Page 27 of Triple Play
I place it on the counter, right next to the toothbrush holder.
Not hidden. Not subtle.
Just sitting there like it belongs.
Because it does.
I step back and admire my work.
If they want to make me uncomfortable, fine. But discomfort goes both ways.
Let’s see how the hockey team handles living with a woman who refuses to be ashamed of her body or her needs.
I’m in my room studying when I hear the front door slam.
Voices. Multiple.
Jordie’s laugh, Wyatt’s lower rumble, Grant’s clipped responses.
They’re home.
I turn my music up, pretend I can’t hear them, and wait.
It takes seven minutes.
Then I hear it.
“What the fuck?”
Grant’s voice, coming from the bathroom.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
“Dude,” Jordie says now. “Is that—?”
“Yeah.” Grant sounds strangled. “It is.”
“Should we, uh—”
“Leave it.” Grant’s voice is tight, controlled. “Just leave it.”
Footsteps. Fast. Someone’s retreating.
I count to ten, then open my door and wander down the hall as if I have no idea what just happened.
The bathroom door is open, and it’s empty.
My vibrator is exactly where I left it.
But I can sense their awareness of it—the way that small purple object has shifted something in the house.
Good.
I head downstairs for water. The three of them are in the kitchen.
Wyatt is at the table, pretending to look at his phone, but his jaw is tight. Jordie is at the counter, his golden boy grin slightly strained. Grant has his back to me, gripping the edge of the sink.
“Hey.” I keep my voice light and casual. “How was practice?”
