“He just stood there and watched you get dressed? Without so much as a word? No apology?”

I shrugged. He had sort of just stood awestruck, but I’d gotten dressed faster than he could have realized what was going on, and tore out of his house like a bat out of hell. I hadn’t bothered to call Veronica when I screeched out of Collier’s driveway. I sent her a text and told her I would be at her house in minutes and to prepare Trish. I hadn’t had time to think about what I was doing. I just knew my head was all kinds of fucked up, and I needed my best friend.

Ronnie asked the questions, and Trish poured the wine. And something in that visit changed between my best friend’s girlfriend and me, but I hadn’t pinpointed it just yet because I was still too mortified to face reality.

“Your life is like a soap opera.” There was humor in Trish’s statement but not condemnation. She handed me a glass before joining us on the couch.

“I don’t get it, Giselle. You’re thirty-nine years old. At what point does this stop being your life?” By “this,” Ronnie referred to the immaturity of the situations I constantly found myself in. It didn’t matter if it were men or women—drama surrounded me.

My eyes narrowed at her judgment. “I guess the same point you stop going out on spending sprees like a teenager with Daddy’s credit card.”

Trish snickered, and for the first time since I’d known her, she was on my side. She hadn’t announced her alliance, but clearly articulating her points to her girlfriend only strengthened my case.

As usual, Ronnie blew me off to focus on the subject at hand. “Tell me again what Beck said when you ran into the house.”

“I don’t remember the exact words, but she implied he’d scared me off—like I had been an option for him until he reared his ugly head.”

“But you don’t even know the guy, right?” Trish couldn’t wrap her mind around the insanity, either.

“They had an intimate morning.”

Trish’s eyes went wide. “You slept with her brother?”

“No! I haven’t slept with anyone.” I took this opportunity to point out I’d been more successful with the recent females in my path than males. “I did, however, have an amazing orgasm courtesy of Roxie last night.”

“Chapping your lips on her leg in a bar to the tunes of classic rock does not count.”

“You’re so vulgar, Veronica.” I turned to Trish. “I have no idea how you put up with her.”

“This from a woman with a thousand ways to say vagina without ever using the actual term.” Ronnie raised her eyebrows at me like she’d proven some point.

“Can we get back to the point here, please?”

“And what would that be, Giselle? That you’re approaching forty but still living the life of a teenager whose hormones are out of control? Give me a break. I hate that you threw up on the guy, but what the fuck were you doing out at two o’clock in the morning, drunk, on a work night, anyhow?”

Veronica had my best interest at heart. I knew she did. We loved each other like sisters, but I’d come here for advice, not a brow beating. “Look, I’m sorry I mentioned it. I should have just gone home.” I unfolded my legs from under me on the couch and set my wine glass on the coffee table.

“Don’t go, Giselle. Ronnie’s just mad because she wasn’t out with you. If she could get away with it, she’d still be pulling all-nighters, too.” I’d never noticed how soft her face could be, almost motherly—which was likely what she considered herself refereeing the likes of V and me. “You deserve to have some fun and explore. You were married for far too long to someone who didn’t appreciate you. Don’t let her rain on your parade.” Not once, in all the time I’d known Trish—and it had been years—had she ever gone to bat for me.

“Am I in the fucking Twilight Zone?” Ronnie shrieked rather than spoke. “Do you two hear yourselves? You went out with a crazy chick who’s now trying to set you up with her brother after reconciling with her ex. And you dry humped a woman in a bar like a dog, before being escorted home by date number one’s twin who you promptly threw up on the next morning. Then to top it off—you gave him a peep show before running out of his house. In what world is Trish sticking up for you, and when did I become the voice of reason?”

I couldn’t stop the gales of laughter that erupted from deep in my belly and out my mouth. Shoulder-shaking, stomach-clenching, can’t-catch-my-breath laughter. My life had become a shitshow, but for whatever reason, I just kept playing along.

