Summer's Temptation

To Suzie Quint, friend, mentor, voice of reason. I thank God we found each other every time I put fingertips to keys. You’ve made this journey a joy.

Chapter 1

T
he front of Priscilla’s Toy Shop is lined with glittering glass cases full of massage oils and love kits with feathers, fabric handcuffs, and flavored condoms. Beside the shiny cases hang rows of lingerie ranging from mildly naughty to downright vixen. But that’s not where I am. Nope. I’m in the back, where the musty smell of mold tickles my nose and a middle-aged, balding man peruses a stack of discounted pornos with names like
Womb Raider
and
Free My Willy
.

My two best friends are by my side for moral support, and I love them for it, especially Hannah. This isn’t exactly her scene. She’s prim and proper, a true Southern girl from Lakewater, Texas. I’ve been known to invade her closet now and again, but my style’s more casually conservative.

Liz, on the other hand, with her skinny black jeans, sky-high boots, and nose stud, could work the cash register here and no one would blink an eye. She throws a disgusted look at the balding man. “Let’s get this over with.”

The man clutches a movie to his chest and saunters toward the register with a vulgar smile.

I shudder and return my attention to the wall of plastic penises. “I can’t believe my love life has been reduced to this.”

My boyfriend dumped me six weeks ago, leaving me heartbroken and horny. While scanning the selection, I wonder if he would have stuck around if I had visited this store sooner. Our sex was hot, but what if I’d been too uptight? Maybe leather handcuffs and warming lubricant would have kept him from straying.

“Oh look, a glittery one,” Hannah says. Her eyes are wide with fascination as she stares at a translucent pink penis with flecks of silver glinting from within. “It’s very feminine.”

Liz holds up a foot-long dong. “I don’t think Cassie’s looking for feminine.” The dildo she clutches is at least seven inches in circumference and black as sin. A mix of terror and morbid curiosity flitters across her steel-gray eyes. “I’d have to birth a freakin’ litter before this thing would fit.”

For a brief moment, I imagine using that tree trunk. I wince when the image gets gory. “Try a dozen litters.”

Hannah plucks a purple six-incher from the shelf. “How about this one?”

Seeing a dildo in her hand disturbs me in ways that are hard to explain. Maybe it’s because she’s wearing pearls, a matching quarter-sleeve sweater-set, and kitten heels. Or maybe it’s because she’s saving herself until marriage. Either way, the image is unsettling.

“Seems okay,” I say, having no idea what to look for in a sex toy.

She flips the vibrator over, checking out the controls. Of my two best friends, I thought she’d hate being here the most. Turns out Liz is taking this outing the hardest even though she’s wild and experimental and into
anything
. I’m learning her
anything
can’t be plastic, and it must be attached to a man. She eyes the toy in Hannah’s hand with obvious disgust.

“I wonder what this button does.” Hannah presses it. The vibrator hums to life and does the whirly bird, the tip rotating in wide circles.

“No!” Liz and I scream.

I cover my eyes with my hands. “Make it stop!” Hannah must punch the button again because the humming stops. I peer between my fingers. “That’s supposed to feel good?”

“Looks more like a pussy torture device,” Liz says. She tucks a lock of black hair behind her ear, next to the white streak she so carefully bleaches every six weeks. “Seriously, why are you buying one of these?”

“Trent Preston asked me out yesterday,” I say as if that should explain everything.

Liz cocks a dark eyebrow. “And?”

“I almost said yes.” Loneliness and sex deprivation had nearly won out, but I came to my senses when I realized how much Trent reminded me of Wyatt. No way was I going
there
again. Actually, no way am I going out with anyone again until I’ve graduated and gotten a solid job offer. My heart won’t endure another breakup. Neither will my grades.

Liz blows out an exasperated breath while Hannah pats my shoulder and says, “Uh, honey… you’re not making sense.”

“If I want to survive my last two years of college unattached, I need something more powerful than a
Playgirl
and my hand.”

“You don’t need a fake cock,” Liz says. “There are hundreds”—she scans me up and down—“make that thousands of guys walking across campus who’d be happy to loan you their magic stick. No relationship required.”

I pick up a ten incher, turn it on, and wave it under her nose. “Yes, but do theirs vibrate?”

She swats it away. “Come on, Cassie. I’m serious.”

“I’m not screwing a different guy every time I get horny,” I say. “That’s gross and an invitation for herpes.” Not to mention I have a hard time separating emotions and sex. I know that’s not very progressive of me, but I am who I am, and most days, I like myself.

