by Avery Flynn
The video ended and the logo for Harbor City Wake Up appeared on the screen. Zara looked at Gemma, whose eyes were as big and round as saucers.
“Oh. My. God,” Gemma said. “You slept with him.”
Cheeks. Burning. Lava. Flames. “I did not.”
But only because Caleb was the type to give orgasms and run, which was followed by a string of texts over the past few days that she’d ignored because she was a big, embarrassed chicken. What do you say to someone after you come all over his face like a woman who hasn’t had a non-self-induced orgasm in literally forever? Was she supposed to text back “WYD?” Pour her heart out? Tell him her clit was usually broken when other people touched it? Demand he gets back to her apartment so she could tie him to the bed?
Gemma narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, giving Zara a long, hard look. “You did something more with him than hold hands.”
Zara folded like cardboard in the rain. “I might have ended up naked.”
“You might have?” Gemma clapped. Literally. As if Zara had just won a spelling bee. “What about him?”
“Totally dressed.” The work that zipper must have done, though…judging by the hard length of him that she’d dry humped.
God, her cheeks were burning even more just thinking about it—in both a good and a bad way.
“And what happened while you were naked and he was fully clothed?” her bestie asked, because she, too, had never had a question she didn’t need to air.
“He went to town downtown.” Her core clenched just remembering the feel of his tongue against her.
“And…?”
Zara waited for a beat, screwing up her face, and prayed for courage because this next admission was going to cause shock waves. “I had an orgasm.”
Gemma set down her mug on the counter with a loud thunk. Her jaw dropped, and she just stared at Zara, blinking occasionally as the truth of the matter sank in.
“Oh my God. Oh m-my God,” she finally sputtered. “This is huge.”
It wasn’t like Zara went around telling everyone that she’d never had an orgasm with another person before. That kind of humiliation didn’t need to be shared. Really, who wanted to know that her body was defective unless she was by herself grinding out a toe-curler? The only person she’d ever told had been her best friend. Together they’d pored over sexual health books, the internet, and Gemma had even tried to get her to go to a therapist. None of it had worked.
The fact was that the more time she spent during the deed thinking about how to have an orgasm or telling herself that she should have had one by now, the further away her climax felt. So she just let it go, figuring that she had a shy clit that only wanted to play when she was by herself.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Zara protested, without really putting her heart into it. “It just means I probably should have had more sex with my other boyfriends while I was still half asleep so that my brain would stop spinning and I could actually experience the event instead of feeling like I was giving a barely listened-to guided tour in hopes of maybe getting a tip in the end.”
“So that’s what you’re going with?” Gemma raised an eyebrow and tilted her chin down. “Hazy brain equals orgasms when you’ve never had one with other people before? Girl, forget your history of solo-only orgasms, if a dude is willing to get you over without even getting a handie, then you’ve found a keeper. That kind of giving is not found in a majority of the male population.”
“We’re not really dating,” Zara said, not wanting to deal with the rest of that statement because really, what woman who was dating in today’s world didn’t deal with selfish lovers? “It’s just a means to an end for both of us. Don’t you have other friends you can pester about getting into relationships with people with whom they are not compatible?”
Gemma let out a loud cackle of a laugh that startled Anchovy from his midafternoon nap. “No one else who is dating Caleb Stuckey, first of his name, destroyer of vagina cobwebs, and bequeather of non-solo orgasms.”
“You are so weird,” Zara said with a laugh.
Her bestie shrugged and lifted her mug of tea in a toast. “And that’s why you love me.”
“True.” She clinked her mug against Gemma’s and snuck a peek at her own phone on the counter.
There were eight text message alerts she’d been pretending weren’t there. She didn’t need to hit the text icon to know who they were from, but she wished she knew what in the hell to say to him.
…
“Stuckey,” Coach Peppers yelled. “Get in my office.”
Caleb heard Coach even though he had in his earbuds so he could listen to the video of Zara’s dad interviewing her about the last date. He’d been waiting for a hint that Anchovy had eaten her phone or that she’d been under a tight work deadline and that was why she hadn’t texted him back beyond a couple of emojis—whatever the fuck they were supposed to mean. Of course, he didn’t really care that she was blowing him off. Whatever he’d been dumb enough to think was maybe a possibility obviously wasn’t. She’d set him straight on that by ignoring his messages.
He pocketed his earbuds and his phone, then pulled on his shirt and headed into the coach’s office. Surprising no one, Coach wasn’t alone. Zach Blackburn lounged against the window ledge, his tatted-up arms crossed and the eyebrow piercing he took out for games and practices back in place. The team captain looked every bit like a man about to take a chunk out of whoever pissed him off that day, which was pretty much Blackburn’s usual expression.
Caleb stepped farther inside Coach’s office. “You wanted me?”
“Sit down,” Peppers said without looking up from his computer screen.
That didn’t bode well. Usually, Coach just had little chats with his players in the locker room while he drank coffee spiked with enough sugar and milk to give only the barest hint of what it had been originally. Caleb went for an air of cocky confidence, but on the inside, he was that too-skinny kid with buck teeth in front of the classroom trying to read from the assigned chapter.
