Skid Marks and the Selby Slammers

by April Ryder

  I didn't know it then—or did I?—but I was such an idiot.

  Rick correctly interpreted that to be permission to fuck my brains out. He yanked my knickers further aside, catching my engorged clit as it did. My hips lifted of their own volition in appreciation at the rough pleasure my clit received.

  Of all the times Rick could have chosen to be a gentleman, now was definitely not the right moment. He tried to slowly enter me, the exact opposite of what I wanted. I dug the back wheels of my skates into him and kicked him closer. Inside me.

  I cried out. That had hurt more than I'd expected but God did he feel good in there. I stretched to accommodate him and finally I looked up into his eyes and said the two words we both needed to hear.

  "Fuck me."

  Any control Rick might have left, fled. Something dangerous took him over as he fucked me like I'd never been before. He was rough, uninhibited, and wild as he pounded into me. I did my best to hold onto the taps to keep myself in place, but each slam home pushed me back.

  He growled, yanked me to the edge of the bench and held me in place. It turned out to be an even better angle for penetration. I wouldn't last much longer. Not with the way he was grinding his groin against my mound every time it made contact.

  Something powerful built up inside me. My anger was forgotten as lust and desire took its place. The pressure grew, starting from where we were joined and threatening to break free.

  In amongst it all I heard Rick angrily yell, "Get the fuck out!"

  My eyes darted around until they landed on my bestie's back. He was at the door shoving someone ahead of him outside. Him giving me the thumbs-up was the last thing I saw before the dam broke. Well, that wasn't quite true…

  "Look at me," Rick demanded and I obeyed.

  I saw the moment he reached climax and I was right there with him. My body convulsed as whatever it was inside me exploded. My insides turned out and I wailed as my brain overloaded my body with pleasure—most of it concentrated on the erratic pulsing between my legs. I fell right over the edge and into heaven.

  I was in shock. I had to be. Had Rick really fucked my brains out? I had no brain. How would I get it back? I blinked at the man in question and watched, open-mouthed, as he left for the loo. I hadn't noticed him withdraw, but now I felt strangely empty. Lost. Had we really done it? And why had it been so mind-blowing?

  Rick came back with a wad of toilet paper, wet it under the automated taps and wiped up the mess he had made. I flinched as the cold, damp loo paper touched my sensitive skin. He was being careful to not hurt me, I realised. What had happened to the angry man who had so aggressively taken me?

  He said something. I didn't know what, so he repeated it.

  "Halftime ends soon."

  I opened and closed my mouth a few times, working my jaw that now hurt for some unknown reason. What had he done to me?

  "What?" I croaked. Shell-shocked.

  "The match," he said slowly. "The Slammers? The B*tches?"

  Nothing he said made sense.

  Rick pressed his lips together in a grim smile. He seemed more irritated than anything, though. "You're at the roller derby. The whistle is about—"

  And the whistle did go. The shrill sound fired my synapses and reminded me where the hell I was. I was in a stadium and still had the second half of the match to get through. The B*tches had assured me that they no longer held a grudge against me, and I had just had sex with Rick.

  Somewhere during my return to reality he had pulled my bra straps back over my shoulders. I readjusted my breasts that were red with Rick's stubble rash and jumped off the bench. Rick grasped my elbow when I started to wobble. My legs were jelly. This would be difficult. I looked hopelessly down at my exposed curves. No buttons. I quickly tied the ends of my shirt together and hoped it would work. Flesh was still on display but that didn't matter. I was a tough derby chick and this was part of my alter-ego: Skid Marks. If people didn't like it, they could deal with it because I'd just had the best sex of my life and I didn't care. About them, not the sex. I didn't know what to think about the sex.

  We said nothing, nor did we make eye contact as he helped me to the door. I sensed he was about to say something but I never gave him the chance. I opened the door and skated into the stadium, intent on getting back to my team. Leaving him alone.

