Power Play (D.C. Stars #2)

3. Piper

THREE

PIPER

“I have something to tell you all,” I say to my girlfriends once we settle into a booth at Mama Melrose’s on Friday night. “And I could use some advice, because I’m woefully out of my comfort zone by admitting this.”

“What is it?” Emerson—Emmy, as we all call her—rests her elbows on the table and stares at me with wide green eyes. It’s the same look from when we met in high school, and even though we lost touch for a while after graduation, both busy with life and chasing our dreams, it’s still wild to think about how long we’ve been friends. “Is it a sex thing? A fetish? I’ve seen some weird shit, Piper. Your secret is safe with us.”

“No. No . It’s tamer than that, and definitely more embarrassing.” I pause, then let out a soft laugh. “But remind me to ask you about those stories after a few glasses of wine.”

“Hey.” Maven, the Stars’ team photographer, nudges the bottle of Italian chardonnay we ordered out of the way. “You don’t have to be embarrassed to tell us anything. This is a judgment-free zone.”

“Remember when I was teaching Pilates and my pants split in two when I was demonstrating a pike on the Reformer?” Lexi asks, and we all giggle. “Emmy brought me a new pair of leggings for my next class, and you two told me it was because I have an ass that won’t quit.”

“Still true,” I say. “This is more personal, though.”

“More personal than showing off my G-string to the shy single dad in the front row?” She sighs. “He never came back, which is such a bummer. He was cute.”

“It’s about my pathetic personal life. Everything seemed so scary after the divorce. Talking to men. Getting to know them. Putting myself out there and letting someone new see the parts of myself I’m still learning to love. So much of my adult life has been spent being part of a couple, and the idea of starting over again was nerve-racking.” I drag a finger along the stem of my glass, building up my courage. “I took a step back to enjoy being single, to do the things I want to do when I want to do them, but lately I’ve been feeling lonely.” I pause to take a sip of my wine. “Really lonely, if we’re being honest. I see you all in love, and it makes me feel like I’m missing out on something important. Like I’m behind. I know I got my heart broken once, but I’d like to believe I can find love again.”

“She’s talking about you all being in love, ladies,” Lexi tells Maven and Emmy. “Not my single ass.”

I laugh and rub my arms, but I’m on edge.

I feel stripped bare telling the girls all of this. They’d never judge me; we’ve shared everything with each other over the course of our friendships, from horrible date stories to shit we’re dealing with at work, but there’s something so raw, so human about sharing the things you’re most afraid of. It’s intimidating to put them out in the universe. To voice your fears and confront them head-on.

“It’s normal to feel lonely,” Maven says gently. “Society tells women we’re supposed to hit these milestones by certain ages, or it’s too late. Like, if we’re not settled down by our twenties, we’ll never find love or have time for children, and that’s bullshit.”

“I love when Mae’s fuck the patriarchy side comes out.” Emmy smiles. “For the record, it is bullshit. Look at me and Maverick. We’re in our thirties. Sure, we’re engaged, but we aren’t married. If this were the 1940s, we’d be shunned.”

“You’re not behind, Piper. You’re taking your time and waiting for the right guy to come along,” Maven adds.

“How do I find the right guy when I can’t even navigate this new world of modern love? Steven and I met my freshman year of college in the dining hall when phones weren’t touchscreen.” I stare at a photo of the Leaning Tower of Pisa hanging on the wall behind Maven’s shoulder and tilt my head to the side. “I didn’t have to go on any websites or list five places I want to travel to before I die in a dating app bio. He ran into me. I dropped my pancakes, and that was it. A love story that was wonderful until it wasn’t, and now I have to learn how to start dating again. I spent five minutes on the apps last year and gave up.”

“If you want to try them again, I’ll vet the dudes to make sure they’re worthy of your time. There will be no unsolicited dick pics,” Lexi says.

“Thanks for fending off all the penises.” I pat her thigh. “But what about sex? That’s what I’m most worried about. Steven and I were barely intimate. The times we were, it wasn’t very good. I mean, I’m assuming it was mediocre at best. I have nothing to base it off of, since he’s the only guy I’ve been with. I didn’t enjoy it very much though, and I don’t think I’m very good. I can’t launch myself back in the dating pool without knowing how to give a good blow job. How much tongue do I use? And what do I do with my hands?”

Our server picks that moment to appear. She sets the breadsticks on our table and looks at the four of us with a weak smile.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “Are you all ready to order?”

“Could you give us a few more minutes?” Maven flips over the menu. “I don’t think we’ve decided.”

“Sure.” The server turns for the kitchen. Judging by her red cheeks, I’m afraid she’s never coming back. “Take your time.”

“Great.” I groan. “I probably traumatized her. She didn’t clock in thinking the people ordering thirty-dollar pasta dishes would be talking about blow jobs.”

“Speaking of blow jobs: have you thought about a sex coach?” Lexi asks.

“What the hell is a sex coach?”

“Someone who helps you sort through hesitations you might have with intimacy or sexual-related things. My friend from college is a licensed one. She works with couples and individuals all the time.”

“There’s a job for that?” Emmy asks.

“There’s a job for everything these days,” Maven says.

“She comes up with a plan for you. Technique and homework so you can practice,” Lexi tells us.

“Homework?” I repeat. “I’m supposed to sleep with random men for, what? Science?”