Hannah must be doing her mind-reading skit because she pushes blond hair off her shoulder, leans toward Liz, and whispers, “You can’t get emotionally attached to a dildo.” In an even quieter voice, she adds, “A dildo won’t leave you for another vagina either.”

Liz rolls her eyes and takes the vibrator from me, holding it between two fingers at arm’s length as if it’s infested with STDs. “You’ve only fucked two guys, Cassie. How do you know you’ll
always
get emotionally attached?”

I don’t know for sure, but I’m not willing to risk getting hurt again to find out. “Do you know how close I came to losing my scholarship because of a stupid breakup?”

Two weeks of not eating, sleeping, and barely attending class left my GPA in peril. I snapped out of my funk before finals, but I had to ace my exams to make up for the homework I hadn’t turned in and the quizzes I’d missed. I’m not talking squeaking by with a ninety percent; I had to get ninety-five percent and above on every single final. The studying and stress nearly killed me. No way am I going through that again because of a stupid boy.

Liz turns the vibrator off and puts it back on the shelf. “If you go into the relationship knowing it’s only about sex, you’ll be fine.”

Hannah gives Liz the stink eye then turns to me. “You’re doing the right thing. Sex is about giving something special to the person you love. Don’t cheapen it with one-night stands.”

I feel as if I have a blond angel on one shoulder who goes by the name Hannah and a raven-haired devil on the other who calls herself Liz.

“I’m not talking about a one-night stand,” my devil says. “Find a smokin’ hot guy and ask him to be your fuck buddy. When you’re ready to date again, kick him to the curb.”

“That’s so… indecent,” my angel says. She turns the torture device back on, and the head spins like a demon-possessed worm.

“For Christ’s sake, Hannah, turn that damn thing off,” Liz snaps.

I plant my hands on my hips and purse my lips. “Ladies, stop arguing. And please, Hannah, turn the torture device
off
.”

Hannah does as asked and takes her “serenity now” deep breath. “Why are you here, Cassie?”

I pick up a small red dildo. “To buy one of these things.”

“Right. And what function do you want one of
these things
to perform?”

The truth is embarrassing to admit, but if I can’t tell my best friends, who can I tell? I suck in a deep breath and blurt, “I want it to get me off as quickly and efficiently as possible so I don’t go sniffing around the opposite sex every time I need a fix.”

Hannah pulls a purple vibrator from the wall. It looks as if it’s grown a smaller penis with two bug antennas on the tip. “I recommend a Rabbit,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s fast, it’s effective, and this model isn’t loud.”

Liz and I stare at her as if she’s sprouted a tail and wings and maybe even pointed horns. Of all my friends, Hannah is the most virtuous. I figured this was her first trip to a sex shop, but now I’m not so sure.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, chewing her bottom lip.

“How do you know anything about vibrators?” Liz asks.

Her fair cheeks turn rosy. “I may have used one a time or two.”

“Wouldn’t that pop the cherry?” Liz’s dark brows draw together.

Hannah half-smiles, half-grimaces. “It would if I still had one.”

I gasp. “Say what?”

She shrugs. “I’m not that different from you. I lost my virginity in high school, and when we broke up, my heart didn’t mend right. I knew it was because I had sex with him, so I decided never again until marriage.”

“Does Dylan know you’re not a virgin?” Liz asks.

“Of course he does.”

“And he’s okay with not getting any even though you’ve slept with someone else?”

She narrows her eyes. “Just because I’m waiting until marriage doesn’t mean I’m a prude. He’s satisfied.”

I poke her in the arm with the red penis. “Does he know about your phallus fetish?”

She smiles devilishly. “I told him he could use mine on me if he gets an A on his senior project this fall. The boy’s smart, but sometimes he needs a little motivation.”

Liz presses her palms to her ears. “TMI, Hannah! TMI!”

I sigh, putting away the little red number. “Give me the bunny vibrator, and let’s get out of here.”

Hannah holds the rabbit out for me, but Liz intercepts before I can protest.

Her eyes drop to the price sticker. “Eighty bucks! You could buy a gigolo for that kind of money.”

I snatch it from her. “Since when do you worry about how much something costs?” Her parents are old-money rich, and her shoe collection alone could fund a small country. I should be the one complaining since this bad boy is the equivalent of three days of tutoring, but I have a feeling it’ll be money well spent. “Come on, ladies.”

