Page 40 of Unbreakable
Dylan was right. I needed to be less selfish and think ofhisneeds. I could do that.
A nagging voice in my head told me he wasn’t attracted to me anymore, because he usually drilled me from the back or spooned me. He said missionary wore him out before games,and I just chose to believe him. What if he really didn’t want to look at me?
But that couldn’t be true. Even in my scummiest sweats, he told me I was pretty. And not to be full of myself, but I’m a fucking hottie and I know it. I wouldn’t have been cast so much in L.A. if I weren’t.
Time to put those good looks to use.
With my tits almost under my chin, I sent Dylan a selfie, making sure my blue eyes glowed and I looked like I was ready for fun.
If he could use sex as a Band-Aid, so could I.
Nice assist
I could assist you with something
As the wine hit my system, I decided to take it a bit farther. I went upstairs into our closet, getting out my box of toys. I pulled out the big purple dildo and took it back downstairs into the good lighting. I put it in my mouth, the silicone taste hitting my tongue. I got it good and slippery wet, making sure the dildo had a nice, sloppy sheen to it. Again, with a look all doe-eyed and innocent, I snapped another picture like his vantage point if I was on my knees for him.
Getting it wet
I hit send with a self-satisfied smile, thinking how crazy it would make him to think I was using the dildo without him. Maybe he’d text me back and egg me on. There was one really hot time where he directed me and just watched me play with my toys. I didn’t let him touch himself until I came, and he was a human fountain by the time I did.
Ah, the good ol’ days. Time to bring them back. That would cheer me up.
The game ended with a win, and after the goalie hugs, the Rusties filed into the locker room.
I waited five, ten, then twenty minutes. At first, it was sexy, knowing maybe he opened it and had to hide it quickly. Maybe he’d have to relieve himself in the bathroom at work. Maybe he didn’t respond because he was racing home to me.
But twenty minutes became an hour. Was he okay? I was starting to get sleepy. And anxious.
I idly scrolled Instagram, clicking on a friends-only story from Lindberg. The time stamp was from a few minutes before, with Dylan laughing at a bar, a pretty brunette watching him laugh in the picture.
Oh, hell no.
I held my thumb over the picture for maybe three straight minutes without moving, analyzing every detail.
It’s not that I thought Dylan would cheat, because I didn’t. But the idea of him even having a wandering eye while I was begging for attention was sickening.
Here I was, sitting all dolled up and waiting to be some kind of sex kitten goddess for my husband, and he was out shooting the shit with the boys. And some brunette who was just his type.
Not responding to my texts. He couldn’t have stepped into the bathroom to text me back? I felt like a complete fool.
I knew I was being ridiculous. I was only begging for attention because I needed reassurance that Dyl and I were okay.
The impulsive side of me wanted to drive down there just like I was and hit him with my stupid dildo. Another demon on the same side wanted me to message Lindberg and tell him to send Dylan home right fucking now.
Maybe Dylan wasn’t attracted to me. Maybe all those little voices were right.
Deciding not to let my insecurities show by messaging his teammate, I gave up at the hour-and-a-half mark. I dumped the rest of my wine glass in the sink, not even bothering to wash it down so it wouldn’t stain.
I tried not to look in the mirror as I took my makeup off, too ashamed to face myself.
I tried, and for what? I wasn’t Dylan’s top priority. The guys were. Hockey was. After all, hockey was why I was even sitting alone in cold-ass Columbus when I could have been in temperate California.
The tears that hit me when I was driving the kids to the rink came back.
Dylan had chosen hockey over my happiness. Why was I trying to impress him? I wasn’t a stick, a puck, and some ice.
I finally looked in the mirror, my dark eye makeup smeared, giving me the look of a sad drag queen.