“Isn’t that what being single is about? Doing what you want with who you want?” Lexi tosses her dark brown hair over her shoulder and shrugs. “It’s sexual freedom and exploration. Sounds fun to me.”

“I appreciate the sex positivity and I’m glad there’s someone out there who can help with that sort of thing, but it’s way too intimidating to talk to a professional about my lack of experience. I don’t know how I’m going to tell a man I’m seeing my ex-husband only made me come five times throughout the course of our ten-plus year relationship. It would only prove how clueless I am in the bedroom, and who wants to sleep with someone who’s clueless?”

“We’re going to need some more alcohol.” Lexi tops off my glass with fresh wine. “Taking some time to learn what you may or may not like in bed would be a good starting point. The internet can be helpful. There are articles out there so you don’t have to talk to anyone if it makes you uncomfortable. And, if we’re being honest, I’ve learned a lot about myself from romance books.” She blushes at this, and I’m reminded how much I love my friends and their vulnerability. “I’ve realized I’m into things I thought I might not like by reading about them and learning through fictional characters. It sounds silly, but this is the happiest I’ve been sexually.”

I laugh and take another sip of my drink. “I’m envious of your ability to go up to a man and get what you want. You walked up to that guy at the bar last weekend like it was nothing and ended up going home with him. I want to be able to do that.”

Lexi’s always been that way; confident in her sexuality. Able to voice what she wants and what she doesn’t. She’s slept with plenty of men, arguing that if they’re allowed to go around and fuck anything that moves for their pleasure, she should be able to do the same.

“You have to work up to it, sweetie. You’re not comfortable with it yet because you’ve never done it. It takes time and that’s okay,” she says.

“You can always ask us,” Maven adds. “I’ll tell you everything Dallas and I do in the bedroom so you can consider if you might like it too.”

Dallas Lansfield is Maven’s husband and the greatest kicker to ever play in the NFL.

They had a whirlwind romance and fell in love while she was a nanny for his—now their—daughter, June. It was impossible for them to stay away from each other, and they’re still inseparable.

Sometimes when I watch the two of them together—and Maverick and Emmy—there’s this aching sting of jealousy in my chest. Pressure behind my lungs, not because I’m attracted to their partners, but because my previous relationship never looked like theirs, even on our best days.

The further removed I get from my divorce, the more upset I am. I’m angry and resentful. For someone who’s always been a lover, not a fighter, the person who gives third and fourth chances when she shouldn’t have given a second, it’s exhausting to despise someone like I despise Steven.

There’s so much grief over wasted time. So much disappointment from years spent with a man who never looked at me the way my friends’ partners look at them: like they hang the moon. Like they’re grateful to even breathe the same air as them.

I wonder if I’m too late to ever have that again.

I wonder if there’s still time for me to find my new happily ever after.

My entire previous relationship was spent being put in second place to his work. To his company and the investors who were helping him build a name for himself in a cutthroat tech industry. I was behind his money and his titles and his professional achievements.

And behind his twenty-three-year-old secretary, Julia, who he spent all his free time with and found far more interesting than me.

It must be nice to be someone’s top priority. The object of all of their attention and everything they’ve ever dreamed about.

What would that be like?

“Sometimes I make Maverick fuck me while he wears my jersey so he knows who he belongs to,” Emmy says, pulling me back to the present and shoving the past aside.

“As if the tattoo on his chest that says Emmy’s Pretty Boy doesn’t tell the whole world he’s happily taken,” Maven teases. “I’ve had to ask him to put his shirt on for official photos because he likes to walk around bare-chested and show it off.”

Emmy sighs and twirls a strand of red hair around her finger. “I love that man.”

“You all were friends with benefits first, right?” Lexi asks, and Emmy nods. “What if you tried something like that, Piper? A sexual relationship where you hook up and experiment with the same person.”

“Where do I find him?” I ask. “Craigslist?”

“Only if you want to get murdered.” She clicks her tongue and gives me a look like she’s hoping I’m joking. “The dating apps are a great place to find a fuck buddy. If you put not looking for anything serious in your Tinder bio, men would flock to you.”

“They would,” Maven says. “And we can help make sure you get everything set up.”

I smile and look around the table. My cheeks are warm. My heart is full, and, despite being single and going home to an empty apartment every night, I’ve never felt so loved.

“I appreciate all of you. You loved me when I didn’t feel lovable. You showed me that the good kind of love—the kind that lifts you up and supports you when you’re feeling low—is worth fighting for. Is worth waiting for, instead of settling for average.” I wipe a tear away. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying. Just… thank you. Thank you for being here and believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

“A toast.” Maven lifts her glass, and we all follow suit. “To the women who get knocked down but come back stronger than before.”

“To friendship that isn’t competitive but collaborative.” Emmy shows a rare display of emotion when she dips her chin and takes a deep breath. “Some people aren’t lucky enough to have one friend like you girls in their lives, and I have three.”

“You all said the mushy shit already, so I’m going with this: to better dicks going forward,” Lexi jokes. “We’re not settling for any man who only makes us come five times in ten years. We have new standards.”

We cheers, and I laugh until my sides hurt. Until tears stream down my face not from sadness, but from joy. From being so damn happy. From feeling like I’ve finally found the path I want to walk down, and knowing I won’t have to do it by myself.