1

THE SMELL OF ORGASMS

LILY

I prop my skate up on the bench to tighten the laces. After this session, my sexy, NHL-player boyfriend, Randy Ballistic, is picking me up for a weekend getaway with our friends. The cottage we’re going to belongs to one of Randy’s teammates, Alex Waters, who I’ve incidentally known my entire life since his younger sister, Sunny, is my best friend.

The off-season is about to come to an end, and training camp will start in less than two weeks. This last-hurrah weekend will be at Alex’s Chicago cottage, not the Ontario cottage where Randy and I first met. As much as I’d love to revisit that location, any kind of weekend away with Randy and my friends is welcome, and this cottage is much closer.

With Sunny being pregnant, I’m sure things will be different from the usual booze fest and overly late nights. Or maybe not—Alex’s wife, Violet, and her friend Charlene Hoar are going to be there. Those two can drink like fish, and they like to stay up all hours of the night. I’m sure there will be dirty Scrabble games and shenanigans, both of which I’m looking forward to.

I’m not used to having this much down time. Prior to moving to Chicago, I’d always worked more than one job, so only having one means a lot more freedom to pursue hobbies. Not that I worry too much about being idle; Randy keeps me busy when I’m not teaching skating lessons. I don’t have the opportunity to get bored—especially not since I moved in with him about four months ago and he enrolled me in beard riding classes.

I figured maybe once we were living together his insatiableness would wane, at least a little. It hasn’t. While I’ve been teaching this morning, he’s been texting me all the places he thinks we should have sex when we get to the cottage. Ironically, a bathroom hasn’t even made the top five. The forest is a prime pick. He’s mentioned playing hide and seek more than once, but the way he says it makes me think his version will be a lot different than the game I played with Sunny as a kid.

The door to the changing room squeaks as it opens. Someone needs to get out the WD-40 and deal with that. I’m around the corner, out of view, so I call out a hello to avoid scaring whoever it is. I get nothing back. A chill runs up my spine at the sound of distinctly non-feminine footfalls. Relief forces my heart back down from my throat when Randy peeks his head around the jamb.

“What’re you doing in here?” I ask, double knotting my skate before lowering my foot to the rubber-padded floor.

He scans my outfit, and a devious grin pulls up the corner of his mouth. “Stopping in for a quick visit.”

“In the women’s staff locker room? What if someone else was in here with me?” It’s a reasonable question. Occasionally I’m not the only instructor on the ice.

His eyes widen, and he checks over his shoulder. “Is there someone else here?”

“No. But there could’ve been.”

“But you’re telling me there isn’t,” he confirms.

I nod. “Still. What if you’d seen one of the other girls naked?”

He frowns and runs a hand over his beard, looking anxious. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Just imagine how embarrassed I’d be if someone else’s boyfriend walked in while I was naked.” Now I’m messing with him.

The furrow in his brow deepens, and his eyes go dark. If I didn’t have a session in fifteen minutes, I’d be excited about that look, because it typically means very good things for the Vagina Emporium. Sadly, she’s covered in multiple layers of fabric. And I’m hours away from any kind of relief for the ache that’s flared low in my belly.

“Only I see you naked,” Randy barks.

I snicker-snort. Sometimes Randy can be so very irrationally male.