Chapter 1
The front of Priscilla’s Toy Shop is lined with glittering glass cases full of massage oils and love kits with feathers, fabric handcuffs, and flavored condoms. Beside the shiny cases hang rows of lingerie ranging from mildly naughty to downright vixen. But that’s not where I am. Nope. I’m in the back, where the musty smell of mold tickles my nose and a middle-aged, balding man peruses a stack of discounted pornos with names like Womb Raider and Free My Willy.
My two best friends are by my side for moral support, and I love them for it, especially Hannah. This isn’t exactly her scene. She’s prim and proper, a true Southern girl from Lakewater, Texas. I’ve been known to invade her closet now and again, but my style’s more casually sexy while she’s all ribbons and lace.
Liz, on the other hand, with her ripped black jeans, sky-high boots, and nose stud, could work the cash register here and no one would blink an eye. She throws a disgusted look at the balding man. “Let’s get this over with.”
The man clutches a movie to his chest and saunters toward the register with a vulgar smile.
I shudder and return my attention to the wall of plastic penises. “I can’t believe my love life has been reduced to this.”
My boyfriend dumped me six weeks ago, leaving me heartbroken and horny. While scanning the selection, I wonder if he would have stuck around if I had visited this store sooner. Our sex was hot, but what if I’d been too uptight? Maybe nipple clamps and a ball gag would have kept him from straying.
“Oh look, a glittery one,” Hannah says. Her eyes are wide with fascination as she stares at a translucent pink penis with flecks of silver glinting from within. “It’s very feminine.”
Liz holds up a foot-long dong. “I don’t think Cassie’s looking for feminine.” The dildo she clutches is at least seven inches in circumference and black as sin. A mix of terror and morbid curiosity flitters across her steel-gray eyes. “I’d have to birth a fucking litter before this thing would fit.”
For a brief moment, I imagine using that tree trunk. I wince when the image gets gory. “Try a dozen litters.”
Hannah plucks a purple six-incher from the shelf. “How about this one?”
Seeing a dildo in her hand disturbs me in ways that are hard to explain. Maybe it’s because she’s wearing pearls, a matching quarter-sleeve sweater-set, and kitten heels. Or maybe it’s because she’s saving herself until marriage. Either way, the image is unsettling.
“Seems okay,” I say, having no idea what to look for in a sex toy.
She flips the vibrator over, checking out the controls. Of my two best friends, I thought she’d hate being here the most. Turns out Liz is taking this outing the hardest even though she’s wild and experimental and into anything. I’m learning her anything can’t be plastic, and it must be attached to a man. She eyes the toy in Hannah’s hand with obvious disgust.
“I wonder what this button does.” Hannah presses it. The vibrator hums to life and does the whirly bird, the tip rotating in wide circles.
“No!” Liz and I scream.
I cover my eyes with my hands. “Make it stop!” Hannah must punch the button again because the humming stops. I peer between my fingers. “That’s supposed to feel good?”
“Looks more like a pussy torture device,” Liz says. She tucks a lock of black hair behind her ear, next to the white streak she so carefully bleaches every four weeks. “Seriously, why are you buying one of these?”
“Trent Preston asked me out yesterday,” I say as if that should explain everything.
Liz cocks a dark eyebrow. “And?”
“I almost said yes.” Loneliness and sex deprivation had nearly won out, but I came to my senses when I realized how much Trent reminded me of Wyatt. No way was I going there again. Actually, no way am I going out with anyone again until I’ve graduated and gotten a solid job offer. My heart won’t endure another breakup. Neither will my grades.
Liz blows out an exasperated breath while Hannah pats my shoulder and says, “Uh, honey… you’re not making sense.”
“If I want to survive my last two years of college unattached, I need something more powerful than a Playgirl and my hand.”
“You don’t need a fake cock,” Liz says. “There are hundreds”—she scans me up and down—“make that thousands of guys walking across campus who’d be happy to loan you their magic stick. No relationship required.”
I pick up a ten incher, turn it on, and wave it under her nose. “Yes, but do theirs vibrate?”