We ended up hanging out the rest of the night, which was an early one for me, before I went home…alone. My house was dark when I pulled into the garage. There was no one waiting for me; nobody who cared if I even came back, much less how much I spent on a pair of shoes. I didn’t often find myself in a pity party for one, but lack of sleep and too much alcohol would do that to a girl. Luckily, I was out with the lights and woke the next morning feeling like a new woman.

One positive to my new love interests, my phone kept me busy. If it wasn’t a text from someone I’d recently connected with online, it was Beck or Roxie. I was popular in the most artificial way, but I’d take it. No one else knew I didn’t have a clue who these people were. Well, other than Ronnie and Trish—but neither of them cared.

A text from Roxie brought a smile to my face. I was excited to see her tonight, but the anticipation was different than what I’d experienced with men. A tad nervous, or maybe embarrassed by my actions Thursday, but it felt more like the buzz of seeing a friend I hadn’t seen in ages than a date. No part of me thought about my outfit or my hair. Like a load of bricks dropped on my head, I realized my wallet was in my purse…which was still in Collier’s possession. I couldn’t go out without money and couldn’t get money without my ATM card…in my wallet.

Fuck.

I had two choices: Call Beck and hope she didn’t ask questions—which based on her outburst before I’d left her house was slim to none—or stop by and hope Collier was home. Or three: Hope his car was unlocked in the driveway, and my stuff was still in it.

In my twisted psyche, the last seemed the best choice. I put on a black tank top and black jeans, threw my hair in a knot on top of my head, and found my darkest sunglasses. Because in my mind, dressed in solid black in broad daylight was less conspicuous than shorts and a shirt…coupled with the neon-yellow Camaro that screamed subtly, I proceeded in ninja-stealth mode.

I slowed as I neared the entrance and saw the 911 right where I’d hoped it would be. But instead of pulling in behind him so I’d have to back out, I pulled along the edge of the property, parallel to the road. With the car idling, I jumped out and looked for witnesses. Seeing none, I ran up to the Porsche and tried the handle.

Locked.

With an obnoxiously loud and sensitive alarm system.

I panicked. As if jerking on the handle would open the secured door, not only did I try the driver’s side twice in my haste, but I also ran around to the passenger side and tried it instead of aborting the mission. When I heard the front door open, I glanced up, not in the direction of the porch, but rather the neighbors who were watching me like I was a thief—although I’ll mention, none of them tried to stop me.

“Giselle?” Collier was closing in on me. “Giselle! What the hell are you doing?”

It dawned on me, the car was empty. Had I bothered to look before touching, I would have seen my stuff wasn’t in the floorboard. Just before Collier reached for me, I took off toward my car, jumped in the driver’s seat, and threw it into gear. Only to realize I was sitting at a dead end and had to do a three-point turn to get out of the neighborhood.

By the time my three-point turn morphed into a sixteen-point fiasco, Collier now stood in the middle of the street with his massive arms folded across his chest, his feet shoulder width apart, and a scowl that took over his features. Anger. Fury. Something stronger than rage stood between me and freedom. But even as much as I didn’t want to face him, I couldn’t exactly run him down, so I surrendered and pulled over.

Either Collier was in an incredibly good mood, or he felt sorry for me, but I liked this personality—the other two frightened me.

“Why didn’t you just knock on the door?” he asked, squatting at the side of my car so he was at the window.

My face and shoulders shrugged without an answer.

“Seriously, Giselle. I would have given you your stuff back. I wasn’t holding it for ransom. I wasn’t expecting you to be here last night and didn’t have your number. Beck hasn’t been home since you left, so I didn’t have a way to call you.”

This guy was a totally different person when his sister wasn’t nearby. Like Jekyll and Hyde, but I couldn’t remember which one had been the psycho. Either way, he was the nice one as long as Beck wasn’t within earshot…or maybe even the town limits. He invited me in, and my bag sat in the kitchen on the counter and appeared to be packed.

