Best Laid Plans

“But what made it serious for you?”

His expression turns somber. “My nana had a heart condition. She didn’t realize it till one night when I was staying with them when I was younger. My pops called 911, and the firefighters were the first ones there. I still remember how unruffled and helpful they were.”

“Were you scared?”

“I honestly wasn’t, because of those guys. I watched them closely, and paid attention to what they did. They were calm and reassuring, and any time she had any trouble, that’s exactly how I tried to be with her—calm and reassuring.”

My throat tightens. “Like how you were with Hedwig,” I say, glancing at the owl. "Even though Hedwig is a girl in Harry Potter, and I think this owl is a boy. But I’m honestly not sure, since I’m not an owl vet either."

“Arden,” he chides, “we are not keeping him.”

“I know. But he needed a name.” I clear the emotions from my voice as best I can. “Did you know you’d be good at it?”

“I think so, but I also think it felt natural. Like something I could do. Well, if baseball didn’t work out. And that’s precisely what happened.”

“Do you ever regret that baseball didn’t work out?”

“Nah. How many guys get to have the two careers they want? I’m lucky—I got to play ball, and now I can do this. I can help people.” He squeezes my leg with his free hand. It’s not sexual. It’s friendly and comforting, like maybe he knows I’m a little nervous, a little jumpy in the role of his owl paramedic assistant. “And today we’re going to help this little guy.”

A few minutes later, we take Hedwig into Wild Care and Gabe hands off the owl. After that mission, we head over to The Garden of Eden.

As we walk inside, nerves flutter inside me once more, but I’ve found talking helps eradicate them. “There’s no one I’d rather go sex toy shopping with than the guy who rescued Hedwig the owl.”

And it’s strange but completely true.





21





Arden





There are no windows. The brick exterior boasts a sign for adult pleasures. Inside, the shelves are teeming with battery-operated boyfriends, replicas of penises, vibrating rings, jellies, lubes, and every flavor of edible massage oil under the sun.

There’s something for everyone here, including an aisle with a buzzing corn-on-the-cob vibrator, half a woman’s torso made of silicone, and . . . feet. Feet of all sizes and colors.

Gabe brandishes a pale plastic one. He mimes running the fake foot in front of his crotch. A blush creeps across my cheeks as he pretends to grind against it, then deepens as he fakes his orgasmic pleasure.

I grab the toy. “Stop. You are not getting it on with a plastic foot.”

“I wasn’t trying to get it on. I was trying to get off.”

I laugh as I set down the toy I’ll never buy.

Gabe scans the shelves, and his eyes light up. He points. “We have to go see that.” He grabs my hand and guides me to a bright rainbow braid.

I squint, studying the swath of colors. “Should I put that in my hair?”

He laughs, then speaks dryly. “Sure. Or someplace where the sun doesn’t shine.” He turns it around revealing a silver plug on the other end.

My blush shoots up fifty shades. “And this is why I need help. Because I actually thought—erroneously—that I could buy a rainbow braid for my hair here.”

“Look at it this way. You could start a line of butt plug hair extensions.”

“Yeah, that’s a hard no.” But I am curious about something, and since I have a living, breathing man in front of me, one who’s pretty damn open, I decide to ask him. I tug his shirt, pulling him closer as I drop my voice. “Would you ever want to use one?”

He straightens. “On myself? No fucking way. Now, if you wanted to use one . . . would it be my first choice? Not necessarily. But if you wanted to try butt stuff, I’d experiment with you.”

I don’t want to try butt stuff, yet something about his willingness intrigues me. “You would? Even if it’s not your thing?”

He shrugs happily. “Of course.”

“Why?”

He steps closer. “Because if we were together, my number one goal would be to make sure you were . . . satisfied.” That last word lingers on his tongue, almost like a reassurance. With him, I can’t imagine I’d be anything but immensely pleased.

I blink away the thought. I should not be thinking about how good sex with him might be. That’s not what this sex-ucation is about. I take a breath, survey the shelves, and spot a curve of raspberry silicone, like a stretched C. I raise a hand. “Okay, maybe this makes me a clueless idiot, but what is that?”

We walk over to what’s billed as a couple’s vibrator and study it closely. I can’t for the life of me figure out where each end of this double-ended device goes, or on whom. “How do you wear this? Who wears it?”

Gabe turns it on its side, showing me the instructions on the tag. My mouth parts in an O as I read. “The front of the sex toy hangs on the clitoris, and the rest of it goes inside the woman. Supposedly, it gives great G-spot orgasms while engaged in intercourse with a partner. But I don’t understand how I’m supposed to have this chunk of plastic in me while I’m having sex.”

“Double the pleasure, double the fun?”

“I think it’s daunting.” But then I remind myself of my mission—to speak up with men. “Do you think it’s too daunting?”

He regards the device. “I honestly have no idea, but I’d be game to try it.”

That’s what I’m learning about Gabe—he’s up for anything. That easy way he has seems to extend all the way to the bedroom. He appears to have no hang-ups, just a healthy appetite for experimentation if his partner wants to go into the lab and mix up new formulas for nookie. I’m sure he’d don his white coat and get it on right there beside the test tubes and beakers.

“Would you try it?” His gaze meets mine, and our eyes lock. A rush of sensation spreads down my chest, like fluttering tingles.

“I would try it. I don’t know if I’d like it, but I’d try it.” My breath comes a little faster.