  We won the game. The victory felt hollow to me. After the violent first half, the second was a bit of a let down. Don't get me wrong, the B*tches were still their B*tchy selves, but the adrenaline and primal fury I had felt earlier never returned. Like it had been used up during halftime. On the plus side, Pretty wouldn't kill me.

  I was obligated to watch the men's inline hockey team. Adam would have thrown a hissy fit if I hadn't. If their game had been exciting, I didn't notice. My mind wasn't on it. It had vacated the building a while ago and was probably taking a holiday without me. I had no idea who had won.

  I stayed after the crowds left and waited for Adam. Others lingered, no doubt fans or family, waiting to catch the men as they came out of the changing room. I waited and watched from a distance as each player came out and was greeted by whoever was waiting for them.

  Then he walked out. Rick. My breath hitched.

  I didn't know if I should say anything. This was uncharted territory for me. What was the etiquette for after angry lust-filled wild sex in a bathroom?

  Whatever it was, I wouldn't find out. A petite Asian-looking woman called Rick's name. He smiled—I had no idea he could do that—when he saw her. It widened when he spied the little girl who held the woman's hand. He gave the woman a peck on the cheek before he picked up the girl and threw her in the air. I heard the girl giggle, then she said the words I had been dreading to hear. "Daddy!"

  But wait, it doesn't end there. No, I wish it did. What I had waiting for me at home was perhaps worse. I unlocked the door to my apartment two hours later, after having celebrated with one drink with the girls over the win. I remembered that lesson. Drinking is bad hmmkay?

  I shoved the door open with more force than usual and it bounced off the inside wall, springing back and almost hitting me in the face. It took me a full sixty seconds to realise something was wrong with my apartment. More like someone. And that someone was sitting on the couch looking up at me with a shocked expression on his poopy face.

  Gloria Gaynor was right. I should have changed that bloody lock.

  =^.^=

  Three Skid Marks

  =^.^=

  "What the fuck, Paul?"

  There seated on the couch is my ex-fiancé. The man who dumped me while I had the mother of all migraines and walked out of my life—with a blonde stick insect—to a job waiting for him in Wellington. That was the last I had seen of him until right now.

  "Hayley, you're home late. Where have you been?" he asked as if nothing was wrong with this situation.

  I, of course, ignore his question. "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

  Paul seemed surprised by my response. He doesn't answer me immediately but fidgeted with a cushion right up until I was about to repeat myself. "I…the job fell through."

  I blinked rapidly at his admission. "And the stick insect?" I asked, not that I cared. Not really.

  "The what?"

  "The blonde Adam saw you with when you left."

  "Oh. Um…that's not what it looked like."

  I rolled my eyes. When was it ever? "I'm tired. I can't even. Just tell me what you're doing here so I can go to bed." And forget all about you again.

  "I don't have anywhere else to stay."

  "What about your friends?"

  He looked away and considered his words. With a sigh he finally revealed, "I might have boasted about the job offer—"

  "And now you're too embarrassed to go sleep on their couch because you feel like a failure?" I finished.

  "Yeah," he said and flashed me the most pathetic poopy face I'd ever seen. It was the closest he could get to puppy dog eyes. "Please Hayley."
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  I dropped my gear bag on the floor with a loud thump and smiled in satisfaction when he flinched at the sound. But I really was tired. The last of the adrenaline from the derby had left my body and just that one drink had me wiped. I needed sleep. Dealing with Paul could wait until morning.

  "One night," I told him and walked to the bedroom.

  It wasn't until I was pulling the covers back on the bed that I realised Paul had followed me. Before he could remove his clothes I firmly told him, "On the couch, Paul."

  "But—"

  "You know where the spare blankets are," I said and waited for him to leave before I climbed into my nice cool bed, star-fished my limbs, pushed the poopy invader from my mind and sighed contentedly. Mmm…cool sheets.

  * * *

  "What the fuck, Paul?" I exclaimed when the door to the bathroom opened and the last man on earth that I wanted to see me naked walked in.

