Page 49 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
Because he’s not teasing me.
He’s asking.
Like he actually wants to know.
“I haven’t had sex in a really long time,” I blurt.
His brow lifts, just slightly.
“My ex and I were more just sharing a flat and… and I thought, you know, that’s marriage. You get comfy. Tired. You prioritise laundry and work commitments and scheduling eye tests.”
I take a breath. Bad idea. I’m mid-spiral now.
“But then I left. And the itch came back with a vengeance. Like some kind of hormonal zombie uprising. I thought, fine. We’ll sort it. I’ll fix it. I’ll buy the bloody vibrator.”
I stomp to the sofa, yank the cushion aside, and unwrap the towel with theatrical flair.
“There!” I say, brandishing the thing like a glittery, anatomical lightsabre. “Seventy-five pounds worth of high-tech vibration andnothing.Nada. I’ve had more success with bad dreams and an itchy tag on a pair of tights.”
He blinks.
I keep going, waving the vibrator like it insulted my ancestors.
“I tried everything. Baths. Fantasies. Guided audio filth. And that bear porn, which is honestly very well lit. But whatever I do, it’s like my orgasm takes one look, shakes her head, and swans off muttering, ‘Not with that attitude.’” I pause, chest heaving. “Something’s wrong with me.”
Finally,finally, I stop.
Jasper hasn’t moved.
He’s still holding the toolbox.
I’m still holding the vibrator.
This is the worst TED Talk in history.
Chapter thirteen
O Holy Shite
Jasper
“Ican help you.”
The words are out before I can stop them.
They bypass my brain entirely, leap straight out of my mouth, and hang there in the silence like I’ve offered to take my shirt off and solve all her problems with a well-placed thrust.
She gasps.
Actually gasps. Eyes wide. Gripping that bloody vibrator like it’s a weapon and I’m the intruder.
Which, in fairness, I might be.
I hold up both hands. “Not like that.”
She stares. No blinking. Possibly no breathing.
But I can’t walk it back now. And I meant it. The second she stood there, flushed and flustered and practically vibrating with frustration, I just… wanted to help. Instinct, maybe. Or habit. Or something else I’m not ready to name.