My nose scrunched at the sight of it and the thought of his vomit-ridden clothes being tucked inside.

His laugh caught me off guard but in a good way. A pleasant surprise. “I cleaned the inside and washed your clothes. Your purse is in there, too, but I didn’t go through it, so whatever is in there was there to begin with.”

Instead of being grateful, the thought of him touching my panties weirded me out—like I was fifteen, and he might have sniffed them…or worse, worn them. Nothing about Collier told me he was a pervert, but I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind.

He held his hands up in surrender. “I promise I didn’t do anything to your stuff. Nothing weird or gross. I didn’t even touch individual garments. Scout’s honor.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Were you even in the Boy Scouts?”

“Not one day.” He winked at me and set my mind at ease.

I glanced over in the living room to an enormous amount of food.

“You hungry?”

“Are you feeding an army?”

“Some of my friends are on their way over to watch the game. You’re welcome to stay. That is if you don’t mind hanging out with a group of middle-aged men.”

It sounded safe enough, and I had a few hours to kill before I needed to meet Roxie. “You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

West didn’t mention that his “group of middle-aged men” were all incredibly good looking and equally single, but I was sure it didn’t occur to him since he thought I feasted on tacos.

They were all good-natured sports fanatics who yelled too loudly, burped too much, and ate like hogs at the trough. I wasn’t a fan of football. I didn’t dislike it; I just knew nothing about it. I laughed at them all acting like fools, hollering at a referee who couldn’t hear them and wouldn’t have cared if he could.

“West, what time we doing dinner?”

There was no way these buffoons could be hungry. They’d just eaten lunch.

“I can order pizzas now if you want? There’s another game on after this one, and I’ve got plenty of beer.”

I bolted upright from my lounged position on his enormous couch. “Oh, shit. What time is it?”

“A little after six, why? You got somewhere to be?”

“Crap. Yes! I have a date at seven.” I scurried to find my bag and put my shoes back on.

“Damn, West. Your girl’s dating other dudes?”

My eyes went wide. I hadn’t even sat next to him. There was no reason anyone would think West and I were together. None. At. All.

“Shut the fuck up, Parker.” He threw a magazine at his friend and stood. “Come on, Giselle. I’ll walk you out.”

I didn’t have time for formalities, so I threw my hand up in a quick goodbye. And then thanked West at the door for letting me hang out.

“Anytime. Give me a call.”

I was wasting precious moments, but I didn’t want him to think I didn’t want to talk to him, but I couldn’t very well call without his number. Once he realized what I was missing, he added his contact to my phone and quickly sent himself a text to get my number, and I squealed my tires trying to get back to my house. I didn’t care about my clothes, hair, or makeup, but I hated being late…anywhere.

* * *

I managed to make it to pick Roxie up and arrived at two minutes to seven. Thankfully, she’d told me to dress casually, so it hadn’t taken long to change clothes. I’d opted for layered tanks and skinny jeans with a kick-ass pair of black platform heels. My unruly hair piled high on top of my head in a messy knot took more time to perfect than it appeared. With a swipe of gloss across my lips, I assessed myself in the rearview mirror, puckered my mouth to ensure it had just the right pout, and then got out of the car.

When Roxie answered the door, my jaw dropped. I could have dragged her into the house and spent hours having her give me makeup lessons. She was tricked out like a fifties’ pin-up girl, and every detail was accounted for, but instead of the polka dot dress, she’d gone for a bright-red button-up she’d tied at the belly button and left agape at the cleavage and tight jean shorts that were cuffed just below her knee. Her shoes alone were reason enough to try to make this work. Talk about fuck-me heels—black patent leather. My furry furnace just danced a jig and started to pant between my legs taking her in.

Roxie could go from classic rock to chic fifties in the blink of an eye and owned it. Her eyes ran the length of my body and returned to my face with a mischievous grin. “You ready?”

“Yep. Where are we going?” She pulled the door shut and turned to lock it. “By the way, you look phenomenal.”

