Destiny on Ice (Boys of Winter #1)(27)

Smiling, I pour another bottle of Grey Goose down the drain and think about my new duo of toys and how I came to acquire them.

Lainey would be so proud.

This afternoon, Brent was off meeting with team bigwigs, which meant I had a few hours to myself. The company I work for finally got around to renting me a car, so I decided to take it out for a little spin around the area. I also needed to get out of the house for a while.

Brent’s home is spacious and beautiful—it’s a huge terra-cotta villa with clay roof tiles and a lovely desert garden dominating the front and extending to the back—but I was feeling closed in.

I’ve already explored the two separate wings of his home, which included a thorough investigation of the area I share with him. That’s right. My damn bedroom is directly across from his. And all this freaking closeness is the real reason why I needed a break from Mr. Hottie’s lair today.

Like it was meant to be, as I was driving along, just aimlessly making random turns, I spotted a sex shop along the side of the road.

“Yes!” I fist-pumped the air as I eased into the lot of the aptly named Giddy-Up Adult Toys. Okay, maybe I more than eased in. There may have been a lot of spinning tire and plumes of dust, but damn it, I was in a hurry to get in that store.

I was so pumped that I started singing, making up a little jingle. Giddy-up, girl, go! Get your freak on in the desert at Giddy-Up Adult Toys.

Damn, I should do marketing on the side.

Then again, maybe not.

In any case, it was all new to me, and I was excited. I’ve never owned a sex toy, but my sister, as she likes to remind me, swears by them. It’s high time I hop on that horse and go for a ride, that’s what she’s been telling me. Well, if I can’t ride Brent—and I absolutely cannot—then the Giddy-Up sex toy store would have to provide the next best thing.

“Surely they’ll have something for me,” I told myself as I cut the ignition.

By then I was feeling a tad self-conscious after my splashy arrival, so I slid the scarf I was wearing up to cover my head. I then threw on a pair of cat-eye sunglasses, completing what was quickly becoming my fifties movie star appearance. No matter. I wanted to remain incognito and it was effective. Not that I expected to run into anyone, but with my luck it seemed a prudent move.

To my dismay, I received quite a few looks when I walked in that store. Not because I was a woman coming in to buy a sex toy—I’m sure that happened a lot—but because I kind of looked like I was about to hold up the joint.

With a nod to the scruffy surfer-looking dude manning the register, I scurried back to a wall of toys.

Damn, what I found was a dizzying array of pleasure devices, in all sorts of shapes, colors, and sizes. I peered at the packages, but it was a little hard to see with the dark glasses on.

Hastily, I grabbed two toys—one pink and one green. Yeah, color me the preppy perv. I then scampered over to the register and paid with cash, all while casting surreptitious glances left and right.

After my new purchases were placed in a bag, I grabbed the parcel and raced to the exit.

But then I heard, “Miss, you forgot your receipt.”

Damn! I ignored the clerk and kept going, intent on my escape—er, I mean departure—from the store.

The damn persistent clerk was not deterred, however. He followed me out to my car. “Please, lady, would you hold up a sec,” he called out as I hopped in what was no longer my car, but my getaway vehicle.

Removing my sunglasses, I threw the bag on the passenger seat and started up the engine. But by then there was no getting away. The surfer-dude had reached my open window.

He held out the slip detailing my purchases. “You forgot this,” he said.

Snatching the receipt from his hand, I snapped, “Why do I need a receipt, anyway? I can’t imagine you take returns.”

“We don’t,” he confirmed. “But you can always exchange unopened merchandise.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” I deadpanned.

Kill me now. I can’t believe I’m talking sex toy return policies out in the parking lot.

I felt my face warm, especially when I placed the receipt he’d handed me in the plain brown bag containing my purchases. It was then I noticed exactly what I’d bought. One item was something called the DPMB. When I peered more closely, I horrifyingly realized the letters stood for Double Penetrator Mega Blaster.

O_O That was me for a good solid minute.

And why wouldn’t it be? Based on the size alone, the DPMB looked like it could cause some real damage. I pushed that one aside and saw the other toy I’d bought—a lime green vibrator with the weird name of Area 51.

Remembering that I was in Nevada, not far from the secret government testing area where they supposedly experiment on aliens, the name suddenly made sense. In fact, the more I peered at Area 51, the more I realized the toy did indeed resemble what one might imagine an alien’s dick would look like—long and thick and florescent lime green. There was a sticker on the package that boasted that Area 51 glowed brightly when in use.

“Wow, that must be something to see,” I couldn’t help but blurt out.

Would it be like those glow sticks they sell at events?

Or, was it radioactive?

Yikes, was it even safe to use?

I’d forgotten for a second that I wasn’t alone, and when I glanced up, still kind of perplexed about that glowing part, the sales clerk was staring at Area 51 right along with me. He proceeded to casually inform me, “That there Area 51 is a really big seller around here. The ladies seem to like it a lot.” He paused and pondered, and then he added, “I’m not sure if it’s popular because the real Area 51 isn’t far from here, or if they buy it because Brent Oliver wears number 51.”