Page 99 of Chips & Checks
“You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did.” He walks over and gives one of the slick purple arms a friendly little pat. “Fantasy Fulfillment Services™ has a no-judgment guarantee, and you put ‘otherworldly tentacle sex’ on the original list, so…”
“That was a joke!”
He raises a brow. “Was it?”
I open my mouth to respond, but unfortunately, my body has already decided that it’s… notnotintrigued. The room iswarm, my skin is prickling, and this stupid man has the audacity to look proud of himself.
“Okay, wait,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Is that thing even safe? Is it medically approved? Do you have an owner’s manual? A handler?”
Bowen laughs and pulls me close. “I read the reviews, I watched a whole YouTube breakdown, and I triple-checked the materials. Body-safe silicone. Easy to clean. Waterproof. And it has twelve vibration settings. Twelve, Vi.”
I press my hands to my face. “What if it takes over and starts communicating with my cervix?”
“Then we submit it to the NHL as a free agent,” he deadpans. “We need all the help we can get.”
I wheeze. Actually wheeze. And somehow, this whole ridiculous moment—the pedestal, the lighting, the absurdity of it all—becomes kind of… sweet?
He remembered what I liked. Even the weird stuff. He listened.
“I can’t believe you did this,” I say.
“I’d do worse for you.”
“Worse?”
Bowen grins. “Vi. This is only item one. Okay, now close your eyes.”
I hesitate. “If you blindfold me, and it turns out this is all a ruse to reenact the Deepwater Horizon spill with that tentacle dildo—”
“Relax.” Bowen laughs, and it’s so genuine, so golden retriever in human form, that I almost forget he’s been plotting my sexual fantasy fulfillment with the energy of a man building a moon base. “No tentacles this time. This one’s from your aquatic era.”
“My what?”
“You know. The part of your list with ‘seduced on a reef by a hot merman who brings me treasure and also orgasms.’ I know you’ll never admit it, but your first sexual fantasy had to be on the mermaid bed, amiright? A little Eric and Ariel action?”
I blink. “Oh my God. You actually read it.”
“Vi, I printed it out. It’s laminated. There are color-coded tabs.”
“That is simultaneously hot and terrifying.”
Bowen grins like he’s winning an Olympic medal for being the world’s most chaotic boyfriend. “Trust me. Just eyes closed. Hand here.”
I let him guide me down the hall, trying not to trip over whatever sea-creature-themed surprise is waiting at the end. His palm is warm in mine, steady, and even though this should feel silly—it is silly—I can’t stop the little skip in my chest. This man. This giant, muscled menace of a man who used to have rules and boundaries and steel-plated emotional armor, is now hand-crafting me a mermaid fantasy like it’s his second job.
He opens a door, steps behind me, and whispers, “Okay. Open.”
I do.
And then I die.
There, in the middle of the room, is the single sluttiest piece of furniture I’ve ever seen. A custom-made bed shaped like a giant iridescent clamshell, complete with a velvet-lined pearl-toned mattress and a headboard shaped like a wave cresting into a glittery tail fin. There’s mood lighting. Seafoam drapes. There are throw pillows with sequins that flip into sea creature emojis.
“Bowen,” I gasp. “Did you raid the set ofThe Little Mermaidon MDMA?”
He crosses his arms, utterly unrepentant. “You said you wanted an adult mermaid bed. I deliver.”
