“There’s a great oral scene in that one where he eats her out from behind.”
My cheeks warmed. I resisted the urge to look around and make sure nobody else heard us talking about this. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to take away from . . . bears.”
“Ideas, Clarke.” She winked. “You might not like all of them. Hell, there might be some things in here that ick you out. But just remember, your yuck is another person’s yum.”
I couldn’t contain my giggle. I’d just never heard it put quite so bluntly before. It was refreshing, knowing women who spoke so openly and positively about sexuality.
“Okay.”
“Consider these guidebooks for your journey to sexual enlightenment.”
“Got it, Yoda.”
“Hey,” she said, playfully chastising me. “It’s not easy being green.”
And so, it went on. For nearly thirty minutes, Nessa led me around the store, adding book after book to the stack in my arms. When it was taller than my head, I set it down by the register, and we started again.
Paranormal romance. Prince in disguise. Marriage of convenience. That one hit a little too close to home and I told her so.
“No problem, how about enemies to lovers?” she asked, swapping one book out for another without missing a beat.
And with every recommendation, Nessa bookmarked particular pages, scenes, and/or chapters she thought I should read. Passages she hoped would give me a little more clarity as to what I might want out of my sexual relationship with Soren . . . er, anybody.
“Not to rush you, Nessa, but my lunch break ends in ten minutes.”
“Got it.”
As we carried our haul to the register, a new concern arose. “I have to be honest,” I told her. “I can’t afford all of this.”
I’d only received my first paycheck last week, and though I wouldn’t be living off Ramen noodles anytime soon, I certainly couldn’t afford two dozen new books.
“It’s alright,” she said. “Consider these a loan.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s fine.” She smiled as she bagged up the books. “Besides, what’s the point of having a smut peddling friend if they don’t share it with you?”
Friend.
I blinked back the moisture in my eyes and took the bags from her. Lord, maybe I needed to start using that gym membership that came with the job. Who knew paper weighed this much?
“One more thing.” She’d already given me nearly two-hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise. What more could there be? “I think you should make a list.”
My brows scrunched together. “A list of what?”
They lifted clean off my forehead when she answered, “Of all the things you want him to do to you. To do with you.” She leaned over the register, resting her head in her hand as if this were some casual conversation between clerk and customer, when it was anything but. “That way,” she said, smiling confidently, “the next time he asks you what you want, and there will be a next time, you know exactly what to tell him.”
Little did Nessa know that was all the motivation I needed. Because if there were two things I knew how to do—and dammit, I knew how to do them well—they were research and list making. In that order.
Which meant I had some reading to do.
Soren
“Tucker, you should be hauling ass the second that batter shows bunt. Run it again.” Coach Ward cupped his hands around his mouth. “And if Wu doesn’t back up first this time, we’re all doing stadium stairs.”
I could practically hear our right fielder mumbling obscenities under his breath all the way in the outfield. Ward was right, though. Wu was a great batter and a decent fielder, but he slacked at backing-up first on the bunt.
Ward kicked the dirt with his toes and signed to Bennett to go again. We had an ASL interpreter on staff, but Ward was adamant that all of us know some rudimentary sign language to communicate with our catcher. That included him, too. Ward intimidated the hell out of me, but I’d give the guy credit for practicing what he preached. Something told me that when he saidwe’dall be doing stadium stairs if Wu fucked up again, that included him, too.
