Page 1 of Master Debater

Chapter 1

Willa

If frustration was the name of the game, I was the reigning champ, and it was due to a lot more than just forgetting how to navigate the narrow, potholed streets of Boston. Recently, my anxiety had spiked into the danger zone. And, in a cruel twist of fate, my best source of stress relief had been taken away from me.

Siri’s electronic voice interrupted my road trip music to chirp instructions through the Oldsmobile’s speakers. “Turn right on Fairmont Street.”

“Gee, thanks for the warning.” I cast a glance over my shoulder and swerved into the other lane, earning a Boston salute from the car now riding my bumper. I’d lost count of how many times a middle finger had been raised in my honor today. Evidently, after six years spent in the boonies, the city was too much for me, and I hoped that wasn’t a bad omen of things to come.

Traffic in Sugar River, Maine, with its two stoplights, one dental office, and all of zero one-way streets had included wildlife as often as people. Others might not measure towns by the number of dentists, but since I’d been convinced to settle there on account of the place not having a one, it felt pertinent.

“Now what?” Despite my following the directions to a T, the rerouting wheel was spinning away, struggling to recalibrate. Given how heavily I relied on my precious phone, I’d once joked that if it’d come with an extra-long and powerful vibrate mode, it’d have it all.

Joke was on me, as I had a whole box of toys that vibrated and pulsed at high speeds, and I still couldn’t get off. It’d been months since I’d experienced that type of release, and the spot that’d been used and abused to no avail launched a loud complaint. As I slowed for the red light, I addressed the angry apex between my thighs, the sideswept blond bangs I’d cut on a whim falling into my eyes.

“Hey, I’m doing everything I can.” Same way I’d done when my soon-to-be ex-husband constantly failed to get me there. “You’ve got to work with me, you know.”

A loud honk broke me out of the type of conversation I could only imagine trying to explain to a police officer. Why didn’t I go when the light turned green? Well, I haven’t had an orgasm in so long that I’m starting to suspect I’m broken, and I had to have a talk with my pussy about it.

“Meow.” Van Gogh popped his one-eared head between the bucket seats of the car, the timing so perfect I almost wished a cop had pulled me over.

“No, we’re not there yet,” I told the ginger tomcat I’d rescued as he nervously made his way into the passenger seat. “Even though I’m exhausted, I have to pee, and Siri said we’d arrive an hour ago.”

Van Gogh put his paws on the door ledge and looked out the window, and then he was yowling as loudly as he’d done when we’d first started our journey. Life changes and car rides were so not his jam. Mine either, but desperate measures and all.

As he picked up the volume, I reached across the console and stroked him. “Dude, you napped through most of the trip and didn’t even have to leave the vehicle to use the bathroom. If anyone should be crying, it’s me.”

They claimed expectation was the mother of frustration, but I rejected any notion that my current predicament was somehow my fault.

Was I not supposed to expect the man I married to honor the vows we made? Eric and I had promised to love each other in sickness and in health, and while I hadn’t been the sick one, of course I rushed to take care of the woman who’d raised me. Silly me, I’d assumed my husband would understand.

Or at least be able to go six whole weeks without cheating on me.

A pang reverberated through my chest, duller than it used to be but still there. While he’d sworn up and down he only cheated the once—well, the several times with the one person—I couldn’t help but wonder. He’d attended several dental conferences in the name of remaining at the top of his game, always in suspiciously beautiful locales, and he’d been next to impossible to reach during them.

Indignance, humiliation, and regret roiled, and I so didn’t want to sort through or deal with any of that right now.

Or ever.

What did it matter, when the end result was the same?

Long story short, but equally painful, after six years spent as a “we,” I’d become overwhelmed with how many decisions I suddenly needed to make myself.

A timely phone call from my former mentor at Berklee College of Music changed everything, like a tossed life saver in the middle of the storm that’d become my life.

“If that’s the way I’m supposed to go,” I argued with the electronic bitch, “then why have I passed that same building three times?”

Instead of turning, I accelerated through the intersection and squinted at the next road sign. In addition to the job offer, Professor Rashida Williams also gave me the number of a woman in search of a tenant for the bottom floor of a duplex. Between the referral, the price-point, the fact that it came furnished, and the pictures she’d sent of the place, I assured her I didn’t care it hadn’t been remodeled like the penthouse portion above it.

Mentioning her “brilliant, single son” lived in the penthouse and that I should introduce myself once I arrived, was a different story. However long it’d been since leaving the dating pool, most women recognized the code for painfully boring and single for a reason.

Honestly, the dude could be the smartest and sexiest guy in the entire world, and I’d still pass. Dating required vulnerability, and I was already a raw wound that bled emotion all day long.

Technically, I wasn’t even divorced yet.

Although, thanks to Leah, my closest friend in Sugar River, I’d received an X-rated “self-care” package, with a note wishing me a happy divorce and telling me I deserved better.

Amidst the mad rush of boxing up my life, I’d only had time to try a couple of the adult toys so far. To no avail, unfortunately, and with every failed session, my exasperation rose that much higher.

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