“Do you know why you’re here in this facility and wearing that team logo?” Peppers jerked his chin toward the Ice Knights logo on Caleb’s T-shirt.
“To play hockey,” he said, not understanding where this was going but not liking it.
“Damn straight.” Coach leaned forward, propping his elbows on his desk. “And what else?”
Beads of sweat popped out at the base of his skull, and he tapped his fingers on his thigh, an old trick his mom had taught him to stay grounded when anxiety started to wind up in his belly. “To be a team player.”
“Just a player or a leader?” Blackburn asked, his tone gruff and his expression inscrutable beyond his perma-glare.
He straightened in the guest chair. “A leader.”
“Good, because that’s what I see when I look at you, which is why your fuckup in the off-season hurt us so badly.” Peppers exhaled a harsh breath in obvious frustration. “The new guys look up to you. The old guys want to play with you. The fans love you. More importantly, the boys thought they could depend on you to show the team in a good light and not to cause distraction or disruption.”
“I know that.” Caleb couldn’t talk for other organizations, but with the Ice Knights, there was a sense of team that went beyond the logo on his jersey. Maybe it was because they’d fought their way out of the standings basement together, and none of them wanted to go back into the never-could bracket. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
“Like let your mom take over your Bramble app so the front office wouldn’t trade you and Petrov?” Blackburn asked.
“Petrov’s working his ass off.” The center had put in so many hours to get back to the game that he’d practically worked an eighty-two-game season already. “He deserves to play for the team he’s dreamed about being on since he was in juniors.”
“Yeah, well, he’s playing in tonight’s game,” Peppers said, then took a drink from the sugary concocti
on in his Harbor City Dental mug. “The front office has decided against trading him.”
All the air whooshed out of his chest in relief. “Good.”
“They’re not trading you, either, but we’re making a change to your jersey,” Blackburn said as he tossed a piece of fabric into Caleb’s lap.
He looked down at the blue A, picking it up with the reverence that the letter denoting the alternate captain deserved.
Brain still processing what this meant, he looked up at Blackburn and Peppers. “But I fucked up.”
“Are you gonna do that again?” Coach asked.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Then take the A,” Blackburn said.
“And don’t worry about the Bramble thing,” Peppers said. “I can talk to Lucy to get you out of it.”
In a heartbeat, everything slammed back into action: his heart started beating again, his mental abilities caught up with the situation, and he almost jumped out of his chair—stopping himself just in time.
“No,” Caleb said, the single word coming out like a curse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’ll see it through.”
“Might as well finish up the last two dates, eh?” Coach steepled his fingers and tapped them against his chin. “I like it. Shows you finish what you start. The front office will appreciate that.”
That was nice but was not the reason Caleb was doing this—not that he was about to say it out loud. Still, the amused tilt of Blackburn’s smirk meant Caleb wasn’t entirely successful in keeping that information to himself. He glowered at his defensive partner, who just shrugged and flipped him off while Coach wasn’t watching.
Yeah, Blackburn could suck it. Caleb had had to watch the other man fall like a boulder through thin ice for Fallon Hartigan last year—the last thing Caleb needed was for Mr. I Know Everything About Relationships Now to think that’s what he wanted for himself. It wasn’t.
This thing with Zara? It was just fun. No strings. No feelings. No commitment. Those were the rules. That’s what they’d agreed to, and she was obviously sticking to it even if he had been starting to waver. He wouldn’t be that dumb again.
Chapter Eleven
Shoulder still aching a bit from the hit he’d taken during last night’s home game that had sent him crashing into the boards, Caleb eased his truck into the parallel parking spot on the busy Harbor City street near Zara’s building and took his phone out of the glove box. He’d meant to drive across the Harbor Bay bridge home to Waterbury after this afternoon’s practice. Instead, he’d driven in the exact opposite direction because he’d been driving with his dick—not literally but close enough. It was allowed, though, because this wasn’t about a relationship. This was just for fun so everyone got off.
Engine off and phone in hand, he fired off a quick message.
Caleb: You in?
He didn’t take his gaze off the screen. It remained stubbornly blank. He was an asshole—the kind who fucked around and ran off. Who could blame her for the past few days of emoji-only responses to his texts? She was sending a message, and he had to accept that. Then, three little text dots appeared on his screen and he whispered a “fuck yeah” in the empty cab of his truck.
Zara: Yes, but I’m not fit for public.
Caleb: Bad day?
Zara: The worst cramps ever.
His experience with that was all theoretical, but there were many benefits to growing up with sisters—one of which was knowing not to fuck with a woman dealing with period cramps.
Caleb: Sorry.
Zara: It’s okay. When I die, make sure someone comes and feeds Anchovy so he won’t eat my corpse.
Caleb: Only cats would do that. Anchovy is a good boy. Speaking of which, I have something for him. Can I stop up real quick?
Zara: Thought you were in Toronto.
If he looked in the rearview mirror about then, he had no doubt as to the goofy-ass grin he’d be wearing. His damn cheeks hurt. This was ridiculous. Thank God he was alone.
