Friendsgiving
“I HAVE GATHERED YOU ALL HERE THIS EVENING BECAUSE I HAVE A secret to share,” I announce.
“I thought we were gathered here for Friendsgiving,” Diana replies with a grin. She’s lying on the bright burgundy area rug in her living room, gripping both legs in a yoga stretch.
“Well, that’s the other reason,” I amend.
Mya and I are at Diana’s condo for our friends’ Thanksgiving the day before the real holiday. It’s our only chance to hang out before we all head off to our respective homes. Diana and I are both from Massachusetts, although her family home is right on the Vermont border. Mya’s dad is in Malta on his ambassadorial post, but her mother is meeting her in Manhattan for the long weekend.
I was tempted to invite Ryder home with me, but that’s…a scary move. It feels too early. Besides, I suspect he would’ve flat-out said no. Not sure I’d blame him. My father would only be grilling him the entire time. Plus I haven’t even told my parents that Ryder and I are together, and that’s a conversation I wouldn’t mind putting off a while longer. Nobody in my life knows other than Mya, Diana, and Will Larsen. I’ve even kept my own teammates in the dark.
I don’t love sneaking around, but the idea of announcing to the world that I’m dating Luke Ryder… it’s anxiety-inducing. Especially when my own feelings on the matter continue to be a jumbled mess.
“So, what’s the secret?” Mya asks, glancing up from her phone. For the past ten minutes she’s been filtering the photograph she took of our perfectly set table in Diana’s dining nook, preparing to post it on social media.
“I think I’m an exhibitionist.”
Diana rises from her stretch and purses her lips. “I don’t believe you.”
Mya nods. “Agreed.”
I glare at them. “You haven’t even heard why I think this!”
“Fine. We’ll be the judge,” Mya says. “Present your evidence, counselor.”
I bring my legs up to sit cross-legged on the floral-patterned couch that looks like it belongs in a Victorian parlor. The apartment Diana inherited from her late aunt Jennifer came with all her aunt’s furnishings. And Jennifer’s décor style is what I like to call thrift store chic. This doesn’t look at all like a college girl’s apartment. It’s got a quirky older cat-lady vibe, and yet Diana, in her booty shorts and Briar Cheer crop top, weirdly fits right in.
The aroma wafting in from the kitchen makes my stomach grumble. Rather than cooking a turkey for only three people, we opted for a rotisserie chicken that’s roasting in the oven. I haven’t eaten anything since before morning skate and I’m famished.
I don my most professional expression and commence with my opening statement.
“Exhibit A: I received oral sex in the library back in October. Well, in the study room.”
Mya raises a brow. “Door open or closed?”
“Closed.” I smirk at her. “But, like I told you after it happened—his friend Shane was behind the door. Practically participating.”
Diana’s eyebrows fly up. “What! I didn’t know this part. Define participating.”
“Well, covering for us. But he could hear everything, and at one point he told me to come.”
“Okay, that’s hot,” Diana relents, impressed. “Well, except for the fact that it was Shane Lindley.”
“What’s wrong with Shane?” I protest, grinning at her dark expression. “He’s hot.”
“I don’t care. He’s officially on my shit list. Dude’s slept with three of my teammates already this year, and counting. The last one, Audrey, fell so hard for him, figurately, that when he dumped her, she was so upset she started falling, literally, during practice. Almost broke her damned ankle.” Diana flips her platinum ponytail. “Tell that guy to leave the cheer team alone. We’re trying to win nationals.”
I snicker. “I’ll pass that along.”
“What’s the rest of your evidence?” Mya says, gesturing impatiently.
“Exhibit B: Sauna sex. Anyone could have walked in,” I hurry on when they both look ready to object.
Diana shrugs. “Everyone has sauna sex. You’re not living on the edge there. But the library is an acceptable exhibition. I’ll allow it into evidence.”
“I’ve never had sauna sex,” Mya says.
“You’re missing out,” I tell her. “Okay. Exhibit C: He fingered me at the opera.” I give them a smug look. “That was one hundred percent public. Right in the box.”
“Oh, he was in the box, all right,” drawls Mya.
Diana howls. “Nice.”
“And then yesterday, Exhibit D: I blew him in the car behind Malone’s,” I say, naming the sports bar in town.
Now that the Eastwood and Briar guys are openly fraternizing, they go out all the time, and Malone’s is their watering hole of choice. Whitney, Cami, and I met them there yesterday for a few drinks, where Camila finally lived her dream of going home with Beckett Dunne.
“All right. I’m actually quite impressed with all this,” Mya says frankly. “This is unlike you.”
“Very,” Diana agrees.
