At the bottom of the steps, I see plastic bags of birdseed and nuts. I expect Tilden meant to take them home, but she’s not coming back for them.

  I glance at the chipmunk watching me, his little tail aflutter.

  My eyes fall to the bag of peanuts still in their shells.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Chiding my weakness, I bend over and open the bag. I grab a handful and place them on the railing at the top of the steps. I move down to the ground and watch as the chipmunk darts forward and stuffs two in his mouth, one in each cheek pocket. Without an ounce of fear, he scampers down the sloping rail that runs along the steps, straight at me. Then he leaps to the ground, hangs a sharp left, and darts under bushes twenty yards away.

  Maybe that’s where his home is.

  Shrugging and putting the little rodent out of my mind, I head to the far side of the yard. I notice a beer is missing, and I’m guessing Tilden took it. The one I’d left in the chair’s cup holder is warm, so I pour it out. Cracking a cold one open, I settle into the chair and stare at the trees.

  What’s Tilden doing on the other side of this copse? Did she go shower to wash away what I did to her? Did she touch herself the way I did in my shower?

  Or could she be over there making voodoo dolls in my likeness so she can poke them with stick pins?

  I’m betting the latter.

  Leaning back, I stare into the canopy of leaves. Tilden’s the first woman I’ve touched since I let Darcy suck my cock. That occurred the night before the Columbus road trip, so it’s been a long, dry four months.

  Not that I’ve been interested in anyone.

  Darcy and her duplicitous ways killed that.

  Well, and the plane crashed. It not only took away my opportunity to make things right, it took my friends.

  Fury flushes through me, and I throw back a long swallow of beer. Then despair kicks in as I bemoan how unfair fate was to knock that plane from the sky before I could ease my conscience. Not only was I left with survivor’s guilt, but I’m completely awash in shame that I did my teammate wrong and couldn’t correct the situation.

  I tried, though.

  I fucking tried the very next morning. I had woken up and unfortunately could remember all the dirty details of what had happened—the mediocre blow job after Darcy told me she and Kyle had broken up, and worse, the clear memory of how I’d struggled with the decision. That even though they weren’t together, I still let her blow me knowing it was wrong. I made the wrong choice, and I wasn’t so drunk that I don’t remember battling with my morals.

  In the bright light of day, I felt like shit in more ways than one. I was wrestling with guilt and a hangover, and on top of that, I had chills. A quick temperature check read a hundred and one.

  I had to get to the airport because the team was leaving for Columbus, so I popped two Tylenol and hoped the fever would abate. I left early to get Kyle alone. I had to tell him what happened and beg his forgiveness. I’d tell him I was drunk, but I’d also accept responsibility, and I hoped his loyalty to me as his Titans brother ran deeper than whatever he felt for Darcy, who’d only been in his life a few weeks and who he admittedly wasn’t serious about.

  The drive to the airport took forever. I was nervous about talking to Kyle, and I was feeling worse, from feverish hot flashes to wracking chills that made my teeth chatter. I was bathed in sweat by the time I pulled into the hangar, and my body ached all over. I wouldn’t be able to get on the plane without medical clearance, but that didn’t matter. I needed to talk to Kyle.

  I grabbed my gear and headed for the private lounge. I was twenty feet away when, to my shock, Darcy came walking out. She was perfectly put together, hair glossy, makeup in place. She looked like she’d just walked off a fashion runway.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

  She smiled at me impishly. “Dropping Kyle off.”

  “Dropping Kyle off?” I hissed, taking her by the arm and walking her away from the building so no one could see us through the doors. “You told me last night you two were broken up.”

  “And we were,” she said with a tiny pat on my chest. “But he called me after I left the party at your place, and we patched things up.”

  “Did you go over there and suck his cock too?” I asked, feeling dizzy from the fever.

  Darcy pouted at me. “Don’t be jealous.”

