“Exactly!” Violet exclaims, clapping her hands together. “So once the wood is sheathed, lights come on and covers come off. No blow jobs, but no issues with longevity, and he’s hung. Do I have all this right, Lily?”
“Pretty much.” Individually, those things didn’t seem too odd. But now, talking about it with the girls—particularly Violet and Charlene, who seem to have a much broader wealth of experience in this department—makes me wonder exactly what the deal is. All together, Randy’s sex quirks add up to a big WTF.
“Is there anything else you can think of that might provide clues as to what the real issue is?” Violet asks.
“Oh!” I sit up straight. “He has a scar. It looks like it could be from an appendectomy, but way low, and it seems like he had a butcher for a surgeon. He has another scar on the inside of his leg. I saw it once—never mind, that part doesn’t matter.”
“So he has scars near the wood, eh?” Violet taps her lips again.
“Above the wood, and below, but that doesn’t mean one is related to the other.”
Sunny’s on her phone. She looks up and says. “Hockey accident.”
“Why would you think that?”
“’Cause that’s what Miller just said. I messaged him about it. He won’t give me details, but he said it’s from a hockey accident, and Randy doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“Wow. That must’ve been some accident if he ended up with a nickname like that,” Violet says.
“That’s a pretty awful nickname,” Sunny says.
“I’m sorry, Lily. I wouldn’t have made a joke out of it if I’d known Lance was being serious and not just a jerk.” Violet actually looks taken aback.
“It’s okay. I mean, I’m curious, too. I didn’t realize it was something so—”
“Sensitive?” Sunny says.
“Yeah.” Now I feel bad, too.
“Well, mystery solved, I guess.” Violet has recovered. She rolls off the couch and opens a set of cupboard doors. “We should play Scrabble!”
“I hate Scrabble,” Sunny complains.
“We’ll play partners,” I offer.
“And we’ll make it dirty. Only pervy words allowed.” Violet sets the game up on the floor because the coffee table’s too full of stuff.
Sunny’s first word is hoor. No one says anything about the spelling.
At midnight, the guys finally roll in—well, almost all of them roll in. Lance is absent. I assume he picked up a bunny and went back to his own house. Randy’s the last to come in. He stands at the back of the group, hands shoved in his pockets. He glances at me, gives me a small, strained smile, and then his eyes dart around the room.
I’m drunk, so I don’t have much of a filter left, but he looks uncomfortable.
Alex surveys the living room. The coffee table is covered in empty wine bottles and half-eaten bowls of chips and popcorn. Bits of food litter the floor. The Scrabble game is still set up and covered in dirty words.
“What’d you girls do tonight?” Alex leans over Violet and kisses her forehead. Then he adjusts her tank top so she’s not flashing so much cleavage.
“We talked about dicks and blow jobs. The usual.” Violet wraps her arms around his neck and tries to get one foot hooked around his waist, but she’s sloppy drunk. “You should take me upstairs so I can show you a new trick.”
Alex laughs. “Shh, baby, inside voice, remember?”
“That wasn’t a whisper, eh?”
“Not even close,” Miller says from across the room. He stretches and makes a big show of yawning. “Sunny, you wanna come snuggle with me?”
She glances at me, as if she’s afraid to leave me alone. It’s not like she needs permission. I’m hoping whatever’s going on with Randy’s dark mood can be fixed by some vagina prison.
Two by two, everyone heads upstairs to bed. And then it’s me and Randy. And for some reason it’s awkward. Maybe because everyone’s a couple, and we’re not. Maybe because of the conversation earlier in the night, or Violet’s mentioning it the second the guys walked in the door.
I unfold my legs and push up off the couch at his approach. As soon as he’s close enough, I hug his waist. He’s stiff. And not in his pants. His whole body. I slide a hand up his chest and around the back of his neck. He doesn’t resist as I pull him down. I don’t go in for a kiss; instead I bring my lips to his ear and whisper in what I hope is my sexiest voice, “Wanna go to prison?”
He skims my side, butterfly-wing soft. He turns his head so his cheek brushes mine. His voice is a hoarse whisper. “Yes, please. I’ve been waiting all night for prison.”
There’s heaviness in his words, like the joke between us has something darker tied to it. I take his hand and lead him up the familiar stairs to the same room where we had sex for the first time. Randy hits the lights as soon as we’re inside and the door’s locked. I don’t try to turn them back on. We move toward the bed, and as soon as we’re a foot away, he grabs me from behind and dive-bombs us onto the mattress.
I shriek and giggle, then sigh as his lips find my neck. “Did you have fun with the girls tonight?” he asks.