Page 57 of Unmatched

“I think I do.” I can tell she’s smiling behind me, but I’m definitely not.

I wrap my arm around my waist, finally landing on what feels like the right words. But when I turn to look at her, they come out too loud and too fast. “Caprice, I don’t want to buy sex toys!”

She pauses for a long moment. “Why not?”

“I don’t think I need—” I stop, uncomfortable even trying to explain my discomfort. This is not the Victorian era. I should feel like a modern, empowered woman going into a store like that. If I could shut up the little voice in my brain whispering that it’s dirty. “What if someone saw me?”

“Oh my God, Lydia, you’re not buying drugs.”

“I don’t want to buy anything. I—I just don’t want my husband to leave me!”

Neither of us says anything for what feels like several minutes.

When Caprice finally speaks again, her tone is gentler. “I’m sorry...you’re right. Everyone has different comfort levels. I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s okay if vibrators aren’t your thing.”

“Thanks.” I exhale, even as I second-guess myself. Again. What if she’s right? The thought of buying sex merchandise makes me shudder, but what if that’s what’s missing? Could “accessories” make Anton want to stay with me?

“It’s none of my business what you and Anton do,” she goes on, leading us back to the jogging path. “Just ignore me—I’ve already meddled too much in your marriage.”

“No, it’s okay. I do appreciate your advice,” I say quietly, falling again into a slow pace beside her.

She looks at me with a sad smile. “I’m sorry you’re going through this.”

I focus on the trail ahead of us, trying not to think about the dwindling number of days left on the calendar. “Me too.”

“Maybe...” She pauses. “Do you think you might be focusing too much on Anton? I was thinking about what you said before, how you thought there was something wrong with you. Maybe the important thing right now is to figure out what you need?”

I draw my brows together, watching the sun sink in the sky over Grasmere Lake. “Maybe.”

Slowly, we make our way to where the path curves around the southeast corner of the park. “I feel a lot better having you here with me,” she says quietly.

Her posture is stiff in a way I hadn’t noticed earlier. We pass a couple of guys whose gazes linger on her legs—the kind of attention Caprice would normally invite, and even flaunt. Instead, discomfort flickers over her face, and I wonder how much she’s downplayed her situation. “Any of those online assholes wants to mess with you needs to get past me first,” I say. “I’ve got pepper spray.”

“Thanks.” She laughs a little.

A woman runs past with a gorgeous Doberman pinscher, and I smile. “You could get a dog for protection?”

Caprice rolls her head to look at me, and her expression is so incredulous, we both laugh for real. But as we curve toward the sunset, I reach out and squeeze her hand.

“I’m glad you wrote the article. If you hadn’t found out about Anton...I don’t know. I’m just glad you did.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I drive three times around the block before pulling into the parking lot and steering my Toyota under a tree, as if it might disguise my presence. This is closer than I’ve made it to walking in the door of Playful Pleasures in two days, though I’m not sure whether I should be proud of that or embarrassed. My conversation with Caprice has been haunting me.

When was the last time you and Anton had sex?

You need something to help you get in the mood.

I glance at the unassuming white storefront, one hundred percent certain Anton and I need some kind of help, but also skeptical I’m going to find it at this store. I sort of love imagining what my mother would think if she knew I was here. But I’m also a little terrified of finding something Anton might like. I bet they have all kinds of whips and blow-up dolls and whatever else he’s into.

But as I squirm in my seat, I wonder. Is that the sort of stuff he likes?

I’d like to slide my dick between those tits and come all over them.

My wife won’t ever let me do that.

I meet my own eyes in the rearview mirror, my face on fire as I recall the rest of the conversation about how he didn’t want to spank me. But how about butt play?

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