I turn on my heels and head toward the cashier. As much as I love my girls, the next time I shop for a vibrator, I’m going alone.

An hour later, with a trunkful of groceries and a vibrator stuffed somewhere in the mix, we pull up to the two-bedroom cottage Liz and I moved into two days ago, just in time for the summer session at Vandeveer. Our university is located in Lakewater, a small town smack-dab in the middle of Texas Hill Country.

Our little house is cute, nicer than most college kids’ places. The landlord normally rents it to graduate students since they tend to be more responsible than undergrads, but she probably figured we wouldn’t destroy her property. She’s right. Any partying we do will be next door where Dylan, Josh, and Tyler live.

I doubt their house will get as little wear as ours, although I’m sure we’ll see some of the aftereffects. We’ll most likely awaken every weekend to a random guy passed out on our stoop and puke bombs between our houses. We’ll probably have deep tire ruts in our front yard by the second week of school. Some drunken idiot always has to park on the lawn. It’s college law.

After parking on the gravel driveway, I hurry out of the car and pop the trunk of my late model sedan. Hannah and I grab two sacks each. Between the heat and the humidity, sweat is already gathering in my cleavage and running down my back. It’s barely June, and I hate to think about what kind of heat July will bring.

I blow my bangs out of my eyes. I can hardly make out the top of the red Priscilla’s Toy Shop bag in my trunk, nestled behind several white grocery sacks. I’m not remotely concerned about the vibrator until I’m halfway to the front porch when Josh walks out of his house. He has a trash bag slung over his broad shoulder and a beer in one hand. He tips the can up and downs the beer, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

I can’t help but gape at how tall and wide he is. He played linebacker for the university his freshman and sophomore year, but a knee injury sidelined him for good. Now, instead of training to be an elite college athlete, he’s training to finish off a case of beer in one night by himself. No one gives him crap about his excessive drinking. It’s how he copes with losing his dream of becoming an NFL player.

“Is Dylan home?” Hannah calls. Her kitten heels make a delicate clicking noise as she walks up the porch steps with me just behind her.

Josh lets out a loud burp then crushes the beer can and stuffs it into the trash bag. “He’s taking a shower.”

She smiles so wide, I’m surprised she doesn’t drop the groceries on the porch and run to see her man.

“Need some help?” Josh calls, stuffing the trash into the bin next to the porch.

Liz beams at him and nods while I shake my head furiously.

“No, we’re fine!” I yell a little louder than necessary.

“That’d be great,” Liz counters, grabbing a bag from the trunk. Her nose ring glints in the sun. “Some of these are freakin’ heavy.”

“They’re not
that
heavy,” I mumble, praying he doesn’t see the Priscilla’s bag. I hurry past Hannah and drop the groceries just inside the door so I can hightail it back to the car.

I turn toward the guys’ porch and see Tyler Mason, campus god revered for his ability to seduce any poor girl he deems worthy, sauntering through our overgrown lawn. I’m not immune to his charm, but thankfully he’s never set his sights on me.

He smiles and waves at me. He’s a little over six feet tall with messy dark hair and eyes the color of a shallow Caribbean sea. His black cargo shorts are frayed at the bottom, and his gray Vandeveer University T-shirt looks ridiculously soft from hundreds of washes. I have a feeling he rolled out of bed fifteen minutes ago, threw on the cleanest clothes on his floor, ran a hand through his hair, and called it good. The haphazard look works well for him, and my heart pitter-patters until I chastise it into submission. If boys in general are bad, Tyler’s toxic.

He walks toward us, and I halfheartedly wave as I hurry down the porch steps. I’m trying not to appear overly anxious even though my insides are a knotted mess. Josh is already at the trunk, and his arms are laden with the heaviest bags. He smiles as we pass, and I sigh in relief. He hasn’t seen the red bag.

I’m sure in other parts of the country, no one would blink at a girl buying a vibrator, but in a Texas town with a Baptist church on every corner, just visiting a sex shop is scandalous. Josh might not find it shameful, but he’d never let me hear the end of it. I pick up the pace, praying I get to the vibrator before Tyler does.

He strolls to the trunk, and a shit-eating grin spreads across his face. Just before Liz turns toward the house with a bag in her arms, he nudges her in the ribs. “Are you buying crotchless panties again?”

“Excuse me?” she says, trying to appear offended. Her smirk makes the endeavor less than successful.

Tyler reaches inside the trunk and pulls out the red bag. “Priscilla’s?”