Page 9 of The Bro-code

But the reality is that despite what I said to Lake, sex isn’t this big deal.

At least, not for me.

I tried to like it, I really did. And don’t get me wrong, it isn’t totally unpleasant. I like the closeness. I love to be kissed and held. Things even feel tingly in a good way down there, but this big explosion people talk about?

I’m convinced the “Big O” is a myth. Probably a myth made up and perpetuated by a man.

I think every woman out there says she orgasms because she doesn’t want to admit that she doesn’t.

Because, in Topher’s words, “A woman who doesn’t come isn’t sexy.”

So with both my high school boyfriend and with Topher, I faked it. Every single time.

I felt dirty and dishonest about it, and I read in countless womens magazines that you shouldn’t lie because you’d be doing yourself a disservice. How is your partner ever going to do it right if you don’t tell him what he’s doing wrong?

In theory, sound advice.

In practice? It’s bullshit. How am I gonna be able to tell my partner what he’s doing wrong if I can’t even orgasm by myself?

Before I get a million lectures about DIY, save your breaths. I tried. I tried using my fingers, and I spent a fortune on every type of sex toy on the market, to the point that I’m an expert.

But when it comes to orgasms, I came out empty handed.

So I faked that too, I did a big show of buying Lake and my friends sex toys for Christmas and for their birthdays.

I even called myself “The Orgasm Fairy.”

The only part of it that isn’t an act is that I’m truly sex positive. If you want to do it, if it rocks your boat in any way, be my guest.

Eventually, I want to do it again too. Just not this year and absolutely not with a hockey player. Or with anyone who even likes hockey. I got way too burned by Topher, and I see how much status the hockey team has on campus, how much they get around.

“Ma’am,” the check-in agent smiles. “Here’s your boarding pass. You’re in one A. Have a pleasant flight.”

Awesome.

Now that I’m all checked in and have gotten rid of almost all my bags, I can follow the signs to the First Class Lounge and enjoy a delicious cinnamon roll and a glass of champagne.

I know, a cinnamon roll and champagne sounds like an odd pairing, but don’t knock it until you try it. It’s the bomb.

Once on board, I hope to catch up on some much needed sleep and start getting my body back on track since this is a late night flight, and it’ll be night when we land in Star Cove, despite the five hour time difference.

RYKER

Flying first class is the only way to go.

Call me a snob, but complimentary drinks and an amazing selection of hot and cold food without having to waste time walking around the airport looking for it is worth the extra money for the flight.

Case in point, I’m sipping a glass of top shelf bourbon with ice, and I just finished a warm, gooey, delicious cinnamon roll.

I’m debating with myself if I should indulge and have a second one.

I probably shouldn’t; after all, the hockey season is about to start. But I’m twenty-one and in better than perfect shape. I’ll make sure to run an extra mile tomorrow morning to make up for the extra treat.

And talking about treats, at the risk of sounding creepy, there she is.

The blonde beauty I accidentally elbowed by the check-in desk strolls into the First Class Lounge, rolling a small carry-on behind her.

I smile when I notice that she must have stopped by the bathroom to fix her smudged lipstick.

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