Eleven

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ATTY

I'm prettysure I'm still tingling from my orgasms yesterday. We'd finally found some time to get together and let me just say that Toby wasn't wrong. The first orgasm was completely worth the wait and torture. It was fucking intense. A pleasure like I can't describe. A feeling so good that I'm confident my heart stopped entirely for several minutes before Toby breathed life back into me.

And that was just the first orgasm. I don't know what kind of magic Toby wields, but the things he does to me are nothing short of mystic. Not just his ability to feed me ridiculously amazing orgasms, but that he keeps them going AND gives me multiple in a night. I feel like a damn unicorn—mythical and rare.

Yes, I'm still fucking tingling and don't even want it to stop. My entire body is vibrating. Also, my ass hurts. I think my ass would hurt regardless, but man, the size of his dick! There's just no room for that in an ass and yet, he makes it fit.

Which, by the way, his dick is also a magic tool. How he makes me feel fantastic by hitting hella good buttons in my fucking asshole is a power he should sell. He'd make bank. I'm quite confident that half the positions he'd had me in should be nothing but painful. But his damn dick just hits all the right spots and it's a direct link to my goddamn balls.

I say his name like a chant. As if I'm praying to him. He's an entirely new race of human.

My phone chimes and I open my eyes. I've been lying awake for hours. My phone is on my chest since Toby and I have been lazily sending pics. I pick it up and turn on my phone screen to be greeted with a picture of his torso. The long length of his neck, smooth, lean lines of his chest, stomach and ribs. And… the tip of his dick peeking into the picture.

The phone slips from my hand and I nearly roll myself off my bed while trying to avoid getting it in the face. Instead, I barely miss smacking my forehead on my nightstand. It's going to be one of those mornings, I guess.

After I right myself, I take a pic of me looking like a wreck and send it back. Toby's response is immediate.

[Toby] You're fucking adorable, baby girl.

My stomach flutters and the stupid grin that splits my face is ridiculous. Why do I love when he calls me that?! I'm not a girl. I don't think I have even a little feminine quality about me. Yet, I love when he calls me baby girl.

Would it be the same feeling if he called me baby boy?

"You're fucking adorable, baby boy," I murmur, just to hear the words. Yeah… it does nothing for me.

"Baby girl," I say, keeping the words quiet as if someone might overhear. I'm alone, so unless I have ghosts, there's no one listening.

Still, it gets no stir or rise out of me. Apparently, it's not the same when I say it to myself.

When Toby doesn't text again, I roll onto my side and bring up ShareIt for some mindless scrolling. I really ought to go for a run or something. Maybe head to the arena and workout for a bit. But right now, I'm just going to see what the media has to say.

Most of my feed is hockey related. I also follow a few athletes from other sports. Oddny Charles who's a professional American football player is one of them because he's a damn riot online. He's in a bunch of commercials and I swear to fuck, I laugh harder at his content than anything else.

I've had the privilege to meet him at an event once and was surprised to find he's a down to earth, laid-back man. It was only in person that I realized he's gay too. Not that it matters, but I find most of the gay athletes in hockey are paraded around like trophies, as if the teams who have them can now show by example that they're inclusive.

This never became more apparent than when Noah Kain was traded to L.A. and I got to see it first-hand. I'm both mortified and slightly awed.

I follow the brands that sponsor me too, of course. And a few sports news feeds, like Toby's. Which is why I'm not surprised to find that a new prediction in my feed. Wingmen to look out for in 2021-22 season. There are three of us: Credence Ayrton with Buffalo, me, and Colby Minden with Anaheim.

Personally, I think Colby is a stretch since he had a slow season last year because of the injury he sustained the year before. But reading Toby's post, he says that Colby's last few games of the season show that he's finally back and found his groove. He's going to be a force on the ice, not just to prove that he's still got the skill, but because he has the drive and determination of a rookie.

