Page 204 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Jenna snorts from the pastry case.

I turn, striking a mock-heroic pose. “I am the sacrificial slut of the sisterhood. I take the orgasms, so you don’t have to.”

Malia groans.

Sophia smirks. “You know we’re going to want updates.”

And judging by their eager faces, they fully expect a detailed recap.

Which, honestly?

I’ll give them.

“It’s hard work being the group’s sexual overachiever, but someone’s got to do it.” I pluck a spoon from the dish rack.

“You know,” Rebel says dryly, though there’samusement in her eyes, “some people would consider three orgasms in one night a success.”

“Three?” I scoff, shaking my head in mock pity. “That’s just Hank’s warm-up routine. That’s not even counting what happens when Gabe gets involved.”

Malia makes a strangled noise that’s half fascination, half embarrassment. “I don’t think—I mean, I couldn’t even?—”

“Trust me,” I say, patting her arm consolingly, “you could. Walt just needs the right motivation. Maybe a little competition?” I waggle my eyebrows. “I could always have Hank give him some pointers.”

“Don’t you dare,” Malia gasps, but she’s laughing now, her initial embarrassment giving way to genuine amusement. “And for the record, Walt is agenerouslover.”

“Just think about it.” I wipe down the counter a little too cheerfully. “A little friendly competition never hurt anyone. The guys already compete over push-ups and target practice—why not give the girls something to track?”

Jenna eyes me warily. “Oh no. What now?”

I grab a chalk marker and stroll over to the café’s big leaderboard—the one usually reserved for latte art bragging rights—and start sketching a new column labeled “O.”

Malia squints. “O… for what?”

I grin. “Orgasms, obviously.”

Malia chokes.

Jenna drops the tongs.

“I’m just saying,” I continue, completely unbothered, “we keep track. Quietly. Casually. And we don’t tell the guys. Let’s see how long it takes them to figure out what the board’s actually measuring.”

“And when they do?” Jenna asks, still half-laughing, half-horrified.

“They’ll cry foul,” I shrug. “Claim it’s not fair because I’m blowing everyone out of the water.”

“Because you are,” Malia mutters, then slaps a hand over her mouth.

I wink. “I’ll take a penalty count. Even the playing field.”

“You’re going to start an actual war,” Jenna says, crossing her arms—but she’s smiling now.

“Then I suggest you start racking up points,” I reply sweetly. “Game’s on.”

“Some of us,” Malia says primly, though her eyes dance with suppressed laughter, “prefer quality over quantity.”

“Who says you can’t have both?” Sophia chimes in, shooting me a conspiratorial wink. “Blake’s very thorough. And very competitive.”

“I plead the fifth,” Mia murmurs, but her small smile speaks volumes. “But this sounds fun. We should start a betting pool. See how long it takes them to figure it out.”

---