Page 2 of Good Girl

“Yeah,” I reply as I drop my shit right there in the doorway and march into the kitchen. Snatching up a spoon from the drawer,I head over to the couch, drop onto the cushion next to Oakley, and steal the ice cream tub from her.

I ignore the way my vagina is twitching with all the movement. And not in a good way.

Oakley’s gaze bores into the side of my face as I scoop up some...oh, yum, cookies and cream. With my eyes closed, I relish in the frozen dessert, using my tongue to search out the chunks of chocolate cookie.

I’m on my third scoop before she loses her patience.

“You’re going to have to give me a little more thanyeah,” she demands as she retrieves her ice cream from me and takes her own scoop. “Did they not turn up or something?”

I snort. “They definitely turned up.”

Her nose scrunches. “Didn’t match their pictures? That is always a deal-breaker for me.”

She offers me the tub, and I take another scoop. “Uh, no, they definitely matched.”

She tips her head to the side, and the topknot of blonde curls tips precariously to the side. “Then why...”

I suck the ice cream from my spoon and eye her warily. She’d been supportive earlier today.

Holy fuck. The discussion about check-in times and being murdered had only been a few hours ago.

Apparently sensing my hesitation, she adjusts to face me fully and reiterates her words from earlier. “This is a judgment-free zone. We barely know each other. I’m hoping we’ll end up bosom buddies and drink wine together until we are old, but the only way that is going to happen is if we both spill our guts to each other and promise to never, ever judge. Even if one of us admits to having a crush on Anakin Skywalker.”

“Bosom buddies?” I can’t help but chuckle. “What are you, fucking eighty?”

She shrugs and turns back to the TV, taking the ice cream with her, ever so nonchalantly. “If you don’t want to be my bosom buddy, then you don’t need to tell me why you are walking with a limp.”

“Oh my god. I do not have a fucking limp.” I drop my head onto the back of the couch. As I stare at the white ceiling with vague stains here and there, I decide to just blurt it out. “Fine. Anakin Skywalker, it is. And you better mean it, because shit is going to be hella awkward for the next year if you don’t.”

When nothing but silence greets my statement, I figure that’s a green light.

“It was gang bang central, Oaks. At one point, I had three dicks inside of me.” The couch creaks as she readjusts to look at me, and I roll my head on the cushion so that I can see her. “And one of them liked to watch and hold me still, so the others could use me. They used my own fucking lingerie to tie my hands up.”

Oakley’s eyes are as wide as saucers, and her spoon is hanging limply from her fingertips. “Three? At once?”

I hum. “Yeah, and I don’t do anal, so you do the math on that.”

Her mouth pops open, and I snicker when her gaze darts down to my crotch for half a second before returning to my face.

I point a finger at her. “Anakin Skywalker.”

Oakley’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click, then her entire bottom lip disappears into her mouth. Seemingly remembering the spoon and ice cream, she places them both on the coffee table before rearranging herself into a weird leg pretzel, pulling the scrunchie from her blonde hair, gathering it over her shoulder and then resettling into the corner of the couch. Then she stares at me. “I mean this with the least amount of judgment possible, but wow, girl. Jumped straight into the deep end with that one, didn’t you? Can I get you anything? Ice, maybe?”

I huff out a laugh and wave her off. “I know, right? And no, I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Was it good, at least? Did they, you know... Did everyone get an orgasm?” She doesn’t quite stumble over the words, but she isn’t comfortable saying them.

“I think it might have been the best sex of my life,” I reply, but then I call myself on the lie as memories fling themselves from the locked closet in the back of my mind. “No, scratch that. I don’t think it, I know it. It was the best sexual experience of my life. And the not having permission to come was—”

“Wow, hold on. You didn’t have permission to c-come? What does that even mean?”

I stare at Oakley, because isn’t that self-explanatory? Taking a serious moment, I look at her. I hadn’t really noticed anything beyond all the designer labels and perfectly styled blonde hair, but now that I’m looking at her, I’m thinking she might be a little more innocent than I’d originally thought.

“Oaks, are you a virgin?”

She sputters at my question, cheeks glowing red. “No, nope. Definitely not. I’ve had sex, plenty of sex. Long-term high school boyfriend.”

Okay, so not a total virgin. I raise an eyebrow. “And?”

---