I nearly text Toby to ask him if he really thinks I'm going to be one of the top wingmen in the league next year or if he's being nice because we're involved, but still, we've yet to talk about anything personal. Not even his social media.

It hasn't all been sex, but it's all been… I don't know. Just impersonal, I guess. That hasn't stopped my heart from racing every time I see his name pop up on my screen. My breath catches when he touches me. He gives me butterflies in my stomach.

And this stupid, sappy smile just never fades when I think about him.

I scroll past the post on Toby's prediction and find a less appealing post following it. One of those cheesy fake news reels that simply make shit up. This one is about me and Marie. There's a picture of us from a few years ago on a beach in Hawaii, I think. The text reads, "Sources close to Atlas claim that he and long-time childhood girlfriend, Marie Herschal, have eloped in secret and are currently on their honeymoon in the Bahamas!"

The post goes on to quote supposed anonymous sources ‘close' to me or Marie about our gunshot wedding and subsequent honeymoon.

Not for the first time, I roll my eyes. When there's nothing to report on, these vultures just make something up. On the one hand, it's obnoxious, and I'd love to make them eat their words for the blatant lies.

However, as I scroll through the comments, one thing is very clear—no one has figured out that I'm right here in my home and hanging with my friends as a new me with less hair and clean shaven. Right now, I'm basically an anonymous person!

While I'd love to just rock the world with this news and call these idiots out for making shit up, the knowledge that I'm basically pulling the wool over everyone's fucking eyes is slightly intoxicating. How long can I pull it off before someone figures it out?

At this point, I just want to find out.

Flipping over to my calendar, I check the events I have lined up for this summer. Fortunately, there's nothing I need to attend in person until the middle of August. So, potentially, I have two more solid months of living off the grid before the news will come out. Unless someone figures it out on their own beforehand.

Toby could have outed me on his post with an updated picture. He has plenty. But he used one from last season. My friends haven't said anything, and I don't think they will.

Thing is, there are pictures of me like this out there. Hugo loves to take pictures and usually he posts them online. However, he hasn't posted any with me in them lately and I have to think, as oblivious as that man is, maybe he knows that I'm enjoying the anonymity of a brand-new look no one has seen before.

Eventually, I get out of bed and head for the shower, hoping it might wake me up. I washed before I fell into bed early this morning, so this is simply to wash away the sleepy mood. Standing under the water, I tip my face up and let the hot drops run down my body, imagining Toby's hands trailing them. His lips pressing my shoulder. His hot breath on my skin.

"Okay," I mutter to myself, and open my eyes. "Can't get off till we see each other again. No getting worked up unnecessarily."

Because I know we'll video call later and Toby will have me edging myself until I come undone. But fuck, the way he looks at me when I do! Like he is as proud of me as he says he is. I have no idea why that just does it for me. When have I ever cared if someone's proud of me or not? I swear to fuck, I don't recognize myself sometimes.

When I'm dressed, I head to the kitchen, make myself a frozen protein shake for breakfast, and head out to my balcony. My neighbor is in the yard—my yard, to be precise—tending to my flowers, as he does. Joe lives in the house behind mine and has no yard to speak of, so when I moved in, he asked if he could plant flowers in my garden beds at no cost or hassle to me. He'd tend them and I'd just have to enjoy their fragrance and beauty.

What did I have to lose? I've enjoyed them ever since.

To my left is a house with a family that's only here about half the year, but sporadically. Their kids must be homeschooled or something because their presence doesn't coincide with public school breaks. The house on the other side of me has been empty for a few months now.

I've been outside for almost ten minutes before Joe looks up. He wipes his dirty hand across his face, leaving a smear of dirt, and gives me a wide smile. "Hey, darlin'," he calls.

Raising my hand, I wave. "Hey, Joe. How's it going?"

He gets to his feet and approaches, rubbing his dirty hands on his bare legs. When he gets near he leans against the balcony railing. I say balcony because that's what the realtor tried to sell it as. Honestly, it's just a porch slightly raised from the ground. Free-standing, which I think is why he called it a balcony.

