Cassie listens, her laughter fading into a look of understanding as she moves to my ankles. “She’s pissed about the symbol and not the secret,” she muses, untying the final knot. “That’s actually kind of sexy.”
I sit up, rubbing my wrists, my body feeling strangely light and heavy at the same time. The need for release is still a dull throb between my legs.
“She said if I’d told her, she would have made something else. Something permanent and private.”
Cassie flops back on the bed beside me, arms spread wide like a starfish. “She probably has a Pinterest board called 'Subtle Marks for My Famous Submissive' full of tasteful chokers and tiny hidden tattoos.” She rolls onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “So let me get this straight. Your punishment for being an international pop icon with a secret identity is not getting to come?” She tucks her tongue into her cheek and nods slowly. “Sign me up for that federal crime, babe. My last boyfriend punished me with that anyway.”
I kick her, and she dramatically rolls onto a pillow. Her eyes glance around the room, taking it all in.
The Four Seasons Milan.
“But she’s right, you know.” Cassie stares at the ceiling. “You carried it alone because you thought you had to protect it. Protect this.”She gestures between me and the space where Skye had been. “But that’s not how it works with someone like her.” She’s talking like she already knows Skye. “You don’t protect her from your truth. You give it to her. It’s the only thing she wants.”
Maybe she does know Skye.
I hug my knees to my chest, all of it settling deep inside me. “What do I do now?"
She springs up in a fluid motion, grabbing her bag from the floor. “What you do now, my unraveled songbird, is you marinate in the horniness. You let it simmer. Let it inspire you. Channel all that frustration into lyrics. Maybe write a hit calledBlue-balled by the Love of My Life.It’s raw and real.”
She points a finger at me as she backs toward the door. “Shower. Now. You reek of poor life choices and sexual frustration.”
I throw a pillow at her, and she dodges it.
“I’m just giving you the truth, babe. I’m jet lagged, and you need to work, even if you are owned by a pissed-off woman in a leather jacket.” She winks, a flash of pure mischief.
I smile at her, knowing she’s right. Then, her eyes linger around my neck for a few extra minutes.
“And for the love of all things holy, wear a turtleneck when you take me out to watch Theo lose his game later. Unless you want the entire world to see the ghost of Skye’s disapproval written in rope burns.”
The final mix ofCollar of Truthwas sent to Ollie a while ago, but it is still living in my veins as Cassie hip checks me through the arena, a giant foam finger on one hand and two overpriced beers in the other.
“Creative state is over, superstar. Time for the main event, watching your ex get humiliated by large men on ice.”
Skye isn’t here. Her absence is its own presence. A cold, empty space beside me where her broody warmth should be. The punishment is ongoing. Silence and distance from her while she does what she needs to do as a member of the women’s Olympic hockey team. I touch my collar, feeling comfort in something that had me feeling so exposed before.
Cassie, however, is a hurricane of chaos. She has commandeered seats right behind the penalty box “for optimal schadenfreude viewing.”
And down on the ice, Theo is putting on a circus on skates.
“Oh, look at him go,” Cassie crows as Theo, who is attempting a flashy spin-o-rama move at the blue line, completely loses edge and goes down in a heap, sliding comically into the boards. The puck skitters away, leaving the opposing team to scoop it up and score.
The groan from the crowd is overwhelming.
Cassie takes a long, satisfied pull from her beer. “That’s for the time he ruined your favoriteLittle Mermaidpillow.” She taps her can to mine.
I drink. The beer is bitter and cold, but comforting all at the same time.
Theo’s night descends from bad to legendary.
It isn’t just that he is playing poorly; he is a magnet for misfortune. He fumbles on an easy pass in the first period, leading to a breakaway goal. He is taking a stupid retaliation penalty in the second, and the other team scores on the power play. But the third period… the third period is absolute poetry.
We are up by one point. Hope flickers in the arena as Theo gets the puck behind our own net.
“Oh no,” I mutter, a premonition shivering down my spine.
“Oh YES,” Cassie hisses, leaning forward, her eyes wide with anticipation. “Do it. Do the stupid thing. I believe in you.”
He does the stupid thing. Instead of clearing it, he tries to stick-handle through two checkers, a phrase I learned from Skye’s last game.
