Page 45 of The Save

"Okay! I just wanted to tell you that if you were, it would be fine?—"

"Do you think I would hide something like that from you?"

She laughed. "I don't know! Maybe you hadn't figured it out yet.”

“And you thought now would be the moment—in a parking lot at a hockey tournament—when I'd suddenly realize, 'Oh! The reason penis sex wasn't great was because I don't like penises!'"

Shar grabbed onto my arm, trying to cover my mouth. "Shh! You just yelled 'penises' across the parking lot twice."

We both dissolved into a fit of snorts and giggles, pausing at the row of cars. It was quiet out, and it felt more appropriate to have this conversation in the dark before walking into the lobby of the hotel.

I wiped my eyes and lowered my voice. "Maybe I just haven't found the right penis yet."

Shar put a hand on her hip, pretending that was a very astute observation. "But, like, nobody? There aren't any guys that you have even the tiniest crush on?"

I blew out a breath. "I don't think I know how to have crushes." I paused a moment, then took that statement back. "No. That's not true. I think I know what a crush is. It's just that my body has decided to sabotage me and feel things only for men I can't have."

Shar smirked. "Coach Wilson?"

She said it like she was singing “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” and it was my turn to shush her.

She laughed and pulled away as I grabbed her arm. "There's nobody out here!"

"I know, but—!" I gestured back at the bar where the team could exit at any moment, then pulled the clip from my hair, shook out my curls, and swooped them back up in atwist, securing them again. "I just—it's like my body found his frequency back then . . . "

"And your antenna is broken? You can't switch from AM to FM?" Shar finished for me, continuing with the sound wave metaphor.

"If that's a gay joke?—"

Shar chortled. "Maybe you just need to sleep with him and get it out of your system. He’s like a crush blockage. Your mind does like doing things in order."

I groaned. "First of all, highly doubt that would ever happen. Second . . .” I allowed myself to consider it. To imagine Chase in front of me. All I could see was him exiting the washroom with that damn towel around his waist. I really wasn’t very creative. “My high school self would lose her freaking mind."

"Babe, I hate to tell you, but you're still your high school self."

"I hope not.”

Shar gripped my wrist. “No. I had this fantasy when I was sixteen that a super hot, ripped guy stepped out of my shower and wrapped himself in a baby-blue towel. So guess what colour of towels I bought for me and Rob?"

Okay. Maybe the towel thing was a common fantasy. I grinned. "Seriously?"

"Oh, yeah. And I make him stand there on the bath mat for as long as I want."

She stepped back, and I wrapped my arms around myself. "See, but that's the problem. I never quite got to the fantasizing stage. I stalled out at the'Holy crap, I'm feeling things between my thighs'stage."

Sharla grinned. "So you never once imagined something with Chase?"

I pondered that for a moment. No. I hadn't. I'd never plucked that image of him out of real life and dropped him into astory where we were together or . . . doing things. I was just mesmerized by him. That damn puzzle I couldn’t figure out.

I blew out a breath. “I think the problem was—well, still is?—"

"Right," Shar nodded her head. "Not enough data."

"Exactly." I thought of the spreadsheets on Coach Blakely's clipboard. It was so easy for me to see the patterns. But starting with a blank page?—

"You could try collecting some information on your own, you know."

I balked. First the lesbian question, and now this? "I don't think I could do that."

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