Chapter 5 Joanie #2
Even the tips of my ears felt hot. If I was honest about my inexperience, then they might think it odd.
They probably already thought I was weird since I tried to get out of as many club socials as I could.
These were the conversations I was trying to avoid.
There was nothing weird about it. Better to wait than to rush into something that didn’t feel right.
Lana rubbed a spot of dirt on her perfectly arched eyebrow. “Is anyone going to Menorca with you?”
I kept my gaze fixed on my football boots. “They’re sending Kieran Earnshaw.”
“Kieran Earnshaw? Ugh. I’m sorry,” Skylar said.
“Why are you sorry?” I twisted in time to catch her fleeting grimace.
She shrugged. “They’re all a pain on the men’s team, aren’t they?”
Bemusement curved Lana’s lips. “I did a football gala thing with him years ago in this fancy hotel. Before Alex, obviously. I was throwing out all my best chat-up lines and he pulled out his phone and started scrolling right in front of my face. So obnoxious.”
Skylar’s tone was bland and innocent. “Or maybe your lines weren’t as good as you thought?”
“Harsh!” Lana snatched the notepad and swatted Skylar’s arm with it playfully. “My lines are amazing. Thank God for Alex. At least someone appreciates me.”
“Sean bitched about Kieran all the time when we were together, but Sean bitched about everyone,” Skylar said. “I’m sure he fits right in with the rest of them—cocky, scandalously overpaid, and permanently hungover.”
Lana tapped the pen against her lips. “I don’t know. He could be perfect. A tattooed bad boy. Everyone loves a bad boy . . . for a while anyway. I bet he knows what he’s doing in the bedroom.”
Lana scribbled some brackets next to the first item on the list.
1) Wild, horny rebound sex in Menorca. (Kieran Earnshaw???)
My heart pounded. I fought the urge to snatch the pad and scribble it out. “You must be kidding.”
“Why not? He’s perfect rebound material. Not the type you take home to the parents. No strings,” Lana said.
Oh my gosh. No. I covered my face with my hands. “No way. He’s not my type.”
Lana laughed. “A man who looks like that is everyone’s type.”
Wrong. He’d shown up to a meeting late, looking suspiciously hungover, and he was rude to his manager.
Sean Wallace and Kieran Earnshaw were everything that was wrong with Calverdale United.
If anyone dared act like them on the women’s team, they’d be dropped from the squad and vilified in the press.
Kieran got away with whatever he wanted.
He also looked like a smile would crack his face.
Skylar blew out a breath and flashed a glance at Lana. “Why are you still here? How long does a stitch last?”
Lana chuckled. “Right. We need to be quick.” She angled the pen to me. “Oral?”
A strange, choked gasp left my lips. “I’m sorry?”
Lana’s face was deceptively composed, as though we were discussing tactics on the pitch and not engaging in the most excruciating conversation of my life. “Do you know how to give a really good blow job? Because that’s a game-changer. And it needs to be someone able to return the favor.”
I chewed my lip, unable to form a reply.
Lana took a frank look at me, and bowed her head to the page. “I’m writing it down.”
“You don’t have to write that down. Please, this is really not—”
“Sex outdoors?” Lana tapped her pen on my leg impatiently.
I shook my head. “No, but—”
“On a plane?”
“No.”
“On a beach?”
“No.”
“Multiple orgasms?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“That’s a no. You’d know if you’d had multiples.” She paused with her pen, hovering over the page. “You’ve got a decent vibrator, right? Because if not, that needs to be number one.”
Skylar’s eyes were scolding, but she couldn’t keep the trace of laughter from her voice. “What is wrong with you? Why is it all sex stuff?”
“Because it’s a fuck-it list. We can do yours next if you like?” Lana twisted to survey her friend and drew her lips in thoughtfully. “Although, you’ve been bright-eyed and bushy-tailed since the honeymoon. I bet there isn’t much uncharted territory left on your list.”
Skylar’s cheeks pinked. “You need to get back on that pitch.”
Lana chuckled. “Yup. That’s what I thought.” She twisted back to me. “69?”
Oh my gosh. Please stop. I will pay you to stop. I forced a laugh, but it held an edge of hysteria. “No.”
Lana scribbled the items, filling the page. “See, this is the fuck-it list you need. Find a willing volunteer in Menorca and you can tackle all these. Granny Vera would have approved.”
Claire drifted closer and tossed us a withering look. My mouth went dry.
Lana ripped the paper out of the notepad and thrust it into my hands. “To be continued.”
OK, but let’s never continue this.
Lana flashed me a wave and a disarming smile as she headed to rejoin training. “I enjoyed that. Writing other people’s fuck-it lists might be my calling in life.”
I looked up to find Skylar watching me. Her tone softened. “There was nothing wrong with your original list. Lana’s just trying to help. We both are. It will be OK, you know . . . the commercial, coming back to play, everything.” She squeezed my hand. “Just try to stay positive.”
“That’s what my dad always says.”
Skylar nodded, although she’d turned her attention back to the pitch. I folded the list, shoved it in my jacket pocket, and hoped I never had to look at it, or speak or even think about it, ever again.