Page 9 of Blindsided
My exact words as I lay there, spread-eagle and waiting for him to enter me were, “Good on you.”
Honestly, I should probably discuss that with a therapist at some point in my life.
But right now, I’m focusing on another problem: The very serious issue of me being gravely overserved this evening.
The bartender did way too good of a job keeping my fruity drink filled. And because somewhere in my genetic lineage there’s a pleasantly plump ancestor who can’t handle booze, I’m in serious trouble.
Why didn’t I stick with wine? Wine and I are mates. I know what to expect from wine. Now the injustice of my heritage means that this room of seriously attractive people and one Italian-looking bloke who smells rather nice are about to get hot-eared Freya who’s never had The Sex…Unplugged.
My ears have basically melted off at this point.
Also, why do I keep calling it The Sex? Even hearing the words in my mind is embarrassing.
My eyes narrow at the culprits who got me into this state. Firstly, Mac for bringing me to this horrid place. He’s sitting straight across from me, laughing with his teammates like it’s a typical Friday night, while I’m over here having a panic attack that I’m going to tell the Santino bloke about the time I licked battery acid off the grasscutter because it was blue, and I thought it might be candy floss.
The paramedics assured me that I was wrong.
Then there are the villainous ladies tonight—Allie, Sloan, Leslie, Belle, and Indie. They were culprits in mixing those delicious tequila sunrises all night. And the title of the drink is deceiving because I didn’t taste a drop of tequila. Every sip tasted like delicious, refreshing OJ. It even gives the illusion of being healthy! But five drinks later, I’ve greatly exceeded my vitamin C intake for the day.
Time to initiate a backup plan.
I’m going to fake my way through the game. I was the Wicked Witch of the West in year ten, after all. The critic claimed I was the wickedest of all the wickeds they’d ever seen. Granted, that critic was my mum, but she doesn’t pass out compliments for free, so you better believe I sewed that quote into my year twelve memory quilt.
Tonight, this room is getting a bit of theatre. Freya Cook is headlining to conceal her lovely maiden tag in front of all these adorable, sexually experienced couples.
Let’s do this.
“Never have I ever…kissed a girl,” Santino states beside me as he takes a drink, and his head swerves around the group of us huddled in the living room with drinks in hand.
A few of the girls roll their eyes and giggle while taking a drink, including Belle, Indie, and Leslie. They’re all drinking! So what do I do? I giggle-snort and take a sip myself, like the sexually curious woman that I am.
Santino’s eyes flare curiously at me and glance down at my chest again. From across the room, I hear Mac clear his throat loudly, and I turn to find him staring at me with a frown. I shrug like kissing girls is no big deal because it’s obviously not. Then I take another drink because the drink is my acting juice at this point. The more I drink, the better my performance will be.
“Never have I ever done reverse cowgirl!” Belle states next, holding her glass up proudly.
The crowd cheers, and my eyes widen. Reverse cowgirl? Is that like a role-playing thing? Perhaps the girl dresses up like a cowboy and the boy dresses up like a cowgirl? Gender swapping? How modern! I take a big gulp of my drink because I used to play cowboy with the neighbour boy next door to me. But one day he tied me up and spanked me until his mother caught us, and she threw me out of their house.
I quickly take another drink because something about this cocktail is making me parched. When I finish, Santino hits me with a high five. Okay then! Drinking gets you high fives. I’m rocking at thisNever Have I Evergame!
“Never have I ever…” the youngest Harris Brother, Booker, says, “…had sex in a car.”
The eldest Harris brother, Gareth, tips his glass to Sloan before drinking along with Camden, Indie, Vi, and Hayden. This bunch must have a thing for cars. Bleddy hell, looks like I’m up again! I take a sip.
“Never have I ever pierced anything below my neck,” Booker’s wife, Poppy, says, fluffing her blond pixie hair coyly as she takes a sip. I take a sip too, wondering what on earth could sweet little Poppy have pierced?
I notice Allie watching me curiously, probably because she’s one of the only people who knows about my virginal status. Well, she kind of knows. It’s not something I’ve flat out admitted to her, but last year, I mentioned something to her about a twenty-plus-year dry spell, so I’m sure she got the picture. She’s thankfully decent enough not to bring it up to me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Mac looks rather moody for some odd reason. My brows furrow because, shit, is he judging me for being falsely promiscuous? He certainly better not be!
Allie’s lips purse together like she sees Mac’s displeasure, so I guzzle another drink. Mac tilts his head and tries to mouth something to me, but I’m distracted by Santino pulling me close to whisper in my ear.
“Did you get the car dirty?”
I bark out a really unattractive snort laugh. Then the laugh sort of develops a mind of its own and takes off on a noisy journey, which seems to amuse Santino because he laughs with me. At least if I’m laughing, I’m not talking. Drunken Freya talking is bad. Very, very bad.
I turn to see Mac is still watching me. With a frown, I shake my head and focus on my cocktail because if I make eye contact with him, he might see right through me.
“Never have I ever had sex in a public loo.”
