Page 28 of Bite Your Tongue

My best friend isn’t the girl she was when she left for California, before she met her ex—that’s still true. I don’t think she’ll ever be that bright-eyed, overly trusting woman again, to be honest. But she also isn’t the scared, defeated girl she was when she showed up at my house all those weeks ago, on the run. Slowly, she’s finding her peace. I knew it wouldn’t happen overnight, and that’s okay. Just as long as Gemma knows she has people she can lean on—that’s what matters most.

She seems to be doing better, and seeing that selfishly eases a little of the guilt I’ve been carrying because I left her.

I snap my attention back to the game in front of me, staring at a certain player, and instantly, flashbacks of the incredibly hot times we’ve had come into my brain.

Even when Ryder Cambridge does something as simple as skate, it sends electric shocks between my legs. He carries himself with such confidence that it would be annoying—if only it wasn’t so freaking hot.

I watch as he jerks his chin upward to get a teammate’s attention before the puck goes back into play, and it’s almost as if it happens in slow motion because I’m drooling over every move.

I haven’t hooked up with anyone since him because I’ve made a pact with myself that I don’t need a man’s touch to fill whatever void I’ve always felt. I can fill it with other things that aren’t penises because a penis may fill it for an hour—if I’m lucky—but when he pulls out, I’m usually back to feeling empty again. Sometimes emptier.

So, I’ve taken up hobbies that involve me keeping my clothes on when I’m not at work. I watched a YouTube video on crocheting—tried it, hated it. I went to a paint and sip, but my painting was the only one that looked nothing like the instructor’s—at all. In fact, mine looked like a blob instead of a fox looking up at the moon.

And here I thought, those things were idiot-proof.

I did take an online cooking course, and while I’m not Martha Stewart, I’m confident I can make a total of three meals now—which is enough to get by on, in my opinion. Especially since all I really need is cereal because at least fifty percent of my meals are just that.

The last thing I did—or attempted to do—to pass the time was try something on my list. Stand-up comedy—I went to a small club, thinking I’d love it. Turned out, I’m actually not that funny. Well, not in the way you have to be to pull that shit off.Jokes that had had Gemma in tears from laughter got crickets. I knew right then that I was no comedian at all.

I’m so entranced in my own thoughts that I’m startled when everyone I’m surrounded by shoots out of their seats, bursting into cheers. The Sharks all gather up, throwing their arms around each other’s shoulders and putting their sticks up as they celebrate their win.

Ryder lifts his chin, looking in my direction, and even though he’s wearing a helmet and full gear, my breath still hitches.

One thing is for sure: I can’t hang out with the team for too long tonight. After all, if I do … my panties will be off, and so will his briefs.

The music pulsates through the club, and unless I’m squinting real hard, I can’t see who the fuck anyone is. Lights illuminate women’s glimmering chests as they dance, grinding themselves on each other, but the only reason I’m even looking their way is to see if any of them is Saylor. Because, fuck yes, I want a front-row seat to that.

I’m surprised when I see Gemma and Smith dancing—a bit erotically at that. I know they live together, and they’re now trying to prove to the press that they are dating, but I’m not buying it. She still hasn’t forgiven him, and that’s more than obvious to me.

And everyone else who’s been around them.

I don’t see Saylor on the dance floor, so I swing my gaze toward the bar, moving my eyes down the line until, finally, at the very end, in the shadows, I see her.

She isn’t alone though, but I can’t make out who’s next to her either. I’ll find out soon enough though because, instantly, I’m heading straight for her before I have the chance to stop myself.

The closer I get, the more I can see. She laughs at something he said before bringing the straw from her drink to her lips, taking a sip. Even ten feet away, I know that fucker’s eyes are planted on her mouth, no doubt making his own fantasy of what he’d love to do with it.

Dream on, motherfucker. Not in this life or any other.

When she sees me, her head dips to the side as she wears an expression that tells me I shouldn’t even bother trying.

Walking around Saylor, I stand beside her, invading the shit out of her space, though she doesn’t turn to face me. The dude beside her quickly excuses himself when his eyes take in the sight of me, and I can’t help the pleased smirk that tugs at my lips.

Leaning forward, I murmur against her ear, “You know you can’t avoid me forever, Sail-On. I know somewhere inside of there, you’ve been thinking about me the way I’ve been thinking about you.” I pause. “Or should I say … fantasizing? Yeah … that’s more like it.”

She turns toward me, raising both brows. “Back again, really? Would you stop? I told you that when we hooked up last time.” She playfully takes a sip of her cocktail. “And guess what. I meant it.”

She’s so cute when she’s pretending to be annoyed. I imagine pushing her down onto her knees, making her obey me like the good girl she really is somewhere inside.

“Did you not enjoy my company?” I coo. “Did I not make your pussy quiver the way no man ever had?”

She sucks in a breath, no doubt reliving our time together. Just like I do every fucking time I’m alone.

In true Saylor form, she shrugs it off and pats me on my shoulder. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, big boy. I had fun, yes. And I may be young and all, but I’ve seen some dick in my day.”

Part of what she just said makes me irrationally mad. I shouldn’t be because we aren’t connected in any way. We’ve fucked and fooled around a few times—that’s it. But thinking about her and the other dicks she’s seen … I don’t like that one bit.

The other part of me wants to laugh because she says shit like that and doesn’t give a fuck. She’s not bashful over the fact that she’s no virgin.

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