Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
11
MY PANCAKE ERA
Trina
A rooster crows a gentle cock-a-doodle-doo. But that barnyard boy’s about to get a serving of my attitude real fast.
I fumble around on the weirdly comfortable couch, slapping the coffee table in Aubrey’s living room for my phone as I squint, trying to block out the bright morning rays streaking through the windows.
Where’s my little dog warmer? Nacho always sleeps under the blankets with me. But maybe he’s waiting at the door to do his business.
In the distance, a pair of voices float by. Something about batter.
Ohh.
Those are man voices. Right. I’m not in Kansas anymore. I’m in Sex Wonderland, and this is a nice big bed to wake up in. I blink away the last cobwebs of sleep and confusion.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
I cringe, grabbing the phone, then silencing the rude but necessary alarm, along with the last of my disoriented thoughts. Fully awake and aware now, I sit up, shove my glasses on my face, then check the time. Eight-thirty on Saturday. I need to be at work at ten when we open the store. Plenty of time to do the walk of shame.
My gut churns, a little embarrassed. I haven’t done one in a long time.
“That’s not how you do it,” Chase declares from a room far away, perhaps the kitchen.
“Yes, it is,” Ryker insists.
“You have to whisk it more.”
“Whisk it less.”
They’re arguing over pancakes? They’re already back in their normal routine. I almost feel like last night didn’t happen.
Maybe I should act like it didn’t as I slink off? That seems easiest.
I stretch, looking around. Chase’s bedroom is the size of a small country. This bed is its own city. I haven’t slept this well in…I don’t even know. The only thing missing is Nacho, and my heart aches a little for my guy. But I’ll see him soon, and my life will snap back to normal. The dog, the bookstore, my online book club, occasional yoga in the park.
Last night will just be a distant, dirty memory.
That’s fine. It’s totally fine. It’s not like I expected anything to come of my sleepover in sex paradise. And I’m not looking for anything. I’m only two weeks post breakup with Jasper. No one wants a girl on the rebound either.
I should find my clothes, wash my face, brush my teeth, and get out of here. Let them return to their regular lives too. Phone in hand, I pad to the en suite bathroom and freshen up, squeezing some toothpaste onto my finger.
When I’m done, I leave, and hunt around BedroomLandia for my shirt. I think I left it somewhere in the northwest territory. Ah, there it is—many feet away. I head over and grab a small pile of blue fabric from the floor.
I pull it on, grateful it goes to the top of my thighs since I have no panties in here. It’s going to be seriously gross to pull last night’s on anyway when I leave Chase’s home. Maybe I should just go commando? Except, denim up the vajayjay might be worse.
I’ll deal with that later. For now, time to bolt. I pad out, stomach dipping with nerves.
This is going to be awkward. The thanks for last night moment. The good luck with your hockey games, those Os were real fun, and it’s time for me to call a Lyft of Shame.
Quietly, I walk down the hall, peering at my phone as I go.
Oh! There’s an email from one of the apartments I applied to. A studio! It’s available next week—nine days from now. I can’t wait to tell Aubrey. Also, there’s another email from Jasper, begging me to let him fill in for me at the Hockey Hotties calendar kickoff portion of the VIP experience.
With an eye roll, I delete it, but it also serves as a wonderful reminder to upload the pool pics from last night to my social feed.
Me and my new hockey besties, I write, then I post the pic and the caption.
“Suck on that, Jaspie,” I say under my breath as I close the screen.
“We should start the coffee,” Ryker barks.
“There’s time,” Chase says calmly.
“Hardly. It loses its flavor after you grind it,” Ryker warns, and they’re interacting like it’s normal to argue about how to make coffee the morning after they double pleasure a woman.
But maybe it is normal? Maybe they do this often. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know in the heat of the moment. Maybe I’m one of many women they perform this service for.
Need an O? Call The Hockey Guys! For whenever you need a double team to take care of your peach problems!
Come to think of it, that’s a hell of a service. Maybe if I were more ambitious, I could start it. Become a madame and run the Hockey Double Team. On the other hand, I could just mention it to my book club, and someone would post a vid demanding someone write this now.