She turned around and kissed my cheek. “You look pretty damn delicious yourself.”

I stopped in front of the car, unsure of whether I should open her door or just get in. I always loved when a man helped me into the car on a date. Her face lit up when I beat her to the door just in time to pull the handle. With her settled, I rounded the front, took a seat, and let my baby sing when I turned the ignition. I couldn’t help it. Every single time I started the car, I held the key and closed my eyes to feel the power fill my body. It irritated the shit out of Ronnie, and my ex-husband always thought my fascination with cars was insipid.

But Roxie didn’t say a word. When I opened my eyes, ready to go, she was focused on me with just a hint of a smile playing on her cheeks.

“So where to?”

“You promise you’ll keep an open mind?” Excitement danced in her eyes, and her laugh lines became prominent as she spoke.

I nodded. I didn’t care what we did as long as I wasn’t sitting at home alone on a Saturday night.

“Roller derby.”

My heart raced at the thought. I’d heard lots about it and seen it on television, but I’d never been.

“My favorite team has a bout tonight. It’s actually a double header, but I wanted to go to see High Rollers battle it out against Bone Breakers.”

“I take it you’re a High Rollers fan?”

She blushed a warm shade of embarrassment, and her eyes softened in the cutest way. “Actually, I’m a Grim D. Mise fan. She happens to be a High Roller.”

“What’s a Grim D. Mise? Keep in mind, I know nothing about roller derby.”

Before she answered my question, she told me where to go. And I drove while she talked. Every time I glanced in her direction, she was more animated than the last. I wished I’d waited to ask questions until we got there. I felt like her facial expressions and clear love affair with the sport were an important part of who she was. Having to keep my focus on the road, I missed those tiny nuances that said so much.

“Surely, she’s not a hundred years old.”

Her shoulders rose in an exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve never asked her just how ancient she is, but she looks like she’s every bit that old. She’s teeny tiny, like five foot nothing, hell on wheels, and can bring a grown man to his knees in tears. She’s just badass.”

I parked the car, but before I could open her door, she’d gotten out and met me on the sidewalk. She took my hand in both of hers and kept turning to face me while she continued talking about the different derby girls who would be here tonight. Her shoulders would curl in as she got worked up in anticipation. The confidence I’d seen in her Thursday night still hovered just under the surface, but this version of her was much more feminine and less hard.

Roxie pulled tickets out of her back pocket when we got to the door, and once inside, I became a puppy on a leash. She knew exactly where she was going and led the way. Roxie also seemed to know every person we passed. It dawned on me everyone here appeared to know everyone—like a cult, or maybe a family. But the second an awkward feeling hit me, this bubble of energy popped next to us, nearly scaring the shit out of me.

“Myra!” Roxie’s voice had gone up an octave calling out to the woman in front of us.

“I’m so glad we ran into you. Giselle, this is Myra Volt. Myra, this is my date, Giselle. Myra is one of the High Rollers.” They chatted briefly before she had to run off, and Roxie and I found seats.

I’d never been to anything like this in my life. The moment the whistle blew, I got sucked in. Hardcore. Talk about high intensity, the fans were insane, their outfits were sexy as shit—even on roller skates, and these women were tough. I didn’t know a damn thing about anything going on, but I was sporting a lady boner from the moment they started moving around the track. After about five minutes, I couldn’t figure out why anyone would rather watch football than roller derby.

Roxie’s hand found my thigh, but I was too into the bout to pay attention to her tracing circles inside my leg or her hand moving slowly toward my baby maker. Her eyes were trained on the track, and she screamed and yelled throughout the first half. She tried to explain the rules and what was going on, but it was much too complicated to understand. All I knew was I wanted to be one of those girls.

“They’re hot, huh?” she whispered into my ear.