  “I’m not fucking jealous, you nutjob. I’m pointing out that you’re a tramp. You came on to me, and I would have never looked twice at you had you not told me you were broken up. Only to find out you’re not. Do you know what a fucking awkward position that puts me in with Kyle?”

  “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she replied breezily.

  “Except he’s going to know. I came here early to get a moment with him.” My throat tickled, and I coughed into my arm. Shit. I was sick.

  “You are most certainly not going to tell him,” she snarled, poking me in the chest with a long, fake nail.

  I pushed her hand away. “I am going to tell him.”

  She grabbed my wrist and implored. “Don’t. He’ll break up with me.”

  “And he’s going to kick my ass,” I growled, pulling free. “But I can’t keep this a secret.”

  “You do, and I’ll tell him you forced me,” she blurted out as I started to walk away.

  I glanced at her as I reached the door. “No one will believe that. My teammates know me. I might be a shit for touching you, but they know I’d never force myself on someone.”

  She moved my way but stopped when I held out my hand.

  “Can you at least wait until you come back?” she begged. “It’s not fair to do it before a game. You’ll mess him up. At least wait until you get back.”

  That gave me pause. I let the door go as I considered her words. If I walked into that lounge and told Kyle I let his girlfriend suck my cock—drunk or not, broken up or not—he would come after me. There would be a fight, and it would tank team morale as a whole.

  Could I do that just to alleviate my conscience?

  It was a no-brainer. “Fine,” I said in a low voice. “But when we get home, I’m telling him.”

  “Okay, fine. And we were drunk. It will be fine. I’ll beg for forgiveness.”

  “Get in line,” I muttered as I turned from her and headed into the lounge. She hadn’t known Kyle as long as I had. We’d been playing together for four years now, and we were tight. He wasn’t going to forgive her.

  I had no clue what he would do to me or if our friendship was in jeopardy. I vowed right then and there that if I could get his forgiveness and salvage our friendship, I’d never get drunk again.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t get to talk to him. I had to check in with the team’s medical staff and report my fever. My temperature was taken again, and despite the Tylenol, it had crept up to a hundred and two.

  I was sent packing with instructions to head to the doctor for an examination, and I did not join the team on that trip.

  Turns out I had the flu, and I watched the game on TV that night from my bed.

  I was still watching TV when the plane crashed a few hours after the game ended and the news broke.

  When it was confirmed that everyone aboard had died, something broke inside me. The pain and grief of losing all my friends. The realization that I never got to make things right with Kyle. That I was the rotten asshole on the team, and I was spared a horrible death.

  I didn’t deserve that grace. I should have gone down with my team. It would’ve been an easy penance.

  Now I’m stuck behind, living day in and day out with the knowledge I’m the worst sort of person, and I don’t deserve anything good.

  Certainly not a hockey career. My new teammates deserve better than me because they could never truly trust me.

  The leaves above me blur, causing me to blink. I stand from the chair and swallow the rest of the beer. Christ, I hate thinking about that time.

  Hate that my decisions still plague me and the crash took away my chance to make things right with Kyle. I hate that Darcy put me in that position, and I hate myself most of all.

  CHAPTER 10

  Tillie

  “Okay, drink up, ladies,” Hayley says as she holds her tequila shot in the air. We’ve got the requisite liquor, salt, and lime laid out.

  Erica, Ann Marie, and I hoist our shots high.

  “To the best friends a girl could have,” Hayley says earnestly, her short blond hair falling across her forehead and obscuring one eye.

  I lick the salt from my hand, down the shot, and then suck on the lime before hissing through my teeth.

  We do this every few months. There are a handful of pubs in the Coudersport area, but not all are close enough that we can actually crawl from one to the next. As such, Erica’s boyfriend, Hank, plays our designated driver and carts us all around. He’s a good guy, loves Erica mightily, and nurses a Coke at each bar we visit.

  Best of all, he doesn’t sit with us. It’s a true girls’ night out, and he usually stays on the opposite side of whatever bar we’re in so we can talk about girl stuff.

