Dolce (Love at Center Court #2) (19 page)

My life sucked. I’d been kicked to the curb by my professor, I was tangled up with both Sonny and Blane, and I was sympathetic to adult video stars. All because of that stupid fucking dare.

My first step in fixing my life was ditching Sonny. I needed the job, but I would find something else. At least, I kept telling myself I would—on repeat in my brain the whole walk to the station.

Sonny was the one who’d gotten me in this whole mess to begin with, and I needed a clean break. If it weren’t for his shitty treatment and imbecilic behavior, I could continue to fetch his coffee and would have had the chance to take over the segments he didn’t want. But Sonny was who he was, and I couldn’t deal with him anymore.

I walked into the station and waited until Sonny had a break, chewing on my thumb the whole time. When I finally had his attention, I dove right in.

“Look, this has been great and I appreciate all you’ve done, but it’s not working. I keep getting sucked into one mess after another here. My professor hates the show, and I’m nothing but a thorn in Blane’s side. You deserve a funnier, sexier replacement, and I need to make my own name for myself. And I never want to call someone Mr. Boots again, Sebastian.”

His eyes grew wide and he actually protested for a moment, but then when his words fell on deaf ears, Sonny switched gears and thanked me for my help.

A short while later, I walked out of the radio station, even more determined to come up with some type of retaliation against Stanwick. I walked home in a daze, revenge ideas mixing with plans to make money.

The only thing I came up with was deciding that when I went to Mean Beans the next day, I’d see if they needed someone more competent than Ava.

“Heya, Hafton. Sonny here, and boy do I have stuff for you. First off, I have to send out a big smooch to my girl, Miranda, over the airwaves. That’s right, ladies, Sebastian Jones may be in love. Go over and see my woman, Miranda; she works at Book World in the romance-and-mystery department. Look for the fiery red hair and the long legs tucked into knee-high boots. Boots, people! Sonny be wanting to knock those boots for a long time
.
Anyway, lurve you, lady, and thanks for the dinner over the weekend. This tune is for you.”

Michael Jackson’s “Baby Be Mine” filled the air as I sat alone in my room and picked away at my stats homework, half distracted by the text that had been sitting on my phone.

BLANE
: You okay? You coming to the game tomorrow?

It had been sitting there for hours since two o’clock, and I had yet to reply. Blane wasn’t good for me. Forget the fact that hanging with him had basically gotten me thrown out of my major today; he was moving on soon and I wasn’t.

“I’m back, Sonny B. here on WHSU 96.9, spinning the jams and keeping you company on this lonely Monday night. Are there parties going on? Tweet me, babes! As for me, I’m manning the station alone because our fearless intern is looking for a new internship. That’s right, cute Catie P. is off to greener pastures. I can’t wait to hear about her adventures, and I can’t help but think we will.” Sonny’s laugh rang out, and then he was back. “So, I’m all alone here. Anyone looking to fill my shoes? Tweet me too.”

This time Sonny played some hip-hop, and I turned down the volume and tried to concentrate on my stats homework again. My phone dinged.

BLANE
: Cate, please answer. You left the radio station? Did Sonny do something?

This time I answered. There was no way I wanted Blane getting involved. I was too proud for that shit.

CATIE
: No. I’m good. Figuring some things out. Don’t think I’ll be at the game tomorrow.

Yeah, right.
Who was I kidding?

I turned off the radio, deleted my Twitter account, shut down my phone, and ignored my misgivings as I went on a very important mission. I took the campus bus to the outskirts of town and saw my destination at the end of a strip mall. The neon-green sign flickered in the darkness.

ADULTS, XXX
blinked on and off as I swallowed any reservations and pushed the door open. Blane might have formally introduced me to what my clit could really do, but I needed to get to know her much better than I had in the past.

Inhaling deeply, I thought back to the porno fest. As soon as it was over, I’d wanted to rush out and get a vibrator right then, recognizing my lack of familiarity with my own needs. Stanwick and her crusade, along with my inability to enjoy sex without feeling like a slut, had landed me in the last place I expected to find answers.

Bells jingled overhead as I walked in and tried to pretend like I belonged here, like this was a regular outing for me. Immediately, I felt stupid and insecure in my clunky boots and sensible winter coat.

I really need to harness my inner Italian
.
I’m in a sex store!

Yeah, right. The Mediterranean side of me was a double-edged sword. It was my damn hot-blooded temper that had put me in this no-win situation—out of my major, out of a career-minded job (although the manager at Mean Beans had promised me some hours), and out of touch with my sensuality. And looking for answers in an adult toy store.

A guy with huge gauges in his earlobes and his nails painted glittery black looked up from behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

Avoiding any eye contact, I mumbled, “Um, just looking around.”

You can do this
.

Any liberated woman should be concerned with her orgasm, right? Wasn’t that what
Cosmo
splashed on their covers every month?

Maybe I should have started with a few copies of
Cosmopolitan
and
Marie Claire
at the newsstand before venturing to the adult toy store . . .

Nope. Not stubborn, fire-breathing me
.

I took in the glass case next to where I was standing that displayed some intricate glass . . . dildos? Was that what they were? They looked like penises made of glass with ticklers of some sort.

“Oh. My. God,” I said under my breath, and fixed my gaze to the ratty carpet as I moved quickly toward an aisle.