The way the heat hit my skin and the words blew a cool breeze across my neck sent a shiver down my spine. My senses were heightened, and my body was raw in the most intimate way. Roller derby caused my insides to purr the way my Camaro did—and I was in love. My eyes followed the Jammer in black, I think Roxie said her name was Aerial, but it didn’t matter—all I knew was little girls needed to aspire to this, not boys with bank accounts.

The night with the derby girls was over sooner than I had wanted it to be. I felt like I’d been inducted into a secret society, and I never wanted to leave. Roxie assured me I could find videos of previous bouts, things fans had put together, if I wanted to keep up with them, and offered to bring me back anytime I wanted to come. I eagerly told her to get me a schedule so we could make plans. I had to have more.

My body was hyped up on adrenaline, amped, ready to go. Roxie seemed just as ignited, but she’d also gotten comfortable and let her guard down. As we left, she wrapped her hand around the side of my waist and tucked the tips her fingers into my front pocket. Being with her was comfortable like things were with Ronnie. This chick knew how to have a good time.

“So, back to my house, or do you want to grab dinner…drinks maybe?”

I hadn’t thought about food all day. I hadn’t eaten at Collier’s because it was all fattening crap that would have added five more miles to my run in the morning. Then I’d left in such a hurry, I hadn’t had time to grab a snack before meeting up with Roxie. “How about an appetizer at a bar with drinks?” I didn’t want to sit at a restaurant for an hour at ten o’clock at night, and I didn’t do fast food…of any variety.

“Sounds good. How about the Tool Box over on Fifth?”

The Tool Box had the best fusion in town and a mixologist on staff. It was an odd type of place no one ever thought would succeed when they had opened, and the name sucked. But they were going strong years later. The first night Roxie and I had gone out, we’d both opted for salads. I didn’t know her motivation, but I had been nervous and didn’t want to eat anything that might upset my stomach. Roxie was thin, and I prayed it wasn’t because she ate like a rabbit.

My eyes went wide in admiration as my date started ordering from the sushi menu, and didn’t expect us to share a roll. I didn’t bother to tell her I didn’t eat rice. A little wouldn’t hurt me, and I was sure the concoctions we were about to down were laced with sugar…a carb by any other name. Tomorrow morning would suck. But tonight…tonight would taste phenomenal.

Roxie had shown me an amazing evening. I’d felt guilty not splitting the bill with her at the Tool Box, but Veronica told me if I liked a girl, not to argue—so I didn’t put up a fight…at least not much of one. I didn’t want her to think I expected her to pay. By the time we’d left, it was nearly midnight. The roller derby had me wired, but the food and drinks relaxed me, so I now hovered somewhere in between. I didn’t want the date to end; I didn’t want to go home, but I was ready to chill out.

I walked Roxie to the front door, completely unsure of how to take the lead here, or if I was even supposed to. But I leaned in and kissed her cheek and thanked her again.

She glanced down, suddenly shy, and peered up at me through hooded lids with doe-like eyes. I swear she batted her lashes like Betty Boop before asking, “Do you want to come in?”

Roxie had been flirtatious all night. She’d casually touched me without being intrusive. And her expression appeared innocent at the moment, but I wasn’t foolish enough to believe there wasn’t a vixen waiting to reveal herself. The moment I stepped through that door, I was accepting her invitation—inviting her to show me how to play the game.

“Yeah. Sure.” And those two words opened up the playing field and the experience meter. Roxie had been the first woman to give me an orgasm. Maybe tonight we’d explore a little further. If ever I was going to be with a woman, Roxie was perfection.

She kicked her heels off and picked them up. I followed her, not knowing where else to go since I’d never been in her house before. She led me to her room where she tossed her shoes into the corner. Maybe she wasn’t perfect—I cringed at the pile of clutter behind the door.

“Take your shoes off, I know your feet must be tired.” I wore heels every day. All day. Other than running in the morning, there was nothing else I’d rather be in. But if she wanted me to get more comfortable, I would. I lifted one foot at a time, like a flamingo, and pushed both shoes off with my pointer finger. I couldn’t bring myself to leave them where they were, so I set them neatly to the left of the door and turned back around.