  "What?" he asked, shocked by my reaction. "You never minded before."

  "We were engaged then, we're not now. You're a"—unwanted—"guest, not someone who can just walk in while I'm using the bathroom."

  He scratched his sleep-tussled head but backed away without arguing further. I'd have to make sure to ask him for his key before he left. The last thing I needed was for Paul to pop up while I was entertaining someone. Now that would be embarrassing.

  Casting aside such morbid thoughts, I greeted Shawn the Shower. He worked his detachable showerhead magic. I didn't leave until I had used up all of the hot water.

  "Serve Paul right," I muttered as I dried myself.

  Even though it was the weekend, I had some work to catch up on in the office. It probably wasn't wise to leave Paul home alone, but the sooner I got the epic paper filing done the better.

  One of the two managers I was a personal assistant to had moved down to the South Island to cover a suddenly vacated role. I had to take every file in her office and file it away in the correct place. The woman was a hoarder and this was the perfect opportunity to get it done. That and I was being paid overtime. Cha-ching!

  I wasn't the only one in the office. My other manager, Jim, was getting some work done. He had been away for a while after coming off his mountain bike and injuring himself. I was surprised at how much work he had done while at home. That might have been because he didn't have anyone trying to interrupt him or getting caught up in an unending list of meetings. In fact I think we managed to catch up on every open project he was a part of. Maybe Jim should injure himself more often.

  Trish, who held the same position that I did but for two different managers, was at her desk when I came in.

  She smiled brightly and said, "Congratulations on the win. That dogpile was pretty spectacular!"

  I winced at the reminder of being at the bottom of a heavy, smelly pile of Wicked B*tches during last night's derby. Everyone had walked away with a bruise or two. I'd found seven while in Shawn earlier.

  "Not one of my greatest moments," I said.

  "And the way the hockey guys jumped up to rescue you," she added while fanning herself with her hand. "They're so hot."

  "Yeah," I agreed with what I was sure was a stupid dreamy look on my face. God, did I have it bad.

  "I like the big guy; he looks like he'd ravish a girl."

  "He did…"

  "Did what?"

  "What?" I said, suddenly realising what I'd just let slip and panicking that Trish would know what I had meant. "Ah… he does look like he would?"

  "Yeah," she said, seeming to buy what I had said. "And that other guy. Wow, I just about wet my knickers when he smiled down at you!"

  I knew that feeling. Once I had thought he had incinerated my knickers with one look at me. But then I remembered I hadn't been wearing any because Rick the Dick had dropped them in a puddle. Just the thought of the vile man made me angry.

  "You all right?" Trish asked, worried by my obvious attempt at hulking out. She leaned closer and lowered her voice, "Have you heard about the restructure?"

  That got my attention. There had been a restructure in the company not too long ago and that was why Trish and I had been employed, to fill newly created roles.

  "No. Should I be worried?"

  Trish shrugged. "I have someone on the inside in HR. He said they're making up lists for reassignment within the organisation and for redundancy. He told me—and I quote—to keep my head down and my nose clean. I think they're specifically looking at our department and I'm more than a little worried."

  "Me too. Thanks for letting me know," I told her before heading to my desk. The last thing I needed right now was having to worry about my job. I already had everything else to worry about.

  A few hours had passed by the time Jim ventured out of his office to chat. He was polite, quick to laugh, and the same age as my father—in his mid-fifties. So Jim dropping a condom on my desk was quite a shock.

  "This was attached to a postcard in yesterday's mail. Some promotion or something. I think you'll get more use out of it than I will."

  With that he turned on his heel and disappeared back into his office.

  "What the…"

  I had no time to dwell on just how awkward, disturbing, and mildly creepy it was to have a man who reminded you of your father give you a contraceptive and tell you to use it, because my mother chose that moment to gatecrash my workplace. How she managed to get past security I'd never know, but she did. Every. Damn. Time.