She swats it away. “Come on, Cassie. I’m serious.”
“I’m not screwing a different guy every time I get horny,” I say. “That’s gross and an invitation for herpes.” Not to mention I have a hard time separating emotions and sex. I know that’s not very progressive of me, but I am who I am, and most days, I like myself.
Hannah must be doing her mind-reading skit because she pushes blond hair off her shoulder, leans toward Liz, and whispers, “You can’t get emotionally attached to a dildo.” In an even quieter voice, she adds, “A dildo won’t leave you for another vagina either.”
Liz rolls her eyes and takes the vibrator from me, holding it between two fingers at arm’s length as if it’s infested with STDs. “You’ve only fucked two guys, Cassie. How do you know you’ll always get emotionally attached?”
I don’t know for sure, but I’m not willing to risk getting hurt again to find out. “Do you know how close I came to losing my scholarship because of a stupid breakup?”
Two weeks of not eating, sleeping, and barely attending class left my GPA in peril. I snapped out of my funk before finals, but I had to ace my exams to make up for the homework I hadn’t turned in and the quizzes I’d missed. I’m not talking squeaking by with a ninety percent; I had to get ninety-five percent and above on every single final. The studying and stress nearly killed me. No way am I going through that again because of a silly boy.
Liz turns the vibrator off and puts it back on the shelf. “If you go into the relationship knowing it’s only about sex, you’ll be fine.”
Hannah gives Liz the stink eye then turns to me. “You’re doing the right thing. Sex is about giving something special to the person you love. Don’t cheapen it with one-night stands.”
I feel as if I have a blond angel on one shoulder who goes by the name Hannah and a raven-haired devil on the other who calls herself Liz.
“I’m not talking about a one-night stand,” my devil says. “Find a smokin’ hot guy and ask him to be your fuck buddy. When you’re ready to date again, kick him to the curb.”
“That’s so… indecent,” my angel says. She turns the torture device back on, and the head spins like a demon-possessed worm.
“For Christ’s sake, Hannah, turn that damn thing off,” Liz snaps.
I plant my hands on my hips and purse my lips. “Ladies, stop arguing. And please, Hannah, turn the torture device off.”
Hannah does as asked and takes her “serenity now” deep breath. “Why are you here, Cassie?”
I pick up a small red dildo. “To buy one of these things.”
“Right. And what function do you want one of these things to perform?”
The truth is embarrassing to admit, but if I can’t tell my best friends, who can I tell? I suck in a deep breath and blurt, “I want it to get me off as quickly and efficiently as possible so I don’t go sniffing around the opposite sex every time I need a fix.”
Hannah pulls a purple vibrator from the wall. It looks as if it’s grown a smaller penis with two bug antennas on the tip. “I recommend a Rabbit,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s fast, it’s effective, and this model isn’t loud.”
Liz and I stare at her as if she’s sprouted a tail and wings and maybe even pointed horns. Of all my friends, Hannah is the most virtuous. I figured this was her first trip to a sex shop, but now I’m not so sure.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, chewing her bottom lip.
“How do you know anything about vibrators?” Liz asks.
Her fair cheeks turn rosy. “I may have used one a time or two.”
“Wouldn’t that pop the cherry?” Liz’s dark brows draw together.
Hannah half-smiles, half-grimaces. “It would if I still had one.”
I gasp. “Say what?”
She shrugs. “I’m not that different from you. I lost my virginity in high school, and when we broke up, my heart didn’t mend right. I knew it was because I had sex with him, so I decided never again until marriage.”
“Does Dylan know you’re not a virgin?” Liz asks.
“Of course he does.”
“And he’s okay with not getting any even though you’ve slept with someone else?”
She narrows her eyes. “Just because I’m waiting until marriage doesn’t mean I’m a prude. He’s satisfied.”
I poke her in the arm with the red penis. “Does he know about your phallus fetish?”
She smiles devilishly. “I told him he could use mine on me if he gets an A on his senior project this fall. The boy’s smart, but sometimes he needs a little motivation.”
