I’d fuck her again.
And when I did—her tears would fall just like they did the last time I saw her.
I laid the toy on top of her nightstand and left it for her to find.
A message only she’d understand.
The camera went up next—high in the corner behind the edge of her curtain that she never closed. I’d get every naked inch of her body on recording as she walked from the bathroom to her closet and then to her bed, doing whatever depraved things I allowed before I made my move.
Each second of recordings would just add to the bank of proof I was gathering. To prove she was unfit.
Two more cameras went up in the living room, one on the bookshelf tucked between the two school pictures on the shelf, and the other stuck to the underside of the television they stared at all the time.
Next came the little touches.
Her favorite coffee mug went into the freezer.
The matches from the decorative drawer on the hutch that she used to light her candles every day—gone.
Her slippers moved from the front door, where she kicked them off each time she left the house, to the back porch.
Tiny things.
Things that would make her second-guess herself.
By the time I left, I came twice more. Once on her toothbrush and another as I sat on the couch, exactly where the fireman had last night as he fucked her big, lush tits.
Another thing she’d never done for me, though that would change once she realized she had no other choice but to start begging me to take her back.
I sangalong to the Joan Jett song blaring through my speakers as I rushed back across town. There was absolutely no time to spare on my impromptu little field trip back home on my lunch break.
I should have just done what I wanted to before I left the house to go to the rink for my shift, but I’d let fear talk me out of it.
Embarrassment.
I was rushing home to grab the Net Crasher Jersey that had hung in my closet for the last two years since Rick got it for me for Christmas. I had never worn it. It was too embarrassing to wear the jersey of my secret crushes like some horny teenage girl. But now, I didn’t just have a crush on a player. I was dating him, both of them.
The whole idea of wearing their jersey tonight was stupid, childish even. But the thought of walking in tonight wearing their team logo on my chest had been gnawing at me since Wednesday’s practice. The thought of what they’d look like when they saw me in it was reason enough to risk the embarrassment.
For them, I’d do just about anything.
Never mind the idea of them tag teaming me after the game, filling me at the same time, pushed me into it.
The other night, had fulfilled sexual fantasies of mine I never even admitted in the daylight before. They were ravenous for me, watching me, helping me, urging me to give them more.
And I wanted to give them this in return.
The second I put my car in park, I ran to the front door, chased by the cold front moving in, and slammed the door shut behind me to ward it off.
I was doing a mental countdown of how many minutes I had until I was expected back behind the bar, slinging beers to drunk players and fans as I rushed through the house to my bedroom.
Straight to my closet, pushing past all of my other clothes to grab the feminine cut orange and blue jersey I had loved from the first second I saw it in the shop at the front of the rink.
Turning with it in my hands, a smile on my lips, I froze when I caught sight of something out of place.
My nightstand.
Or better yet, on my nightstand.
