Page 45 of The Rebound Plan

“Put it on the Christmas list,” I say warmly.

“Put what on the Christmas list?” Ani asks, sliding into the seat beside me and handing over a takeout cup of tea.

“The camera set up.”

“Oooh, yeah.” Harper sits down next to Becca on the other side. “Good idea.”

“What was Kieran’s favourite present from you last year?” Becca asks her.

“Something personal in a TMI way.”

Kiley does a double-take. “Really? You didn’t tell me.”

“Because it’s TMI!”

“You need to tell us now.”

Harper turns an R-rated shade of red. “Butt plugs,” she mutters under her breath.

Ani leans toward, talking across us as she says in a stage whisper, “For you or for him?”

Becca squeak and covers her ears.

“No comment,” Harper says, her gaze snapping to the ice. But when we protest, she smiles. “For him to use on me. Like I was the gift.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s very good.” And as one, all of my friends start to think about how they can give themselves to their husbands this Christmas.

Me? I’m immediately processing the awkwardness of what Max would do if I gave him a sex toy and the promise he could use it on me. I had to learn how to get myself off with my fingers because he’s so uncomfortable with the idea of a toy being “better” than him.

On the ice, Malik tries to hip check Russ and gets sprawled out on the ice for his efforts.

Russ shakes off the impact, then twirls his stick in the air before catching it and pointing it at the nearest camera.

Someone should turnthatinto a TikTok. He’s so easy and natural when he doesn’t think anyone other than his teammates will see the recording.

I’m glad Emery is on the ice with them, and not part of this conversation. There’s a one hundred percent chance that her contribution would be a perky confirmation that Russlovesher sex toys and they use them every chance they get.

When we get back to the cottage, Foster puts the team through a hard workout and some recovery therapy in the garage while Thea reviews the video from the ice time and cues it up in Russ’s viewing room.

As part of the good wife, good cheerleader role, I sit next to Max when she’s ready for them to watch what she’s cut for them.

I pat his thigh and bump his shoulder when it seems appropriate, although even after eight years of watching hockey, I’m never sure what is good or bad. When we break to have a pasta dinner Emery makes, he seems happy.

Seems being the operative word.

“Oh, before I forget,” he says casually once we’re all seated. “I found a pair of sunglasses on the dock at lunch. Who left a pair down there?”

Alarm prickles up my spine.

Russ doesn’t reactat all.

His careful silence pushes on my guilt reflex more effectively than anything else has so far. I think that deep down, I’ve always known I’m capable of deceiving my husband. Anyone, really. It’s a skill I had to hone when I started spending time with incredibly wealthy men, because deception and denial are constants in their lives.

Max turns to me, sliding his arm over the back of my chair. “Shan? Was anyone swimming down there with you?”

“Wait, are they like, big? Oversized?” Emery interjects. She smiles brightly. “Might be mine.”

“We were tanning together,” I manage to say. “Before lunch.”

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