Liz presses her palms to her ears. “TMI, Hannah! TMI!”
I sigh, putting away the little red number. “Give me the bunny vibrator, and let’s get out of here.”
Hannah holds the rabbit out for me, but Liz intercepts before I can protest.
Her eyes drop to the price sticker. “Eighty bucks! You could buy a gigolo for that kind of money.”
I snatch it from her. “Since when do you worry about prices?” Her parents are old-money rich, and her shoe collection alone could fund a small country. I should be the one complaining since this bad boy is the equivalent of two days of tutoring, but I have a feeling it’ll be money well spent. “Come on, ladies.”
I turn on my heels and head toward the cashier. As much as I love my girls, the next time I shop for a vibrator, I’m going alone.
An hour later, with a trunkful of groceries and a vibrator stuffed somewhere in the mix, we pull up to the two-bedroom cottage Liz and I moved into two days ago, just in time for the summer session at Wimberley. Our university is located in Lakewater, a small town smack-dab in the middle of Texas Hill Country.
Our little house is cute, nicer than most college kids’ places. The landlord normally rents it to graduate students since they tend to be more responsible than undergrads, but she probably figured we wouldn’t destroy her property. She’s right. Any partying we do will be next door where Dylan, Josh, and Tyler live.
I doubt their house will get as little wear as ours, although I’m sure we’ll see some of the aftereffects. We’ll most likely awaken every weekend to a random guy passed out on our stoop and puke bombs between our houses. We’ll probably have deep tire ruts in our front yard by the second week of school. Some drunken idiot always has to park on the lawn. It’s college law.
After parking on the gravel driveway, I hurry out of the car and pop the trunk of my late model sedan. Hannah and I grab two sacks each. Between the heat and the humidity, sweat is already gathering in my cleavage and running down my back. It’s barely June, and I hate to think about what kind of heat July will bring.
I blow my bangs out of my eyes. I can hardly make out the top of the red Priscilla’s Toy Shop bag in my trunk, nestled behind several white grocery sacks. I’m not remotely concerned about the vibrator until I’m halfway to the front porch when Josh walks out of his house. He has a trash bag slung over his broad shoulder and a beer in one hand. He tips the can up and downs the beer, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
I can’t help but gape at how tall and wide he is. He played linebacker for the university his freshman and sophomore year, but a knee injury sidelined him for good. Now, instead of training to be an elite college athlete, he’s training to finish off a case of beer in one night by himself. No one gives him crap about his excessive drinking. It’s how he copes with losing his dream of becoming an NFL player.
“Is Dylan home?” Hannah calls. Her kitten heels make a delicate clicking noise as she walks up the porch steps with me just behind her.
Josh lets out a loud burp then crushes the beer can and stuffs it into the trash bag. “He’s taking a shower.”
She smiles so wide, I’m surprised she doesn’t drop the groceries on the porch and run to see her man.
“Need some help?” Josh calls, stuffing the trash into the bin next to the porch.
Liz beams at him and nods while I shake my head furiously.
“No, we’re fine!” I yell a little louder than necessary.
“That’d be great,” Liz counters, grabbing a bag from the trunk. Her nose ring glints in the sun. “Some of these are fucking heavy.”
“They’re not that heavy,” I mumble, praying he doesn’t see the Priscilla’s bag. I hurry past Hannah and drop the groceries just inside the door so I can hightail it back to the car.
I turn toward the guys’ porch and see Tyler Mason, campus god revered for his ability to seduce any poor girl he deems worthy, sauntering through our overgrown lawn. I’m not immune to his charm, but thankfully he’s never set his sights on me.
He smiles and waves at me. He’s a little over six feet tall with messy dark hair and eyes the color of a shallow Caribbean sea. His black running shorts are frayed at the bottom, and his gray Wimberley University T-shirt looks ridiculously soft from hundreds of washes. I have a feeling he rolled out of bed fifteen minutes ago, threw on the cleanest clothes on his floor, ran a hand through his hair, and called it good. The haphazard look works well for him, and my heart pitter-patters until I chastise it into submission. If boys in general are bad, Tyler’s toxic.