"Just planted some new bellflowers and bluebells." He gestures over his shoulder. "Working on fuchsia, jasmine, and lobelia now. I have some peonies coming. And some wisteria. How do you feel about a small pond in that corner? I'd love some goldfish and lotus flowers."

"Knock yourself out, Joe," I tell him. "It's a beautiful oasis back here. You're amazing."

He beams at me. Joe is probably in his sixties. He worked on Wall Street for years and retired six years ago due to stress. I think gardening is part of his recovery. Something he enjoys and it's calming.

Joe beams. "Thanks, Atty. Love the new look, by the way."

I grin. "Thanks."

"Good to see you already back from your honeymoon. Though, I think you should be tanner if you've spent the last several weeks in the sun," he teases.

I roll my eyes and laugh. "Right?! Their constant focus on me is rather pathetic, don't you think?"

"It's not just you, sweetheart. I think you only see things concerning you because you're tagged or hashtagged. They're looking to get a rise out of you. Anything for a little interaction. You've done very well not to engage."

"Honestly, I feel bad for them. This is literally what gives them purpose in life and frankly, it's pathetic."

"Too true." Joe admires his handiwork for a minute before asking, "What have you been up to since the season ended?"

"Not a lot," I say, shrugging. "Hanging with some friends." Getting fucked silly. "Just relaxing."

Joe studies me, and I wonder if he heard the words I didn't say. "Darlin', you should be out looking for your honey. Someone to spend your time with."

I think about Winslow right then for some reason. How he's perfectly happy and prefers to be alone. Maybe I'll take a page out of his book. "I enjoy being single, Joe. It's much better than being with the wrong person."

I avoid saying something along the lines of ‘wasting my time with the wrong person' because I think that would hurt Marie's feelings. Even if it's true on both sides. That's exactly what we did, though. Time and time again, we wasted our time knowing that what we were doing wasn't what we wanted.

"Mmm," Joe says, and I'm confident he doesn't believe me. "I'm glad you got rid of the girl. She's not right for you."

"That seems to be the consensus—except everyone who's just looking in on my life."

"Those who know you have seen the truth for a long time. I'm very happy that you finally did too, sweetheart. But I worry about you. You're not the kind of person who will enjoy singledom for too long and I hate to see you unhappy."

"What makes you think I wouldn't enjoy it?"

"About a month ago, I was very concerned for you. You looked… listless. Your eyes were sad. You've met someone recently, and that's all changed." Joe leans forward with a wide smile. "You glow now, darlin'. Whoever they are, they're good for your soul."

My heart flutters and I try to find my voice. To deny it. Tell him he's imagining it all. But I don't. I just nod because I can't bring myself to claim I don't feel something for Toby that has nothing to do with sex.

Which is both fascinating and frightening because that's all we are. I don't know him! This could end very badly with me being the one getting hurt. Toby hasn't given any indication that he likes me beyond sex.

"You look like I've just pissed in your cereal," Joe says and I burst out laughing. He grins in return. "Sorry. I hadn't meant to take you by surprise when it's clear that maybe you have some things to work out."

I wave him off. "No, it's okay. I…" My voice trails off. Am I ready to admit any part of this out loud? After examining Joe for a minute—patient, kind, private Joe—I decide to take my chances. "I really like him," I say quietly. "I'm just not sure what this is right now."

Joe's smile spreads. He leans over the railing and pats my knee. "Admitting it is the first hurdle. But now that you have, you're ready to take the next step and answer that question."

"What question?"

"What it is you're feeling and what that means for your future."

"You're really wise, Joe."

He laughs and stands straight. "That's why I'm a filthy rich man living out my days among the flowers." With a wave, he saunters back to the flower bed he'd been working on. I can't decide if he was serious or sarcastic.

But he's not wrong. While admitting I like Toby feels monumental, what comes next feels like a mountain to scale and I've never been hiking.