“Wanna watch a movie?” She’d turned the television on in her bedroom and made herself comfy up against the headboard.

I crawled up the bed like I would have done if a man had been waiting for me. Her gaze heated, and her eyes widened just briefly. The way her skin flushed told me she liked it, and I rewarded her with a teasing grin. I didn’t have a clue what the hell I was doing, but I knew how to flirt. And I certainly knew how to gain someone’s attention—male or female.

Nervously, I swallowed the fear down and curled up at her side. She wrapped her arm around me and slid down, so we were face to face. I couldn’t recall a time I’d ever been this close to a woman, and I could feel my heart pounding, but the excitement that normally filled me and overrode my anxiety when I was body deep with a man wasn’t there. Staring into her eyes, I witnessed her admiration. I’d observed that same gaze time after time just before hooking up with a guy. And when she leaned in, she hesitated for a fraction of a second, and I closed my eyes.

Her lips met mine, they were soft and supple. Without sight, the kiss was no different than hundreds of others I’d experienced in my adult life. She gently turned and gradually opened her mouth. I followed her lead, and our tongues met in a gentle exchange. With each swipe, my mind drifted further from the reality that I was French kissing a woman and focused on the sensation alone. My hands drifted from the safety of her jean-clad hip and around her bottom. Hers moved and roamed along my side and down my thighs. The motions were the same, but everything felt different. Even when a man was tender, there was still a masculine edge to the sensation of his touch. I wanted to push that expectation aside and embrace the pleasure she brought to my body.

As Roxie deepened the kiss, I responded in kind, trying to move past the barrier preventing me from enjoying the experience. But my mind kept making comparisons to past lovers, and it was just different. I didn’t know if she could tell I hadn’t engaged emotionally, physically my body and hands went through the motions, but I hadn’t surrendered to the indulgence. She eased me onto my back and came with me, leaning over me in a lead position. Her hand crept under my shirt, and her fingers traveled up my abdomen and around my breast.

As I forced myself to let go, I kept my eyes closed when she broke the kiss and moved down my torso. Her lips touched my abs, and she shimmied my shirt up my tummy and then over my head. Everything she did felt good, but…off. My first time with a guy had been similar—awkward—but I knew once I ripped off the virgin Band-Aid, I could enjoy an orgasm given by anyone. Hell, I was willing to sleep with Justin just to reach that peak. My drive was high, and my thirst hadn’t been quenched in longer than I cared to admit. Dry humping her thigh in a bar had barely scratched the itch building between my legs.

The angel on my shoulder encouraged me to stop, trust my instincts, go against the grain. The devil on the other one threw caution to the wind and encouraged my hedonistic desire. I took the devil’s hand and his advice. The moment I reached down to unbutton my jeans, Roxie saw the green light and eased out of her clothing as well. Standing next to the bed, she reached behind her to undo her bra and let it fall to the floor while I watched. I took mine off. Then her lace panties. I had to stop myself from asking her where she’d gotten them and hoped I could check the label later. I hooked my thumbs into the sides of my own and then shimmied them down my thighs before kicking them to the floor with my toe.

Her skin was flawless, her breasts small but pert. The lines of her body were soft and curvy—feminine. But as my eyes traveled to her navel and then to her curly curtains, I stared in awe. Unaware I’d started moving, I found myself on my belly, with her next to the bed, and my eyes staring at the intricate hairstyle she sported on her Mounds of Venus.

Roxie giggled at my interest. “You okay down there?”

Those four words pulled me out of my haze…temporarily. “Who does your waxing?”

“I do it myself.” She was proud of the neatly designed trim job, as she should be. It was artwork. I couldn’t fathom how she even managed the details. Tweezers maybe. Fuck, that would be painful. It was bad enough to have your hair ripped from the follicle in large sheets, plucking them one by one to create a pattern other than a strip was impressive…or sadistic, I wasn’t sure which.

