Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About the Author
Outside the Lines
Book One in The Rebel Hearts Series
Copyright © 2015 by Emily Goodwin
Edited by Kristina Cercelli of Red Rose Editing
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or places is purely coincidental.
To Madelyn, my littlest princess
CHAPTER ONE
Should I be ashamed I’m walking into a sex toy store with a wallet full of cash my grandmother sent me for my twenty-fifth birthday? And that I plan to spend said cash on a new vibrator since mine shorted out in the tub? I adjust my purse and pull my dark-blonde hair over my face, surreptitiously concealing my identity in case of major crisis number one happening: seeing someone I know.
I inhale, swallow down any lingering ounce of prude I have in me, and step into the shop. Normally I’d one click this sucker from Amazon, but after two weeks of no B.O.B.—and a year of no-real life boyfriend—I’m desperate. And why pay for next-day shipping when the sex toy shop was on my way home from work?
Someone moans and I freeze. What the fuck? Are people actually trying out the toys? No, that makes no sense. It’s porn. It has to be porn. The same moan fills the store again. And again. It’s rhythmic, like it’s stuck on repeat.
“Come on in, honey, and she’ll stop,” someone calls from the counter, hidden behind a display of glow-in-the-dark condoms. Oh, and a few flavored ones too.
She’ll stop? I blink, my legs still frozen, and then it hits me that instead of a motion-censored bell ringing, a lady in the throes of ecstasy moans. Fitting. Very fitting.
I step inside and look around. I’ve never been inside a sex shop before, though it’s not because I have anything against them. With the lack of real peen in my life, I’ve come to rely on this sort of thing. But I always order online. What’s the anonymity of the internet for, anyway?
“Can I help you find anything?” the woman at the counter asks. Her name tag lets me know she goes by “Vixen.” That has to be a fake sex store worker name, right? She’s short and plump with shoulder-length hair that’s dyed in various shades of red. I stare at it a little too long before diverting my eyes. I like it. But my boss would have a bitch fit if I showed up to work with colorful hair.
“I’m just looking,” I say and remind myself not to feel embarrassed. The woman works at the Adult Toybox, after all. She’s seen it all and then some. Still, there’s something about a single woman walking alone into one of these places that makes you feel like society is pointing their finger at you.
Well, fuck you and your social norms, society.
I walk forward and turn to the left, going down an aisle of games for lovers. Games that require two people. Or three … or four or more, as the front of that box says. I peruse down the aisle, curiosity replacing embarrassment, and whimsically think of a day when I can come in here with a boyfriend and buy something kinky for the night.
Edible undies?
Nah, too predictable and probably too sticky.
Butt plugs?
My cheeks clench at the thought. Nope. Definite no.
Handcuff, blindfolds, and a flogger?
Still predicable, but something I’m willing to try.
I pass through a display of lingerie, stifling a laugh at a male thong with an elephant truck to hold the shaft, and find what I am looking for. I actually smile when I see the shelves full of dildos and vibrators. I pick them up, looking at the boxes for … I really don’t know. Details? I just need something waterproof.
“That’s a good one,” Vixen says, startling me. The woman is like a cat. I didn’t hear her coming. “I have it and love it.”
“Oh, that’s good to know,” I mumble.
“My husband likes to use it on me too. You can charge it on the wall and it’s super quiet, so the kids won’t hear even if they’re in the next room.”
I know my eyes are as big as saucers right now. I can’t turn and look at her just yet. I blink, having to say something to break the tension.
“Is it waterproof?” I blurt.
“You betcha. And it has multiple settings. Want me to show you how it works?”
She takes the demo off the shelf and for one horrified second I think she’s going to hike her skirt and literally show me. My heart settles back into my chest when she holds it out and pushes a button, then turns up a dial.
“Hear that? Barely anything.”
“That is nice,” I say. “I’ll take it.”
She smiles. “I’ll put it by the register so you can keep looking.”
“Nah, I’m good with just that today.”
“All right.” She turns and we walk to the counter together in awkward silence. She slips behind the register and I dig my hand into my purse, feeling for my wallet. I have a moment of panic when I realize I didn’t look at the price tag of the Silent Knight vibrator and hope I have enough cash to cover it. I could use the cash I had then put the rest on my card, but I’m close to maxing out that card—as well as my other one—and need to minimize expenses until payday at the end of the week.
“This,” Vixen says and grabs a small white bottle covered in red Xs and Os. “This stuff is great. Just put a little on your clit before the action and it’ll enhance the pleasure.”
I will myself not to blush. Hearing someone talk so openly was refreshing, but a little unexpected.
“After three kids,” she goes on and scans the vibrator. I watch with wide eyes as the total pops up on the little screen. Thank God. I have enough cash to pay for it and pick up food on the way home. “I need a little pick-me-up before the hubs and I get down and dirty, ya know?”
“Yeah,” I say and unzip my wallet. I considered myself an open book, but hearing Vixen talk about every detail of her sex life makes me feel like I had a lot more opening up to do. I pay and take my bag.
“Have fun tonight!” Vixen says as I turn to go.
“I will, thanks,” I say automatically before I realize she’s referring to me having some solo time with this neon-pink new best friend. Whatever. I smile and shake my head. “Have a good rest of your day.”
“I get off in an hour,” she says. “I can manage.”
I hike my purse back up on my shoulder, not exactly sure what’s accumulated in it make it so heavy, and push open the door, signaling a moan from the censor. I get one foot through the threshold when two women come up, stopping and stepping to the side to let me through.
“Felicity?” one of them asks.
On its own accord, my head turns to the source of my name. Then my brain kicks in a millisecond too late, reminding me that getting noticed was major crisis number one. But as soon as I see the angelic face of Mindy fucking Abraham, I’m in major crisis number two, which is seeing Mindy fucking Abraham anytime, anywhere, let alone here, several towns over from where we grew up.