I peeked down Aisle 1 before deciding I could explore it. This was a tame section full of costumes. Maid outfits, sexy policeman uniforms, and accessories like handcuffs and boas filled the shelves. Rounding the corner, I saw Aisle 2 was more of the same. Edible undies and chocolate sauce for the body seemed benign enough.

Aisle 3 was a bonanza of exactly what I was looking for—vibrators. Not the top-of-the-line museum-quality ones like in the glass case, but your everyday vibrators. There were small ones and really large ones, vibrators shaped like a tube of lipstick, and dildos of all colors, anything from neon-tinted to run-of-the-mill flesh-colored ones in hues from peach to black. I practically tiptoed to the middle of the aisle, and my hand wavered on its way to snag a small version, a purple pocket rocket.

“That’s a good one. Powerful,” came a voice from behind me.

Pretty sure I peed myself a little, I stood totally still, gripping the vibrator but afraid to turn around.

“Excuse me, I just have to grab something from right in front of you.”

A hand reached around me, and its long fingers with black-tipped French-manicured nails sorted through the pocket rockets before settling on a green one.

“Got it!” the sultry female voice sang in my ears.

Curious, I turned to find a stunning blonde standing behind me, long and lean, her hair tousled in waves. Her face was flawless, her makeup heavy and perfect, and from the look of her dewy skin, she wasn’t much older than me.

“Good,” I choked out. Then out of nowhere, I asked, “You recommend this one?”

“Your first?”

I nodded and dropped my gaze, noting the carpet was a deep red covered in hot pink kisses.

“Hey, don’t be shy. I can help you,” she said quietly. “That’s a good one for a quickie, but if you really want the full effect, you should get this one.” She reached across me again and pulled something called “The Rabbit” off the display hook.

When I took the package and eyed it warily, she laughed at me. “It’s a bit much, but I promise you, it will get the job done.”

“Thanks.” I was humiliated. Not because I was purchasing a vibrator, but by the fact that I was so unfamiliar with my own sexuality. The memory of rushing out on Blane flickered in my head.

“I’m Sarina,” the sexy woman said to me, her hand outstretched.

“Catie.” I took her fingers in mine and she shook my hand firmly.

“Want to ask me anything else?”

“You come here a lot?” Suddenly, I was intrigued by this woman, who was clearly comfortable with her own sexuality.

“I do. Sometimes more than others. This is actually for my boss.” She waved the vibrator around casually, like it was a box of Oreos.

“Your boss?”
What kind of boss needs his or her employee to pick up vibrators?

“I make adult films, and we had one of these break on the set.” She pitched her voice low, apparently not from shame, but so she wouldn’t attract unwanted attention to us.

“Wow,” was all I could get out.

“It’s a living,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t normally go around sharing that information, but you seem nice, and look like you could use a helping hand.”

“I’m not a virgin,” I said quickly, shooting that misconception down right away.

She giggled. “It’s okay if you were, but I get it. Inexperienced in finding your own orgasm?”

“Something like that. More like I panic from intimacy. It makes me feel dirty.”

She ran her hand down my sleeve and looked me in the eye. “Sweetie, you should never feel dirty when it comes to your needs.”

I nodded.

“You checking out?”

“Yeah, I’m going to get both,” I said sheepishly.

We walked together toward the register, where the guy with the black nails sat reading some nudie mag. As we paid for our purchases, Sarina and I made small talk about the weather, the impending snow and shit, as if we were in the grocery store checkout line rather than buying sex toys.

As we walked outside into the cold and said our good-byes, a light bulb went off in my head. This was the type of woman I wanted to write about in my thesis paper—a woman in the porn industry living in the same small town as Stanwick and her stuck-up ideals.

“Hey!” I called to Sarina, halting her as she walked over to her SUV. “Can I come with you? Check it out?” I ran over to where she stood and said, “I’ll stay out of your way. I’m just curious.”

There went my impetuous Italian side again. Here I was, Cute Catie P., the nun of Southern A, asking to visit the set of a porn movie.

Sarina frowned down at me for a second, considering. “Sure, but if Frank asks, tell him you recognized me from the videos. I don’t want him thinking I run around telling people what we do right here in the middle of boring Ohio.”

“Of course.”

Her SUV beeped as she popped her car locks and asked, “Want a ride?”

I grinned. “My mom always said not to ride with strangers, but she also probably wouldn’t be a fan of porn, so fuck her.” I slid into the passenger seat, a little excited at this crazy adventure, and away we sped.

Twenty minutes later, I laughed when we pulled into the parking lot for a big warehouse. “It is kind of weird, this going on right here in the farmlands of Ohio.”

“Cheap space, low cost of living, and a good supply of actors,” Sarina said as if it were common knowledge.

We walked inside to a live set, and I was introduced in between takes to Frank, who sat in the director’s chair. I swallowed while taking in my surroundings. If I thought I didn’t know much before, I was way wrong. Sitting there that night, I realized I knew nothing. With my legs crossed and my hands demurely in my lap, I took in the scenes, some scandalous and others quite enticing.

I felt my pulse pick up a few times, and squinted to get a better view. A few times, I looked away, embarrassed for the actors in front of me, but I always ended up turning back to the set.

After a while, I decided it was time for me to head home and figure out how to use my vibrators. Sarina and I exchanged phone numbers and I took the bus home, my new toys tucked into my backpack.