She pushed my head back, not knowing I was staring at her furry, pink mink dazzled by her muff. When I made eye contact again, her irises had glazed over with what I assumed could only be lust. I sat up on my knees, and she lay down on her back with her feet on either side of my legs. I now had a front row seat for Snatch of the Caribbean, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay for the show.

The longer I sat there, unmoving, the more she talked…clearly uncomfortable with me between her legs without any action taking place. But I didn’t know the protocol for this situation. And I hadn’t figured out why she got to go first. I wanted her to pitch—I’d catch. She could give me the lay of the land so I’d know how to reciprocate. Right now, I was blind in a field full of land mines.

“You okay?” Her concern was sweet, but I could tell my hesitation made her nervous.

I didn’t care if a person had a man or a woman staring at their golden valley, talking without action meant something was wrong. Sight. Smell. One of the two ate at you the longer the person dawdled. Jesus, I wish I’d had more to drink. I untucked my legs from beneath me and stretched out between her thighs to try to figure out how to enjoy this indoor picnic. Casually, I traced little designs inside her knees and on the tops of her legs while I got into position. But the moment she opened her legs like a butterfly to give me room, and I saw all there was to see, I was lost. The creases, the folds, the nub, the color changes in the skin, the way it glistened—all I could see was a cold-cut combo.

She bolted upright like she’d been shocked and scared the shit out of me. Her face was beet red, but it wasn’t embarrassment—Roxie was pissed off. “Did you just say something about deli meat while staring at my vagina?”

Crap. Crap. Crap. Twice my mind had spoken its inner thoughts with audible words. The first resulted in a much-needed orgasm, this one didn’t look like it would have a happy ending. My brow furrowed, and my lips grimaced. “Shit. I’m sorry, Roxie. I don’t—”

She pulled her legs to her chest, shielding her fluff muffin from my sight. “Just don’t. It was too fast. I get it.”

No. She had it all wrong. It had nothing to do with her. I sighed and sat back on my heels. “It’s not you, Roxie.”

Her gaze had cast to her knees before she rested her chin on them. Seeing her eyes fill with tears shocked the hell out of me. I hadn’t gotten the impression she was terribly sensitive, but I hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings regardless. I knew I had to give her some plausible explanation, but I couldn’t come up with anything other than the truth. At this point, whatever mood she was in had been squashed anyhow, might as well completely slam the door on this fiasco. “I’ve never done this before.”

I couldn’t meet her stare, but I watched as her body unfolded and relaxed. She sat Indian style on the bed, which from this angle was an even less appealing view than being head on. Her fingers touched my chin and lifted it to force me to look at her.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I think that’s the equivalent of telling someone you’re a thirty-nine-year-old virgin. Not exactly something you scream from the mountaintops.”

“You’re a virgin?” Her jaw dropped.

“God, no. Not literally. Just with women.” I scoffed at her assumption.

“So is this just some weird curiosity?”

I grabbed my shirt and tugged it back over my head and reached for my panties on the floor. She might be perfectly comfortable having this heart to heart in the buff, but I wasn’t.

I asked her if she wanted the CliffsNotes version, but she assured me she wanted it all. So that’s what I gave her. The truth of my marriage. The tragedy of dating men coupled with lots of eye rolls. And the straw that broke my heterosexual back…Justin.

“You know you can’t just decide to be a lesbian, right?”

It was like I was staring into the face of my best friend. Lesbians thought they knew everything about being gay. “I’m not convinced.”

“Really?” She eyed me skeptically.

There was no point in arguing with her. Roxie had just joined Beck in the friend zone, and I was back to square one. When I left, I made sure to reinforce my desire to pursue my newfound love for roller derby. Luckily, Roxie didn’t hate me at the end of the night—somehow, I’d endeared myself to her through my cooter blunder, and there was no way she hadn’t become part of my permanent clan.