His eyes grew wide and he actually protested for a moment, but then when his words fell on deaf ears, Sonny switched gears and thanked me for my help.
A short while later, I walked out of the radio station, even more determined to come up with some type of retaliation against Stanwick. I walked home in a daze, revenge ideas mixing with plans to make money.
The only thing I came up with was deciding that when I went to Mean Beans the next day, I’d see if they needed someone more competent than Ava.
“Heya, Hafton. Sonny here, and boy do I have stuff for you. First off, I have to send out a big smooch to my girl, Miranda, over the airwaves. That’s right, ladies, Sebastian Jones may be in love. Go over and see my woman, Miranda; she works at Book World in the romance-and-mystery department. Look for the fiery red hair and the long legs tucked into knee-high boots. Boots, people! Sonny be wanting to knock those boots for a long time. Anyway, lurve you, lady, and thanks for the dinner over the weekend. This tune is for you.”
Michael Jackson’s “Baby Be Mine” filled the air as I sat alone in my room and picked away at my stats homework, half distracted by the text that had been sitting on my phone.
BLANE: You okay? You coming to the game tomorrow?
It had been sitting there for hours since two o’clock, and I had yet to reply. Blane wasn’t good for me. Forget the fact that hanging with him had basically gotten me thrown out of my major today; he was moving on soon and I wasn’t.
“I’m back, Sonny B. here on WHSU 96.9, spinning the jams and keeping you company on this lonely Monday night. Are there parties going on? Tweet me, babes! As for me, I’m manning the station alone because our fearless intern is looking for a new internship. That’s right, cute Catie P. is off to greener pastures. I can’t wait to hear about her adventures, and I can’t help but think we will.” Sonny’s laugh rang out, and then he was back. “So, I’m all alone here. Anyone looking to fill my shoes? Tweet me too.”
This time Sonny played some hip-hop, and I turned down the volume and tried to concentrate on my stats homework again. My phone dinged.
BLANE: Cate, please answer. You left the radio station? Did Sonny do something?
This time I answered. There was no way I wanted Blane getting involved. I was too proud for that shit.
CATIE: No. I’m good. Figuring some things out. Don’t think I’ll be at the game tomorrow.
Yeah, right. Who was I kidding?
I turned off the radio, deleted my Twitter account, shut down my phone, and ignored my misgivings as I went on a very important mission. I took the campus bus to the outskirts of town and saw my destination at the end of a strip mall. The neon-green sign flickered in the darkness.
ADULTS, XXX blinked on and off as I swallowed any reservations and pushed the door open. Blane might have formally introduced me to what my clit could really do, but I needed to get to know her much better than I had in the past.
Inhaling deeply, I thought back to the porno fest. As soon as it was over, I’d wanted to rush out and get a vibrator right then, recognizing my lack of familiarity with my own needs. Stanwick and her crusade, along with my inability to enjoy sex without feeling like a slut, had landed me in the last place I expected to find answers.
Bells jingled overhead as I walked in and tried to pretend like I belonged here, like this was a regular outing for me. Immediately, I felt stupid and insecure in my clunky boots and sensible winter coat.
I really need to harness my inner Italian. I’m in a sex store!
Yeah, right. The Mediterranean side of me was a double-edged sword. It was my damn hot-blooded temper that had put me in this no-win situation—out of my major, out of a career-minded job (although the manager at Mean Beans had promised me some hours), and out of touch with my sensuality. And looking for answers in an adult toy store.
A guy with huge gauges in his earlobes and his nails painted glittery black looked up from behind the counter. “Can I help you?”
Avoiding any eye contact, I mumbled, “Um, just looking around.”
You can do this.
Any liberated woman should be concerned with her orgasm, right? Wasn’t that what Cosmo splashed on their covers every month?
Maybe I should have started with a few copies of Cosmopolitan and Marie Claire at the newsstand before venturing to the adult toy store . . .
Nope. Not stubborn, fire-breathing me.
I took in the glass case next to where I was standing that displayed some intricate glass . . . dildos? Was that what they were? They looked like penises made of glass with ticklers of some sort.
“Oh. My. God,” I said under my breath, and fixed my gaze to the ratty carpet as I moved quickly toward an aisle.