Page 46 of Just Friends
“Anyway, I’m getting antsy. Can we find out who my match is yet?”
“People are still showing up, so let’s read some questions from the audience first.”
“Oh. Good idea. Forgot about that.”
She read fan questions from the chat log.
“What’s this one mean?” she asked, squinting at the screen. “‘Piper, can you please convince Big Rig to go on the Spittin’ Chiclets podcast and share kill stories with Biz, Whit, and RA?’” Piper turned to me, perplexed. “Kill stories? Do they think you’re a murderer or something? Guys, Jax might look mean when he’s hitting guys on the ice, but he couldn’t actuallykillanybody. He’s way too sweet for that.”
I stifled a laugh. “A kill story isn’t about murder, Pipes.”
“What’s it about, then?”
“Oh, er,” I stammered, “a kill is a girl you’ve hooked up with.”
“Kills,huh,” Piper said, judging me with her side-eyes. “Sothat’swhat you fuckboys call us after you sleep with us. Cool.”
I held up both hands in surrender. “Hey now. I didn’t come up with the phrase. It’s just locker room talk.”
“Mm-hm,” she sang, making it clear that I was guilty by association.
“Anyway, to answer that guy’s question: I love Chiclets, but no way, I’m not sharing any kill stories on any podcast. Sorry.Maybeafter I retire, but not when I’m still playing.”
“What ifIwent on that podcast in your place and shared some kill stories?” she teased with a glint in her eye.
“That ain’t happenin’, either.”
She turned to the camera. “Guys, I’ve lived with Big Rig since he played for Colorado. I think I’ve got enough kill stories by now I could write an entire book.” She turned to me. “Can I tell a kill story right now?”
I hid my face beneath my hand. “Oh no—don’t even—”
“Who was your last kill, anyway? Oh, I remember! It was that girl you brought home from the club a month ago. The girl who called you Daddy, remember? And she came into my bedroom and started talking trash to me, and you caught her stealing a couple hundred bucks out of your wallet?”
“I, uh—”
The comment section caught my eye, rolling with an avalanche ofLOLs andLMAOs andROFLMAOs.
“Or should I tell them about the Screamer?” she asked. “Remember her?”
“Oh, god …” I muttered, wondering what I’d gotten myself into.
She turned to the camera again. “Back when we lived in Denver, Big Rig was hooking up with this brunette, tattooed barista for a little while. She was a tiny little thing, but oh my God, the sounds that came out of that girl—she was like a banshee! That’s why I called her the Screamer. It got so bad, I even went out and bought him a bunch of those soundproofing egg cartons to nail to his bedroom walls.”
I groaned. “It wasn’tthatbad.”
“Oh no. It reallywasthat bad.” Piper took a deep breath and belted out an orgasmic scream, mimicking my former hookup: “Aaaa! Aaaah! AaaaaaAAAAHHHH!”
“Pipes! C’mon. My parents might be watching.”
She pinched my cheek. “You’re not ashamed, are you? Aw, don’t be! You’re a very handsome guy and the ladies love you. Nothing to be ashamed about at all.”
Reactions flooded the comment section:
“LOL SHES SO JEALOUS”
“omg those screams she did, im dyin”
“damn, girl wants that dick all to herself”