He walks toward us, and I halfheartedly wave as I hurry down the porch steps. I’m trying not to appear overly anxious even though my insides are a knotted mess. Josh is already at the trunk, and his arms are laden with the heaviest bags. He smiles as we pass, and I sigh in relief. He hasn’t seen the red bag.
I’m sure in other parts of the country, no one would blink at a girl buying a vibrator, but in a Texas town with a Baptist church on every corner, just visiting a sex shop is scandalous. Josh might not find it shameful, but he’d never let me hear the end of it. I pick up the pace, praying I get to the vibrator before Tyler does.
He strolls to the trunk, and a shit-eating grin spreads across his face. Just before Liz turns toward the house with a bag in her arms, he nudges her in the ribs. “Are you buying crotchless panties again?”
“Excuse me?” she says, trying to appear offended. Her smirk makes the endeavor less than successful.
Tyler reaches inside the trunk and pulls out the red bag. “Priscilla’s?”
“Maybe Hannah bought new lingerie for Dylan,” Josh calls from the porch.
Tyler jiggles the bag. “It’s too heavy for lingerie. Hey, Hannah, is Dylan into metal handcuffs?”
“It’s not mine,” Hannah says from somewhere behind me.
Josh snickers. “It’s Cassie’s?”
Heart thumping, I skid to a stop. Tyler squints at me as though he can’t believe the bag is mine. His index finger skims the inside of the sack, and he barely pushes it open. Please don’t look. Please don’t look. To my utter shock, he seems to think better of it. Bless the man, he just winks at me and hands it over.
“Thanks.” Heat rushes up my neck toward my cheeks.
I hug the bag protectively, wondering why Tyler didn’t sneak a peek. Josh sidles up to me and peers over my shoulder to try to see inside the bag, but it’s smooshed closed, and no one—I repeat, no one—will pry it from my fingers.
“Who are you buying lingerie for?” he asks. “I thought your boyfriend dumped you for Debbie Ding Dong.”
I stifle a groan, hating that everyone knows about my disastrous love life.
Hannah purses her pink lips like a schoolmarm. She rises on her tiptoes and smacks Josh’s head. “Don’t you have a filter?”
“Ow!” Josh rubs his reddening temple, looking dumbfounded, which isn’t hard since all the beer has killed most of his brain cells. “What? What’d I say?”
Tyler gives me a sympathetic smile and punches Josh in the arm. “Dumbass.”
I’m not sure what hurts worse: Josh’s words or Tyler’s sympathy. I sigh then take a deep breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth, to let go of all the negative energy. I’ve been holding on to too much of that lately. Besides, I have more important things to do than stand here and analyze my feelings. My new lover needs his batteries installed.
I stride toward the house, not feeling the least bit guilty for letting Liz stash the groceries. That’s what they get for throwing me under the bus. Once inside my bedroom, I lock the door and drop the bag on my bed, next to my collection of sock monkeys I haven’t put away yet.
The yellow cotton curtains I hung yesterday are shut tight, and I’m a little giddy from all this privacy. I’ve never had a room of my own. At home, my sister and I bunked together. My first two years of college, I lived in the sorority house, sharing a room with up to five other girls. I’d like to say we were up all night talking about boys and bonding over chocolate chip cookie dough, but the girls snored as loud as boys do and they slept with their cell phones in case their boyfriends called. Snoring combined with phones going off all hours of the night equals dropping GPA. Not a happy combination. Hence why I moved out.
Basking in my newfound privacy, I push aside a constellation map I haven’t had a chance to hang and sit on the bed next to the stuffed monkeys. After pulling the vibrator out of the bag, I get to work making it usable. A minute later, I push the last battery into the base. As I’m screwing the top back on, someone knocks softly on my bedroom door.
“Just a sec!” I put the vibrator into the top drawer of my nightstand then stroll past a half-dozen unpacked boxes toward the door.
