Page 30 of Off Season
My body shakes in silent laughter.
He squeezes my boob. Again. “Tell me something about woman-on-woman sex that most people don’t know.”
“Don’t you watch porn?”
“You know I do. But I also know that’s sensationalized. Tell me something I can’t learn from the highly educational porn websites.”
I smile to myself. “Scissoring isn’t real. No one does that. It’s something men think women do but they don’t. It’s fake news.”
He gasps. “What? For real?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“You guys don’t ever rub against each other?”
“Of course we do. It’s not different from hetero-sex in that regard. You’re grinding your dick on my ass right now.”
He thrusts his dick onto me for added effect.
I continue, “The proper term is tribbing. I might rub my clit against some part of her and she might do the same to me, but it’s never clit to clit. Think about the body part involved in that. It doesn’t give you the needed friction to feel good. It’s like trying to put two electric sockets together to make a spark. It doesn’t do anything. A thigh is so much betterfor that.”
“Hmm. I guess that makes sense. You’ve officially blown my mind.” He continues rubbing my nipple through my shirt. “Have you ever been in love, Kam?”
I stiffen a bit, though I bizarrely feel comfortable confiding in him. “Once. Dak, my high school sweetheart. My heart was shattered beyond repair.” I’m quiet for a second. “I’ve sworn away any and all commitment since. It’s not worth the pain. I’ll never give up control again.”
I take a few deep breaths. I haven’t thought about Dak in a while. My heart starts racing. Fuck, why does it still get to me?
As if sensing my need to get back to silliness, he says, “Kam?”
“Yes?”
“I’m a poet.”
“You are? Tell me one of your poems.”
“Roses are red, violets are blue, even when I use my hand, I’m thinking of you.”
I let out a laugh. “Cruz Gonzales, nowyou’vetruly blownmymind.”
“Anything else you’d care to blow?”
I smile as I shake my head. “Not happening. Nighty night, kitten.”
He pulls me as close to him as possible. “Nighty night, Kam bam.”
When I eventually blink myeyes open, I notice it’s light out. It means I got at least four hours of sleep. I can’t remember the last time I slept for four straight hours.
It occurs to me why I slept so well. Cheetah was in my bed holding me—and my boob—all night.
I don’t feel him on my back anymore. I reach behind me only to realize he’s gone, but it’s still warm. He didn’t leave that long ago.
I turn around and see Arizona’s still not in her bed. She better get back soon before the coaches wake up.
Something orange on the night table catches my eye. I focus on it and realize that it’s a bag of dark chocolate Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. There’s a note folded under it which I open and read:
How the hell did he find a bag of dark chocolate Reese’s in the middle of the night? I’m teetering between confused and touched when the door opens. Fortunately, it’s Arizona.
I smile at her and joke, “Ooh, look who broke curfew. You’re a black-bottom-ho this morning.” She knows that’s my phrase for women who go out at night in heels, go home with someone, and then have to walk home with no shoes on. The bottom of their feet gets dirty. That’s why they’re black-bottom-hoes.
