Page 3 of Good Girl

Her eyebrows furrow. “And, what?”

“And who else?”

Somehow, she looks even more confused. “Who else...have I had sex with? No one. Just him.”

My other eyebrow joins the first.

She mimics my expression. “Why, how many men—people—have you slept with?”

“Men, boys,” I confirm, and without thinking, I blurt out my answer. “More than fifty, less than one hundred.” Oakley’s mouth falls open again, and I jab a finger in her direction. “Anakin Skywalker. You promised.”

A squeak escapes her, and she darts off the couch. “Okay, just, ah. Give me a minute. I need a minute.”

She scoops up the tub of ice cream and the spoon and disappears into the kitchen.

Fuck, did I say too much?

I’ve never done the chick best friend thing before. It was always Tray and me against the world. We were each other’s everything. He did his best to protect me when he could, and I was always there to bail him out of whatever situation he’d gotten himself into. Hence, the high body count. I was usually all he had to pay his debts with.

Oakley is gone long enough that I turn to look into the kitchen. She’s gripping two glasses of water as she comes back and retakes her seat, offering me one of the glasses.

“So, let me get this straight. I signed you up to SugarLife, you cherry-picked a red box invitation, met four men at a hotel, had a gang bang, you’re home way earlier than expected because they double stuffed your taco, and now you’re walking with a limp?”

Chapter 2

Emery

Water lodges in my throat, and I hack up half a lung as I glare at her through watery eyes. “Rude.”

She shrugs, all blasé and shit. “It’s not like that was the first thing you choked on today.”

The grin that spreads across my face is probably a little feral, but I’m really starting to believe in her idea that we could bebosom buddies. “Oaks, if I was into chicks, I think you might have just stolen my heart.”

Oakley rolls her eyes at me. “Shut up.”

I recline back on the couch again, resuming my sprawled position while balancing the glass on my stomach.

“So, about the not coming thing,” she starts, but then pauses, as if she isn’t sure where to take her sentence.

Not wanting to force her to figure it out, I offer the details she wants. “After my first orgasm, I was told not to come again. Every time I wanted to come, I had to play this fucked-up game where I’d warn them I was about to come by begging for permission to come, but then they would ease up to stop me from going over the edge.”

Oakley’s eyes are wide, and her blinks exaggerated. “Damn. That sounds...”

“Fucking hot, right? Because it was. When they finally let me come at the very end, pretty sure I blacked out for a few minutes.” Remembering how the fire had consumed me, I squeeze my legs together.

Best. Fucking. Sex. Of. My. Life.

This time, it’s Oakley’s turn to take a sip of her drink.

I smirk at her and turn my attention back to the rom-com on the TV. It must almost be over because the big yelling scene in the middle of a busy street is currently happening, with the female character crying while the guy stands there, all stoic and shit. Doesn’t he know all she wants is for him to chase after her? To pick her?

“Too bad it was only for the night. Not having to fake orgasms sounds amazing.”

“Actually, they sent me an invitation to extend our date for the entire weekend.”

Oakley borderline shrieks and launches up to her knees, water almost sloshing over the edge of her glass. “What? Why are youall, blah?” She waves her hand over my body, as if trying to shoo a fly away.

I shrug, watching as the female character gets in her car and drives off into a storm. “I’m in shock, I think.”

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