When I unlock and open it, Tyler’s standing with his arm propped on the frame. His wicked smile makes my insides flutter. The curve of his mouth is framed by a perfect Greek nose, broad cheekbones, and an angular jaw that’d make Channing Tatum envious.
“You gonna tell me what’s in the bag?” he asks with a southern drawl that weakens my knees.
I lock my legs and remind myself that though Tyler Mason is talking to me as if we’re best buds, I don’t know him well. For the last two years, he’s flitted around the fringes of my life, but we haven’t conversed beyond exchanging pleasantries. He’s the bad boy who jumps from girl to girl. I’m the good girl who in a previous life, the one before I swore off boys, would have gotten married before I graduated.
I bat my eyelashes innocently. “Why would I tell you?”
His wicked smile turns playful. “Because I didn’t peek?”
I chuckle and, against my better judgment, decide to humor him. “Why don’t you take a guess?”
His dimples deepen as his smile widens. “Girl on girl porn?”
I roll my eyes while I stroll to my bed. “Not likely.” Given the subject matter, I’d expect Tyler’s eyes to smolder. Instead, they’re full of humor, so I play along by opening the empty bag and peering inside as if I’m taking inventory. “Manacles, a whip, and a butt plug.” I smile deviously. “Wanna play?”
He frowns and shudders. “I’ll pass.” He pushes off the jamb, but instead of leaving, he strides into my room. He stops in front of my bed and stares at my pile of stuffed animals. “What’s up with all the monkeys? You got a fetish or something?”
“No. I have a sock monkey fetish.” I try to see the pile from his perspective. It must look ludicrous with pink, yellow, and purple sock monkeys, a few oversized ones, several dozen traditional tanned ones, and even one with blue lips instead of red. In all, I own thirty-two. Over the last decade, my friends and family have bought many of them for me. I also made about ten, mostly after Wyatt dumped me. Stuffing socks with batting is therapeutic.
Tyler picks up a traditional sock monkey. “Something’s wrong here.” He points at the dangling legs. One’s a good two inches longer than the other.
“First attempt.”
His expression becomes a little awed. “You made them all?”
“Just a few.”
He drops the monkey into the pile and scratches the back of his head. “Where are you putting them?”
Good question. My room isn’t big. The furniture takes up most of the space, and a collection this size will eat up a lot of real estate. But I’ve thought ahead. I saunter to the dresser, grab a mesh sling that’s still in the package, and hold it up. “Animal hammock. I just have to install it.”
“You realize you’ll need a power drill.”
“So?”
His wicked smile comes back full force, and the glint in his eyes indicates he thinks he has me right where he wants me. “If you’ll tell me what’s in the bag, I’ll install it.”
I throw the hammock back on the dresser with a loud thump and plant my fists on my hips. “Are you insinuating I can’t handle a power tool?”
He nods. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
Just because I have breasts doesn’t mean I’m mechanically challenged. “I got it covered.”
He cocks a dark eyebrow that’s perfectly arched, though I doubt it’s ever seen tweezers. His silver bar piercing rises with it. “Do you even own a drill?”
“Of course.” I take a moment to bask in his look of approval, then I step behind him. I take another moment to admire his rear view before placing my palm on his lower back and shoving him toward the door. “Stop insulting me and get out.”
I can’t budge a guy his size unless he lets me, and I’m relieved when he moves in the right direction, even if he grabs a handful of Skittles from my candy bowl on the way out.
As he strides away, he peers over his shoulder at the Priscilla’s bag and says, “One of these days, I’m gonna find out.”
From the resolve in his voice, I have no doubt he will, but not today and never from me. He pops a few Skittles into his mouth and chews as I continue to “push” him forward.
“Not going to happen, Mason,” I say.
He keeps walking, but his shoulders stiffen and his jaw stops working on the candy. It’s common knowledge at Wimberley that a guy never gets laid by a girl who calls him by his last name. What we’re doing is very close to flirting, and my days of leading a guy on are over. I’ll never follow through. Ever. At least not until I graduate.