  This is our second stop of the night, thus our second shot. We’ll hit a few more bars and then Hank will load us up and take us home. We’ll all stay at his and Erica’s place tonight, and then Hank will fix us all a nice big breakfast in the morning.

  It’s tradition.

  I called for a bar crawl yesterday after my encounter with Coen. I’ve labeled it an encounter because if I call it what it was—oral sex—I am overwhelmed with feelings. In no particular order, they are desire, anger, embarrassment, humiliation, amusement, and disbelief.

  It’s singularly the oddest, most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me, and yet it’s left me in a rotten mood because I’m so damned confused as to what it all means.

  I texted the girls when I got back to my house, and it was simple: I need a bar crawl tomorrow night. I’ve got something huge to discuss.

  Of course, the girls all texted back wanting to know immediately what was going on, but I couldn’t go into it with them without the fortification of alcohol. The whole humiliation angle of letting him do that to me—and enjoying it more than all the ice cream in the world—is going to make it tough to talk about.

  But these are my girls, and I’m loosening up. Maybe at the next bar I’ll be ready.

  “God, I hope I don’t puke tonight,” Ann Marie laments. “Last time we did tequila, I was hugging the toilet for hours.”

  “You drank coffee-flavored tequila,” Hayley points out. “That’s what made you throw up.”

  Ann Marie gags at the reminder. We told her not to do it because—eww, gross—coffee-flavored tequila is barf-worthy just from the name.

  I glance at Erica to find her staring across the bar at Hank. She has pale blue eyes and long, wavy dark brown hair. She smiles wistfully at him while he cheerfully talks to another guy at the bar, their eyes on a televised soccer match.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” I say, kicking her under the table. She doesn’t even jolt, and I attribute that to the fact we’re all a little mellow from the tequila.

  She sighs. “Just thinking about after we get home and you drunk chicks pass out, all the dirty things I’m going to do to Hank.”

  “TMI,” Ann Marie yells and bangs her shot glass on the table. “More tequila, Sammy.”

  The bartender lifts his chin to acknowledge the order.

  “Whoa,” I say, interested in what Erica just said. “Not too much information. What are you going to do?”

  “Oral,” she says with a resounding nod. “I’m not the most sexually free person, but get a little liquor in me, he gets his dick sucked, and I swallow.”

  Hayley, Ann Marie, and I gape at Erica. Apparently, a little liquor also opens all of her TMI locks.

  I’m not put off by this conversation at all, but it is a little unusual. While I love my girls to pieces, we don’t usually talk about these things in such detail, and I think it’s because most of us don’t have a lot of experience. We were considered the dorks in high school, and not one of us dated anyone seriously. I didn’t lose my virginity until I got to college, and I didn’t share details after it happened. I just sort of giggled about it with my girls over beers purchased with a fake ID.

  We talk about everything under the sun, but when it comes to our sex lives, which aren’t all that active for any of us except Erica, we vague it up a bit.

  Erica is being very specific, and it is exactly the confidence boost I need to talk about Coen.

  “I’ve got an oral sex story,” I proclaim, which is a horrible lead-in but causes all three women to whirl their attention my way.

  “You do?” Hayley asks. “Like… from college?”

  Yes, my sex life has been dead lately, and thus, the question is legitimate.

  I shake my head. “Yesterday afternoon. I had oral sex with my neighbor up against a tree in his backyard.”

  A shot glass of tequila appears before me, and I glance up to see Sammy there with three more shots and a smirk in place. My face flames hot while my friends snicker.

  Once he’s gone, I lead the toast since it’s my turn. “Here’s to another shot of liquid courage if I’m going to tell you this story.”

  “Hear! Hear!” the girls shout, and we lick, swallow, and suck, which is highly appropriate given the theme of our conversation.

  I set my glass down and take a deep breath. My girlfriends lean forward to listen.

  “Okay, so you know my asshole neighbor Coen?” I begin, which is stupid. Of course, they know about him—they helped me set up all the feeders and salt licks night before last. “Anyway, his yard was apparently a literal zoo yesterday morning, and he wasn’t happy about it. He came over and confronted me. Told me I had to clean it up, or he would call the police.”

