Page 19 of Whirlwind (Seattle Blades #4)

“If you look deeper in the closet, there’s one that says I’d rather have serotonin than this huge cock . You could take that one instead.”

“Zan said they played with the new, improved stat tracker on the way back from Florida.” Willa and I are having a girls’ night.

For us, that means pizza in front of trashy reality television.

“All the guys were really impressed. He said even Hugo, who hates most technology, loved how user-friendly it is.”

“That’s good. That was the goal, anyway. Mostly, all I did was build in a better stat tracker and suggest they update the user interface so it wasn’t as confusing for basic users.”

“You shrug it off like it’s the easiest thing in the world,” she says, laughing.

“Well, it’s not exactly hard.”

“And yet, they didn’t have it before you agreed to take on the task.”

“Shove another piece of that pie in your mouth and quit blowing smoke up my ass.”

“It’s my job to boost your ego. Top five rule in the BFF handbook,” she says, tossing a piece of pineapple at me. She misses, but Nightmare is there to nab it up the second it hits the floor. “Shit, can dogs eat pineapple?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. No avocado, though—which I found surprising, for some reason.”

“You hear that, Nightmare? No basic bitch avocado toast brunch for you.”

Nightmare whimpers, spins in a circle, then buries his face in his paws.

“Too bad. He’d make a good brunch partner for us. He’s so well-behaved in public.”

“You’ve taken him out to eat?” she asks.

“Tyson and I took him earlier for chicken and waffles at The Barking Dog. He didn’t bark or pull on the leash at all—even when other dogs paid him attention.”

After our playtime this morning, Tyson was hesitant to let me go about my day too quickly.

I was fine, but he wanted to be sure. His overbearing side didn’t bother me, though.

It was…cute. For now, anyway. I like being around him a lot.

More than a lot. But I’m used to being independent, and I don’t want to lose that—not even for orgasms.

“Your cheeks are red.”

“I was wondering when you were going to ask me about my night.”

“I didn’t ask anything,” she says with a smirk.

“You did—just not with words.”

“You’re killing me here! Obviously, it must have gone okay because you didn’t call me. But I’ve been here for”—she pauses to check the time on her phone—“exactly thirty-eight minutes, and this is the first time you’ve brought him up.”

“I wanted to make you squirm because I knew you wouldn’t ask.”

“Only because I want you to tell me things in your own time.”

“But it kills you when I don’t do it immediately,” I tease.

“Yes, you asshole,” she laughs.

“It was amazing,” I say.

“That’s it?” Willa asks with an exaggerated eye-roll.

“He understands me, Willa. He showed patience and compassion, but he didn’t coddle me.”

“Is he letting you set the pace?”

“Completely. Even this morning, when I wanted to touch him and we ended up masturbating together,” I say quickly, because even though she’s the person I’m closest to in the entire world, it’s not something I’m used to discussing.

“You did that?”

“I did. And then I cried, but it wasn’t a bad cry. It was…I don’t know, cathartic. And he held me through it.”

“Oh, Kit.” Her eyes go teary.

“I’m trying not to get too wrapped up in it all—or in him—while also trying to let myself live. You know?”

“You want to find yourself, not lose yourself.”

“Exactly,” I say. “There’s also the lingering voice telling me it’s not real, I’m not the kind of woman who can make him happy, it’s going to end in flames…blah, blah, blah.”

“That’s normal. Everyone’s insecure in their relationships—until they’re not. It takes time. It’s new for both of you,” she tells me.

I hope she’s right. Until I trust that, I’ll hold on to the idea that, for now, I’m enjoying my time with him. If it doesn’t work out, at least I’ll have that.

“You really do like him, though?”

“I really, really do.”

“Then I’m ecstatic for you, and I’ll make sure you don’t get too lost in being an NHL wag.”

“Oh no, I don’t think I’m that,” I protest.

“You might end up being that, though. I mean, you’re already having sleepovers,” she says. “Besides, you do all the fun wag stuff with me and Isla already, anyway. You might as well get the rest of the benefits.”

“What are the rest of the benefits?”

“Orgasms, mostly.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It’s divine, my friend,” she says, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

Those aren’t words that have been common in my life. My father never said them. My grandmother showed it on a couple of occasions, most notably when I received my acceptance to the University of Washington. She may not show her support on a regular basis, but she always tried when it mattered most.

I should call her soon. It’s been weeks since we last spoke, which isn’t uncommon for us, by any means. But she’s getting older and she’s the only family I have. Well, the only family I acknowledge having, anyhow.

Every time we talk, she asks me if I’ve met a handsome young man yet. No matter how many times I’ve told her I wasn’t interested in finding random lost men, she still asks. She’ll be thrilled when I tell her about Tyson. She worries about me being across the country, alone, and without a man.

She can’t acknowledge that it was a man who hurt her and I both. Nor does she accept that men never stepped in to save either of us.

She’s old school that way, I’ve come to accept her for who she is. Flawed, incapable of learning, fearful. She loves me, though, in her way.

“Thank you. I’m proud of myself,” I tell her. “I went over there with a belly full of determination, almost threw it all up once I was standing in front of him.”

“You didn’t, though,” she says.

“Nope. When he’s close enough, and especially when he touches me, I forget most of what makes me so afraid. Is that weird? It feels weird.” I’m not good at being dependent on anyone.

“It’s not weird. You’re not used to it, but it’s normal. Human touch and oxytocin are good for you. Consensually, of course.”

“They do say you need four hugs a day for survival,” I say. Though, I’ve never gotten that many on any day in my whole life and I’m still very alive.

“Yeah,” she says. “Eight for maintenance and twelve for growth. Seems like bullshit to me, though, I do love a good bear hug.”

“Between Zan and Damian, you should be the most grown person around.”

“Right? But we both know I can still be as immature as hell.”

“We both have our moments,” I say. “But that’s what makes us fun. We can’t be classy and serious all the time.”

“When have either of us ever been classy?”

“Yeah, okay. Good point.”

There’s a lot for me to think about when it comes to Tyson. We can’t predict the future, of course. So, I can either fret and worry that this won’t work out, or I can take each day for what it is and enjoy that I can grow and heal with Tyson. Even if we aren’t meant to be together forever.