condition. She didn’t realize it till one night when I was staying with them when I was younger. My pops called 911, and the firefighters were the first ones there. I still remember how unruffled and helpful they were.”
“Were you scared?”
“I honestly wasn’t, because of those guys. I watched them closely, and paid attention to what they did. They were calm and reassuring, and any time she had any trouble, that’s exactly how I tried to be with her—calm and reassuring.”
My throat tightens. “Like how you were with Hedwig,” I say, glancing at the owl. "Even though Hedwig is a girl in Harry Potter, and I think this owl is a boy. But I’m honestly not sure, since I’m not an owl vet either."
“Arden,” he chides, “we are not keeping him.”
“I know. But he needed a name.” I clear the emotions from my voice as best I can. “Did you know you’d be good at it?”
“I think so, but I also think it felt natural. Like something I could do. Well, if baseball didn’t work out. And that’s precisely what happened.”
“Do you ever regret that baseball didn’t work out?”
“Nah. How many guys get to have the two careers they want? I’m lucky—I got to play ball, and now I can do this. I can help people.” He squeezes my leg with his free hand. It’s not sexual. It’s friendly and comforting, like maybe he knows I’m a little nervous, a little jumpy in the role of his owl paramedic assistant. “And today we’re going to help this little guy.”
A few minutes later, we take Hedwig into Wild Care and Gabe hands off the owl. After that mission, we head over to The Garden of Eden.
As we walk inside, nerves flutter inside me once more, but I’ve found talking helps eradicate them. “There’s no one
I’d rather go sex toy shopping with than the guy who rescued Hedwig the owl.”
And it’s strange but completely true.
21
Arden
There are no windows. The brick exterior boasts a sign for adult pleasures. Inside, the shelves are teeming with battery-operated boyfriends, replicas of penises, vibrating rings, jellies, lubes, and every flavor of edible massage oil under the sun.
There’s something for everyone here, including an aisle with a buzzing corn-on-the-cob vibrator, half a woman’s torso made of silicone, and . . . feet. Feet of all sizes and colors.
Gabe brandishes a pale plastic one. He mimes running the fake foot in front of his crotch. A blush creeps across my cheeks as he pretends to grind against it, then deepens as he fakes his orgasmic pleasure.
I grab the toy. “Stop. You are not getting it on with a plastic foot.”
“I wasn’t trying to get it on. I was trying to get off.”
I laugh as I set down the toy I’ll never buy.
Gabe scans the shelves, and his eyes light up. He points. “We have to go see that.” He grabs my hand and guides me to a bright rainbow braid.
I squint, studying the swath of colors. “Should I put that in my hair?”
He laughs, then speaks dryly. “Sure. Or someplace where the sun doesn’t shine.” He turns it around revealing a silver plug on the other end.
My blush shoots up fifty shades. “And this is why I need help. Because I actually thought—erroneously—that I could buy a rainbow braid for my hair here.”
“Look at it this way. You could start a line of butt plug hair extensions.”
“Yeah, that’s a hard no.” But I am curious about something, and since I have a living, breathing man in front of me, one who’s pretty damn open, I decide to ask him. I tug his shirt, pulling him closer as I drop my voice. “Would you ever want to use one?”
He straightens. “On myself? No fucking way. Now, if you wanted to use one . . . would it be my first choice? Not necessarily. But if you wanted to try butt stuff, I’d experiment with you.”
I don’t want to try butt stuff, yet something about his willingness intrigues me. “You would? Even if it’s not your thing?”
He shrugs happily. “Of course.”
“Why?”
He steps closer. “Because if we were together, my number one goal would be to make sure you were . . . satisfied.” That last word lingers on his tongue, almost like a reassurance. With him, I can’t imagine I’d be anything but immensely pleased.
I blink away the thought. I should not be thinking about how good sex with him might be. That’s not what this sex-ucation is about. I take a breath, survey the shelves, and spot a curve of raspberry silicone, like a stretched C. I raise a hand. “Okay, maybe this makes me a clueless idiot, but what is that?”
We walk over to what’s billed as a couple’s vibrator and study it closely. I can’t for the life of me figure out where each end of this double-ended device goes, or on whom. “How do you wear this? Who wears it?”
Gabe turns it on its side, showing me the instructions on the tag. My mouth parts in an O as I read. “The front of the sex toy hangs on the clitoris, and the rest of it goes inside the woman. Supposedly, it gives great G-spot orgasms while engaged in intercourse with a partner. But I don’t understand how I’m supposed to have this chunk of plastic in me while I’m having sex.”
“Double the pleasure, double the fun?”
“I think it’s daunting.” But then I remind myself of my mission—to speak up with men. “Do you think it’s too daunting?”
He regards the device. “I honestly have no idea, but I’d be game to try it.”
That’s what I’m learning about Gabe—he’s up for anything. That easy way he has seems to extend all the way to the bedroom. He appears to have no hang-ups, just a healthy appetite for experimentation if his partner wants to go into the lab and mix up new formulas for nookie. I’m sure he’d don his white coat and get it on right there beside the test tubes and beakers.
