Chapter 7
ORGASM MATCHMAKERS
Chase
We have a problem.
We actually have two problems—the pact and the orgasm drought our new friend is suffering from.
But first things first.
The pact to never let a woman come between us again. The second Trina is out of earshot, I jerk my gaze to Ryker. “This is awful,” I say, frowning.
“No shit.”
“Like, the worst.” I drag a hand through my hair.
I’m having PTSD about our ex Abby all over again.
I’ve had flashbacks ever since I realized Ryker was hot for Trina, which happened oh, say, the second we met her.
Admittedly, it’s been hard to keep the pact front and center every single second when she is so damn interesting, fun, and sexy.
But I’ve tried to rein in my inner flirt.
Keep the charmer in me locked up in a cage.
Still, it’s time to deal with the problem head-on.
“This is like those logic problems from when we were kids,” I say.
“A train races through the forest and no one is around. How fast is it going when there are no survivors and they come across a doctor in the emergency room?”
Ryker blows out a long breath. “That is not how that logic problem goes. That’s like ten logic problems mangled into one.”
Now he gets it. “Yes. My point exactly. That’s the situation we’re facing.
And we need to roll up our sleeves and solve it,” I say.
We’ve got to just lay it all on the table.
My attraction to her, his attraction to her, then how the hell we can help a woman in need when neither one of us can clearly be the one to volunteer as her tribute.
This is a riddle of the highest order.
“Are you suggesting we flip a coin?”
I scoff. “She’s not the passenger seat in a car. You don’t call shotgun on a woman.”
“Good. Because I thought you were saying that,” he says, relaxing his shoulders a bit.
Then it hits me. “Wait. I thought we were both talking about the same thing. I was talking about the pact, and how awful it is that we can’t help.”
Ryker hesitates, then says, “I was talking about how awful it is that she’s never had a good orgasm. I take the pact as a given.”
“Me too.”
A year ago, Ryker met a gal named Selena at a coffee shop during the off-season.
He was doing a crossword puzzle, he told me later, and she came right over to him and asked if he needed help.
He tossed out a hard clue as a challenge.
Lo and behold, she got it. He asked her out immediately—a rarity for him—and she said yes.
He didn’t tell a soul at first, including me.
But I was with my mom and little brothers on a vacation in Europe, so no big deal.
While we were tromping through Prague and Paris, my soft-hearted friend fell fast and hard and soon I heard about it over text.
When I returned a few weeks before training camp, I met a fabulous gal named Abby in the park where I was hosting a 5K race for charity.
She chatted me up and asked me to go for a run the next day.
Hell yeah.
We had a blast working out together in the mornings, and then we had a blast working out in the bedroom.
One night, I took her out to dinner at a sidewalk café in Hayes Valley. I snapped a pic of us, posted it on social, then took her home with me for the night. Like I’d been doing while I was in town.
The next morning Ryker didn’t show up for our gym sesh.
When I texted him asking what was up, he said you fucking know.
No, I did not.
But he would not even talk to me for days, till he finally exploded with “You’re fucking Selena.”
“What? No, her name is Abby,” I said.
“Bullshit, that’s Selena. I saw the pic on your feed, and you knew I was in love with her. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
What was wrong with her was the question.
Turned out, she’d given us both fake names, along with a couple other guys, and was dating four dudes all at once.
When I confronted her, she laughed and said, “Men have been doing this for centuries. How does it feel?”
Like shit.
She smiled, waved, and told the story on a podcast, calling her social experiment The Dating Experiment.
That was real fun. Only saving grace is she didn’t name names so it never got out that we were part of the duped.
But the worst part was how shitty I felt when it all went down—shitty in every way. I was so angry when Ryker was pissed at me for no reason. Then, when I learned what he thought I did, I was horrified.
Even worse? I thought I’d lost my best bud for a few days there. That sucked.
So we made a pact—don’t let a woman come between our friendship again. We don’t go to bars and call dibs on pretty girls. We do compare names and faces now. I don’t want to get screwed over, and I don’t want him to have the wool pulled over his eyes either.
Mostly, neither one of us wants the drama that comes from falling for someone else’s woman.
Pass.
Besides, I’m dating, romancing, and married to hockey.
That’s the only way for me to live, especially since I promised my dad I’d look after Mom, Jackson, Gavin, and Trevor.
Romance can take a back seat till I retire.
I won’t let my father down. The man was my biggest champion growing up, and I won’t break the promise I made him in his final days.
But since Ryker and I are talking about the pact now, I might as well say it again, so my buddy knows it.
I look him in the eyes. “Look, I still feel bad about Abby,” I say genuinely, since that mess was way harder for him than it was for me.
Ryker was legit in love with the charlatan. I was just having fun.
Ryker shakes his head, exonerating me again. “We’re good, man. I swear. And the best thing that happened to me was seeing that pic of the two of you.”
I scrub a hand across my jaw and focus on this new complication.
“And look, I knew you were hot for Trina. I’ve known since we met her earlier.
If you want to go for her and see what happens, I get it.
No shotgun calling, since it’s up to her if she even likes your grumpy, ugly ass.
But it won’t ruin the pact, because, well we’re talking about it. I’m happy to step back,” I say.
Ryker scoffs. “What do you mean you know?”
I pull a face, like c’mon, it’s me. “You forgot her name because you couldn’t look away from her eyes.”
Ryker huffs like a dragon. Busted. But quickly, he recovers, pointing at me. “Pot. Kettle.”
“What?” I ask, cocking my head. “I’ve been playing it cool all night.”
“Giving her the nickname Miss Book Babe? Patting her shoulder? Smiling like you’re trying to win a toothpaste contest?”
I laugh. “I’m just entertaining her.”
“Liar,” he mutters, but there’s a smirk on his stony face.
“Fine,” I relent, smiling too. “She’s fantastic and gorgeous.
But I feel terrible about her situation.
We have to help her. There has to be something we can do.
Hypothetical lessons? Vibrator shopping?
” I suggest, but those are fails. I think on it for another several seconds till an idea flashes before me.
“What if we try to help her find a good dude? Someone who’s not a selfish prick? ”
“So you want us to be her matchmakers?” He sounds intensely skeptical.
“Maybe,” I offer, desperate to do something. “Is it the worst idea? I hate to see a woman suffer in bed. We could be like…orgasm matchmakers.”
A throat clears. “Or…I have another idea.”
Trina’s back.