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Soon, my hands wandered her body, touching her like she was touching me.
But—like often happened when Jillian and I touched and kissed—desire jumped right back in.
Her touch became more needy.
Her kisses more desperate.
Her body asked.
And mine answered.
12
Jillian
“Hold onto your boyfriends, ladies,” Netta, Ottawa’s captain yelled. “Parker is in the house.” She sneered at me.
“That’s real nice, Netta.” I gave her my best, “Bite me,” look.
Not that she seemed to care.
“Are we fucking around with men or hockey today, ladies?” the ref asked as she came to a swift, crisp stop on the center line.
“Parker is the only one fucking around with men,” Netta said, and the other women on her team laughed. “Her man, other women’s men. It doesn’t matter. If it’s got a dick—Parker is on it!”
The ref blew her whistle and Netta had to leave and let another girl faceoff against me.
“Don’t let her bother you,” a new girl on their team that I didn’t recognize skated up. “She’s just jealous that you’re fucking Cash Clemens.”
The ref blew her whistle again. “Are we going to get our bonnets on and go for tea? Or are we going to play the game? Your decision, Walsh.”
If anyone ever felt like a slutty McSlutterson—it was me.
The latest episode aired last night.
It featured our evening at book club.
Then it showed Cash’s arm around me—as I was snuggled into his side.
My head on his chest
And when he woke me, he called me—sweetness.
And then I called him—honey.
Of course, the freaking show decided to run with it. Even though I called and drove down to talk with the show’s head honchos.
“Jillian, with all due respect, we’re going to do what’s best for the show. Each of you signed contracts at the beginning of the season. This should come as no surprise,” the biggest head-honcho said. And then I was escorted out of their huge building.
So, yeah.
The episode aired.
And immediately afterward—the social media backlash began.
Not everyone called me a slut.
Or a whore.