  "Mum, what are you doing here?"

  The woman who had given birth to me looked around my cubicle and sniffed. "I'm here to have lunch. Don't tell me you don't eat lunch."

  I tried to ignore the pointed look she gave my tummy. She had already made it clear what she thought about my size, not to mention her incessant advice on how to burn off the shameful fat. The only times I felt fat were whenever she brought it up and when I went clothes shopping and couldn't find something that would fit. Soul-destroying moments spent locked alone in a little changing room tend to make one really hate changing rooms.

  Suppressing the urge to sigh—or strangle my mother—I grabbed my wallet and smiled. "Of course I have lunch."

  "You should get a purse," my mother told me.

  I ground my teeth together and kept my thoughts to myself. There was nothing wrong with my purple RFID-blocking wallet. Instead, I said, "The cafe on corner?"

  She nodded. "That sounds fine. We can have salads."

  No, she could have a salad. I was going to nom down on a burger. Right in front of her. And I was going to enjoy it.

  "Hayley," Jim said as he poked his head out of the office. "About the condom—"

  "That's okay," I said quickly, trying to shut him up. My mother didn't need more material to work with.

  My mother stared at my manager and I froze. Oh my God, she had heard him say condom.

  "Jim?" she said.

  I opened my eyes, not realising I'd squinted them closed and started wishing to be anywhere but here.

  "Yes?" he said and joined us. "And you are?"

  "Debbie Olson," she said, introducing herself to him using her maiden name. "We used to work together."

  Jim looked my mother over in a way that made me uncomfortable. My parents had divorced recently and I was suddenly worried Jim would ask me to give him that condom back, especially when he turned his gaze to me. Ick. Ick. Ick. Scientists need to invent mind bleach, stat!

  "I think I remember," he said, but it was clear to me that he didn't. I knew he was trying to envision a slender version of me, but I looked nothing like my mother.

  "This is a funny coincidence," my mother said. "My first job was working for you and now here Hayley is working for you for her first job."

  Technically that was correct. This was my first full-time permanent job, however, I had held several part-time temporary ones during high school and the short time I was in university.

  "Really? That is funny," Jim agreed.

  My mother and I nodded, and when no one else seemed
ready to say anything more, I reminded her we were going to lunch and that Jim had lots of work to do. I didn't want her to invite him along to witness whatever it was she was here to torture me about. Or flirt with one of my managers. I didn't want to see that. Ever.

  "Oh shoot," my mother said as we seated ourselves at the cafe. "I should have extended the invitation to Jim. It would have been lovely to catch up. You know I used to have a crush on him…"

  Whatever she said next I drowned out by mentally putting my fingers in my ears and singing that Taylor Swift song about the hot bad boy to myself.

  "Hayley, are you listening to me?" my mother asked, waving her ring-covered fingers in my face.

  No.

  "Yes," I lied.

  She didn't believe me. "Well, have you heard from your father or not?"

  "No. Not for a while."

  Shit. I hadn't called my father in weeks. He didn't know the engagement was off, that Paul was gone—or he had been for some time—and that I was now a roller derby chick.

  "I ask because I wondered what he thought of these sudden and drastic changes you've been making in your life."

  "What sudden and drastic changes?" I asked, wary as to where this was going.

  "Well, no longer being engaged to Paul for a start."

  I rolled my eyes. "Don't look at me. That was all his idea."

  "He's back in Auckland now. If you just put in a little effort I'm sure he'd be happy to take you back."

  My eyebrows shot up through my hairline at what she was suggesting. "He dumped me, mum. I should be the one taking him back."

  "Well, why don't you?"

  Sometimes I wonder what planet my mother lives on. Where to start… "He cheated on me!" I reminded her and chomped on my burger for emphasis.

  "So did your father but I didn't leave him over it."

  My uneaten mouthful fell out onto my plate. "Wait what? Dad didn't cheat on you." Did he?