“Would you try it?” His gaze meets mine, and our eyes lock. A rush of sensation spreads down my chest, like fluttering tingles.
“I would try it. I don’t know if I’d like it, but I’d try it.” My breath comes a little faster.
“What kind of vibrator do you have?”
I smile. “Why do you assume I have one at all?”
He sets his hand on his belly and laughs in an over-the-top fashion. “That’s a good one.”
“I mean it. How did you know?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. I really want to know how you assumed I had one.”
He arches a brow. “Arden East, I bet you have more than one.”
I smile in a silent admission. I’m liking Naughty Town a lot.
“Exactly.” He steps closer. “And to answer how I knew—I knew because you like pleasure. Because you’re not getting what you want from your relationships. Because you asked me to help you learn more about men and sex. Ergo, you know how to take care of yourself, but you want to know what to do with all that desire when you’re with someone.”
His eyes sweep up and down my body, making my stomach flip unexpectedly, quickening my pulse. Maybe it’s the way he says desire. Maybe it’s how he looks at me with darkened eyes, or the close quarters we’ve found ourselves in. Whatever it is, all I want to do is give him the honest truth. My skin is buzzing, and it feels good to talk about sex.
“I have three. A bullet, a lipstick vibrator, and a dolphin.”
He swallows, taking his time speaking again. “Lucky dolphin.”
I laugh at the obvious joke. “Or maybe I’m the lucky girl.”
“Do you carry the lipstick one with you?”
“So I can diddle myself in my car?”
“Or behind the counter at the bookstore?”
“I am most decidedly not taking solo flights at work.”
“When do you break them out?”
“At home.”
“And which one do you use the most?”
“I like the dolphin best of all. He has most favored nation status.” Holy smokes. I’m serving it all up. I’m telling him everything. And it feels fantastic. It’s freeing. He seems to be enjoying this conversation too, judging from the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
“Like I said, lucky dolphin,” he murmurs as he guides me to the next aisle, and we’re in a wonderland of animals: butterflies, dolphins, rabbits. “All right, this isn’t your first turn at the menagerie, then. But you did say you wanted to try mutual masturbation.”
A rush of heat zips through me, shooting my temperature higher. What is he going to suggest? Does he want us to do that even though I’d instigated a clothes-on rule? Nerves mix with a strange new excitement. “We don’t have to,” I quickly say, because I can’t bear the thought of crossing a line, even as it entices me.
He cuts me off, looking me straight in the eyes. “I know. Believe me, I know. But this is what I’m thinking. You’re trying to move beyond your comfort zone. Learn new things, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then I want you to do something for me.”
I’ve no idea what he wants me to do, but a delicious heaviness throbs between my legs, and I think I’ll like whatever he says. “Okay.”
“Tell me what you like about the one you’re using.”
“Tell you?”
“Yes.”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
I look around. A skinny woman in black with earplugs works the counter, and a redhead in a plaid skirt is hanging up a sexy nurse costume. Nearby, a couple covered in ink checks out strap-ons.
“And how does this help?” I whisper as we regard a shelf of dolphins and rabbits.
“You said you wanted to be able to voice what you like in bed. Do you want to practice by telling me what you like about the dolphin?”
Sparks ripple across my skin at his request, leaving a tr
ail of gooseflesh in their wake. I do want to tell him. I do want to say what I like.
I point to a light-blue dolphin, take a deep breath, and draw on desire—the desire to speak my mind with a man. I can do this. I can say this. “I like the dolphin because . . .” I pause. I’ve never been this vocal before. I picture my solo rides, how I close my eyes, lie back on my bed, and imagine trying new positions, exploring new lands, as I pleasure myself. “Because it goes deep. Because it feels good inside me, and outside.”
The blue in his eyes turns fiery. “The dolphin makes you feel like you’re being touched by someone who knows how to take care of your needs?”
I shiver, my knees going a little weak. My mind is turned all the way on. “Yes, like my lover is attuned to me.”
His voice is raspy. “And knows how to touch you just right. Knows how to make your skin tingle, how to move his hands over you so the world slips away.”
A quick breath falls from my lips, as my body becomes electric. “That sounds amazing,” I whisper.
His eyes are intense, shining with something that looks dangerously like pure lust. “Because he doesn’t take the gift of your body for granted. Because he asks, and you tell him. Now, tell me—so you can practice saying it—what do you picture when you’re close?”
The flame in his eyes jumps to me, and I’m ignited as I cycle through my go-tos then whisper, “My mind . . . flips through different images. But sometimes it’s words. Things I say, things I picture a lover doing to me.”
He inches closer, and the air crackles and hums between us. “Like what you want to say when you’re about to come?”
I nod, my temperature soaring from that one word—come. I ache everywhere. I ache between my legs with the delicious, torturous need to come. Not now, not here, but soon. “Things I’ve never said out loud,” I whisper, my face hot.
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