Page 96 of Good Vibes Only
A dozen heads bobbed in rabid agreement. After a week apart from our men, everyone was feeling a little pent-up.
“You thinkwe’rehurting?” Sofia asked. “Just be glad you’re not McKayla.”
Everyone silently murmured in commiseration. They knew my story already; they knew Brett and I had yet to sleep together.
“That’s right. Poor thing! You must be dying,” Isabelle said.
I snickered. “You havenoidea.”
“But at least you have FaceTime,” Sofia said, trying to find the silver lining. “You’re still doing that every night, right?”
I answered yes, Brett and I tucked each other into bed every single night with steamy FaceTime sessions. And yes, I had that toy I’d molded from Brett when he was handcuffed to my bed—they knew aboutthat,too, and a few of the ladies even bought a Clone Your Own to make replicas of their own men.
“How’d the mold turn out?!” Cassi wanted to know. “Does it really look like his dick?”
“It turned outuh-mazing,” I said, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. “It’s a perfect copy. In a way, it’s almosttoogood—it’s like getting a small taste of something you really, really crave. But a small taste only whets your appetite and makes you want itmore.So yeah, I’ve been a total wreck at work lately, because all I can think about is when Brett finally comes home and I can feel him inside me for real.”
The girls grew quiet, some shifted in their seat, a few began to fan themselves. Soon they began to murmur:
“That’s hot as hell, girl.”
“Umm … anybody else get a little wet just now?”
“She’s got us ALL worked up.”
“I can tell you right now, the boys are gonna love having you on our team.”
We all laughed the tension off.
“So yeah, his dildo turned out nice,” I said. “Hopefully, the ones you make of your boys turn out amazing, too!”
I told the girls that his dildo had become my number one favorite out of my whole collection. I’d even given it a name already.
“What is it?! What it’s name?”they demanded to know.
I grinned. “I’d tell you, but Brett doesn’t even know the name yet. And frankly, I think he should be the first to know.”
Speaking of names—the hockey game was underway, the score still zero to zero, when I heard Brett’s name on TV.
“Brett Allred takes the pass,”the play-by-play announcer said.
I glanced up to see Brett galloping up the ice with the puck on his stick.
“He carries through the neutral zone with speed.”
And hey, I’m proud to say that I pretty much understood exactly what all that meant. Because over the past seven days, I’d watched more hockey than I’d ever watched in my life, and I’d even picked up a lot of the lingo.
For example, the boys were on a “heater” this road trip. They’d won all five games so far and the entire team was playing great. But no one was hotter than Brett—with six goals and three assists on this road trip, he’d put up more points than anyone else over the past week, and the NHL had just recognized him as the “Player of the Week.”
“Ryan Ryder has Allred in his sights …!”the play-by-play guy said, his voice rising as a Boston Brawler stepped up and pinched off Brett’s angle.
A train wreck seemed to be developing in slow motion as the Brawler funneled Brett towards the boards.
The much-bigger player, Ryder, launched himself through the air, his shoulder headed for Brett’s head like a wrecking ball.
“LOOK OUT!” everyone in our watch party shrieked and cringed.
But at the last possible moment before impact, Brett’s skates skittered across the surface of the ice, spraying snow high into the air. He’d tapped the brakes just enough to dodge the body check and see Ryder crash into the boards before him with a thunderousboom.