  “Such a dick,” Ann Marie says.

  “Too true,” Hayley echoes.

  “So you told him to go fuck himself?” Erica guesses.

  “No,” I exclaim with a laugh. “I didn’t want to get arrested, so I went over there and cleaned it up.”

  My words falter and freeze on my tongue. They all stare at me expectantly, knowing this story’s origins came about while discussing oral sex. Air gushes out of me along with a litany of words that run into one another. “He was out there watching me take down the bird feeders, and we got into a fight and then he’s kissing me and next thing I know, he has my pants off, pinned me up against a tree, and his mouth was… well, between my legs, and I had the best orgasm of my life.”

  Dead silence at the table, making the chatter of bar patrons seem overwhelmingly obnoxious. All three girls stare at me with blank expressions, mouths hanging open.

  Then they all three start laughing at the same time. Ann Marie punches my arm. “That’s a good one, Tillie.”

  “Man…” Hayley sighs dreamily. “But imagine if something like that did happen. Like he gets all alpha and dominant. Like, you’re running your mouth and he’s irritated and decides to kiss you just to shut you up.”

  “That’s exactly what happened,” I say, gaze dropping to the glass. I could use another shot.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Erica asks.

  “Not kidding.” I laugh nervously as I look around the table. “Am I a tramp?”

  “Wait a fucking minute,” Ann Marie says, leaning even closer, her expression dead serious. “He performed oral sex on you?”

  I nod.

  “Then what happened?”

  “He walked away. Told me that if I had cut down the trees, he wouldn’t have been able to do that to me.”

  “Holy Jeebus,” Hayley wheezes. “That’s hot, right? Or am I a pervert for thinking it’s hot?”

  “It’s hot,” Erica says emphatically.

  “There’s more,” I say, and the girls lean farther, their expressions eager for the rest of my story.

  I tell them about how the morning started with Coen coming to my door and that I kissed him to get him to shut up.

  “Oh my God,” Ann Marie huffs, a hand pressed to her throat. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “Me either,” I assure her. I tell them about sitting at Masha’s and Cici showing up.

  “Bitch,” Hayley says.

  “I’m drunk,” Erica announces. “She’s a cunt.”

  Ann Marie smacks Erica. “Gross. Don’t use that word. But she is the C word.”

  I recount how Coen appeared out of nowhere. I hadn’t noticed him as I was immersed in my drawings. How he chased Cici off and sat down at my table, claiming I was the friend he was meeting.

  “So, he’s sort of a hero now,” Erica muses. “An asshole hero who gives unicorn orgasms.”

  I snort, and then add on the biggest piece of news. “I also found out he’s a professional hockey player with the Pittsburgh Titans.”

  “Wait… what’s his full name?” Erica asks.

  “Coen Highsmith.”

  “Oh my fucking God,” Erica shrieks, and people at tables near us turn to look. She lowers her voice. “Coen Fucking Highsmith ate you out? This is a goddamn dream, Tillie. The man is an amazing hockey player, and he’s all broody and got in all kinds of trouble after the plane crash. He was suspended from the team, and who knows if he’ll play next year, but jeez, the man is hot. He’s like walking sex on a stick.”

  Erica didn’t tell me a thing I didn’t already know either from googling him or from personal experience. He’s got a bad rep now.

  “Well, there you have it. My dirty little story,” I say with an anxious chuckle.

  “Are you going to see him again?” Ann Marie asks.

  I frown at her. “No. I mean, unless you count in court. We’re enemies, remember.”

  “You’re sexemies,” Hayley points out, and my friends fall into peals of laughter at my expense.

  “We’re nothing,” I assure them. “It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences, but truly, he was only doing it to try to intimidate me.”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “Orgasms do not intimidate people. They’re gifts. He gave you a freaking gift, Tillie, and he didn’t ask for anything in return.”