Caleb: Not until tomorrow but you’re following my games now?
Zara: Anchovy sat on the remote. I didn’t have a choice.
Caleb: Uh-huh. Whatever you say.
She only sent an eye roll emoji in response.
Caleb: I actually found a parking spot only three blocks down from your place. Can I swing by?
Okay, the truth of it was that he’d driven around her neighborhood for a solid fifteen minutes hunting for a parking spot, but she didn’t need to know that. He didn’t want her to think he was a total creeper.
Zara: All right, just know what you’re in for.
Caleb: I grew up in an all-girl family. You can’t scare me.
Instead of making the left to go to her apartment building once he got out of his truck, he turned right so he could hit the corner store, where he grabbed a bottle of red with a pair of high heels on the label that reminded him of Zara and half a dozen different kinds of candy bars, hoping she’d like at least one of them. He was knocking on her front door five minutes after the old lady behind the counter handed him his change, gave an appraising look at his items as she bagged them, and wished him good luck.
Zara opened the door wearing yoga pants, a long-sleeve T-shirt, and fuzzy slippers that looked like Anchovy had munched on them a time or twelve. Her long red hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she was clutching a bag of chips.
“I brought you a present.” He handed over the plastic bag.
She pulled out a Baby Ruth and the wine. Since he knew next to nothing about wine, he’d picked the label more than the bottle, but he must have done okay judging by the happy sigh she let out. Shit. He was in trouble. If Blackburn could see him now, the only thing the captain would say was told you so.
“Okay,” Zara said, stepping back and giving him room to enter. “You’re allowed in.”
He made it all of three steps in before Anchovy loped over and helpfully lifted Caleb’s hand with his head.
“You want a pet, huh?” Caleb delivered that and then reached in the bag Zara still held, pulling out a tennis ball with the Ice Knights logo on it. “Figured you might want a smaller one every once in a while, too.”
Anchovy woofed his approval, took the ball from his palm, and then trotted off to the part of Zara’s studio designated as a workspace. The dog lay down on a blanket under a table covered with miniature furniture and books.
The candy bar wrapper crinkled as Zara tore it open. “You’ve made a friend for life.”
“Does that mean I can stay for a while?” That tight sense of anticipation made his nerves vibrate as she looked him up and down.
“Okay, but I’m invoking the rule that I don’t have to pretend to be in a good mood.”
He kept the victory grin off his face. “Works for me.”
Two hours later and the fast-cars-and-loud-explosions movie was winding down while they sat next to each other on the couch. The bottle of wine was half empty, three crumpled-up candy bar wrappers sat in the middle of the coffee table, and Zara was tucked in against him. The team plane took off for Toronto at O-dark-hundred in the morning and he still had to pack, but he wasn’t ready to go.
As the credits rolled faster than his brain could process the jumping letters, he let his eyes droop closed. This was what had happened last time. Just the no-pressure ease of sitting there together had lulled him into the kind of super-relaxed state that he usually only experienced after a hard-fought win. It was the kind of feeling that sank deep into his bones, melting away everything else until there was only the good of that moment. That’s what it was like sitting on the couch with Zara. It made absolutely no sense, but there it was. However, unlike last time, he wasn’t going to crash out, not when they had to stop pretending that nothing had happened.
“Are we going to talk about what happened the other day?” he asked, the words out of his mouth before his brain had time to think better.
“You mean when you gave me my first non-solo orgasm ever.” Zara
’s eyes rounded as she whirled around to face him, slapping her hand over her mouth in horror.
Caleb could practically smell the smoke from the sizzle of his brain exploding.
First.
Non-solo.
Orgasm.
What in the hell?
She dropped her hand to her lap and looked up at the ceiling, her eyes squeezed shut. “Ignore that. I did not say it. You did not hear anything. Fuck.”
Yeah. That was not gonna happen. How in the world had she never— Ohhhhhhhh. Okay, this was a first for him since he’d lost his own V card.
“It’s no big deal,” he said, working to keep his tone neutral. “Being a virgin is cool.”
Her responding groan of misery was loud enough to wake up Anchovy, who had been asleep on the floor using his new tennis ball as a doggie chin pillow.
“No,” she said, fanning her face with her hands, but the movement didn’t do anything to lessen the redness of her cheeks. “I’m not a virgin, and no, there is nothing wrong with being a virgin. I just don’t happen to be one.”
Caleb pivoted on the couch so that instead of sitting side by side, he was facing her. “And none of the people you’ve been with have helped you get there before?”
She shrugged. What a bunch of sad-sack losers. He wanted to go out and find every single one of them and smack them upside the head. How could they have done that to her—left her wanting—when there was nothing better than watching her come? It wasn’t necessary for him to close his eyes to picture how she’d tossed her head back, arching her body in ecstasy above him. He wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon. In fact, he couldn’t wait to see it again.
He sat up straighter, pride puffing out his chest. “But I helped you come.”
Egotistical ass? Him? Well, fuck yeah, he’d helped her get where all the rest of those assholes had failed to go.