Page 64 of Kitty Season
“Any wonder you forgot about work. I would have too. It was so hot.” Callie looks wistfully out the window. This time, I don’t bother with a reply, as I don’t think she’s listening. “So, so hot.” I was right. “I think of them to this day. Jan was huge, blonde, strong and dominating. Everything you would imagine a true sexy viking ready to pillage and plunder would be. While David, he was almost as short as me, timid and shy, and so damn sweet. God they were incredible in bed. I’ve never been so satisfied, or unable to walk in my life.”
I shift in my seat, crystal clear replays of Troye and Brady in bed with me a direct hit to the libido. “Yeah, I can imagine. What happened to you three? Why did it end?”
“Time happened. The year finished, the boys went home and I moved on to a stable relationship with my vibrator and Sarah J. Maas. Probably for the best,” she continues after swallowing down a shaken breath. “It’s difficult to navigate a non-conforming relationship outside the bedroom. People are pretty horrible. But still, it was totally worth it.”
If the color blooming on her cheeks three years later is any indication, she’s right. It was worth it.
Fanning herself with paper she pulls from the printer, rosters and class schedules return as the main focus of our meeting. I try to stay focused, but find my mind wandering frequently to the idea of me, Brady and Troye being more than a one or two time thing.
Brady with his sweetness.
Troye with his own that he tries so hard to conceal.
Me wedged between them, soaking up their goodness like a sponge.
It’s a preposterous notion. The reason I began seeing Troye, and not Brady, was to avoid a feud with Dad. Now I’m sitting here clenching my thighs over the idea of the three of us not just hooking up tonight, but every night.
Non-conforming indeed.
With the new work plan in place, we leave work, I drop Lotte off at home then head to the library. Yes, I have some bodily maintenance to perform, but I also have exams coming up. That meeting with Callie was a wake up call. I’ve been so caught up in hockey boys, I’ve let my studies and my job fall to the wayside.
Things need to change.
As I take my seat amongst my peers in the musty hall, I pop an antihistamine to stave off the allergies this place always sets off, and pick up my rarely used journal, ready to make a binding declaration.
From this day forward, at least three hours of each evening will be spent engaging in activities likely to improve myself.
Actually, three seems a stretch. I’ll make it two.
One.
Thirty minutes, minimum.
*note to self. Doing hockey boys does NOT count.
I’ve just walkedthrough my bedroom door, kicked one boot into the closet, and tossed my bag onto my dresser, whenmy phone vibrates its way to freedom, bouncing in haphazard circles on the chipped timber top.
Daddy Dear flashes across the screen, and I contemplate letting it ring out. It’s unusual for him to call me this time of day, though. The boys should still be at practice.
Something might be wrong.
“Hey, Dad,” I answer, wedging the phone between my ear and my shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“No Quinn. Everything is not okay. Not by a slap shot. I’ve been standing here watching two of my best players bicker like an old married couple trying to find a free parking space. Can you guess what one word, other than fuck and off, keeps being muttered between them?”
Shit.
Bouncing on one foot, I slip the other shoe off then fall onto my bed. “Ahh. Pucks deep?”
“That’s two words Quinn, glad the economics study is paying off. Also no. It’s not pucks deep. Nor is it, yes Coach, one timer or nice save. It’s Quinn, Quinn.”
Shit.
“Hate to tell you Dad, but Quinn Quinn is two words, too.”
His deep, drawn out exhale sends shivers to my soul. I haven’t heard one that exasperated since I used Dad’s credit card to buy each member of entire graduating class a bottle of Hennesy. “Quinn. They’d just started to tolerate each other. What’s come between my goalie and my new center, and for the love of hockey, don’t confirm that it’s you.”
I release a ridiculous laugh. “Me? Why would it be me?”