“That’s the thing—I don’t think that’s true. I think this is very like me. I just didn’t realize it.”
Mya grins. “So the enemy Eastwood captain made you realize you enjoy public sex.”
“I think yes, maybe he did.”
Like my sex life is a video game and then Ryder shows up and unlocks a new level, helping me discover a whole new kink.
In fact, he’s helped me discover a lot of things about myself. Like my tendency to refuse to voice my darker thoughts or complain about my problems for fear of being judged or told I have no right to complain because my life is too good. Thanks to him, I’ve been forcing myself to dig deeper into why I feel the things I feel, and why I do the things I do. Like the fact that I want something my dad doesn’t have. A medal. I always believed acknowledging that sort of stuff made you weak or, worse, turned you bitter.
But I’ve felt a strange sense of lightness ever since I released all of that.
Maybe what I really needed was to find the right person to release it to.
“Case would’ve been so uncomfortable with all this public stuff,” I admit. “He’s such a Boy Scout. He was okay with car sex sometimes, but I can’t possibly envision him getting me off at the opera. I would’ve felt weird asking him to.”
“But you’re perfectly cool asking Luke Ryder.”
“I’d ask him anything. I’m never worried, not in the slightest, that he’d judge me. He never does. He accepts me for exactly who I am.”
They both stare at me.
“What?”
“Oh my God. This isn’t about sex,” Diana accuses. She glances toward Mya. “This isn’t about sex.”
“Nope,” Mya confirms.
I wrinkle my forehead. “No, it is. Of course it is.”
Diana offers an oddly gentle smile. “Gigi. You’re in love with this guy.”
My jaw drops. “I am not.”
I’m almost angry at them for suggesting it. It catches me completely off guard, because here we were having a lighthearted sex chat, and they had to turn it into a discussion about stupid feelings.
Ryder and I don’t “do” feelings.
So why do you feel all of them?
Sometimes I really hate that voice in my head.
Fine. Maybe I feel some things. Urgency. Fascination. Hunger. Confusion. Desperate, raw need. Pure, bone-deep contentment.
Oh no. Those last two sound a lot like…
Nope.
I push it out of my mind and shut down the conversation when my friends tease me about it again over dinner. Later, while I’m washing the dishes and Mya wipes down the table, my phone buzzes near her hand. She peeks at the screen and says, “It’s your true love.”
“Oh, stop it,” I grumble.
I dry my hands on a rag and go over to read the text.
RYDER:
Can I come over tonight? Need a change of scenery.
And a couple of hours later, we’re in my bed driving each other crazy. His strong hands roam my body, warm lips trailing over my skin. My palms skim the defined muscles of his chest as I crawl lower and take him in my mouth. I suck him slow and deep, while he makes husky noises of approval, stroking my hair.
“You look so pretty right now,” he mumbles, peering down at me.
I smile around his thick shaft before releasing him. Then I wrap my fist around him and lazily move it up and down, loving the way his gaze thickens, goes hazy.
“Why don’t you come up here and sit on my dick.” His features crease with agitation, hips lifting as he tries thrusting faster into my hand.
“You need it that bad, huh?”
“So bad.” He’s not even joking. His long muscular body quivers on the bed.
I have mercy on him and climb up to straddle him, except now I’m the one mindless with desire. He fills me so completely. A sense of belonging, of pure rightness washes over me, making me sag onto his strong chest. I grind against him, the need building until black dots dance in my vision and my clit is swollen and hot. He grips my hips as I ride him.
“Fuck, Gigi. Keep going, baby.”
I’m lying on top of him now, rocking wildly.
“I love this so much,” I whisper, my hips totally beyond my control. They’re moving on their own.
“That’s it,” Ryder encourages roughly. “Show me how much you want it. Take what you need.”
So I do. I ride him, while he palms my breasts and squeezes, rubbing my nipples with his thumbs. I moan his name as a tight knot of pleasure gathers in my core.
Approval fills his eyes. “Yes. Keep saying my name. I want everyone in this building to know who’s making you feel this way.”
That’s all it takes for the knot to detonate. I collapse on his chest and ride out the orgasm, and I’m still gasping when he flips us over, pulling me onto my knees. One muscular arm locks around my chest, keeping me flush to him.
He thrusts upward, nuzzling my neck before he breathes a warning close to my ear.
“I’m coming.”
I moan in response and he lets himself go. With a strangled sound, he shakes with release, lodged deep inside me. His grip tightens, my breasts crushed beneath his forearm.
Then he brushes his lips over the side of my throat and whispers, “You’re a goddamn dream.”
While I desperately try to convince myself that I’m not in love with him.
