Offside: Rules of the Game Book 1

I perched at the table in the Callingwood Daily office with Noelle and Zara, trying to finish my part of a group project for Ethical Issues in Journalism and Communications. Knowing I’d see Chase later always made it difficult to focus, but today was especially challenging because he was picking me up later for the volleyball game—followed by sex toy shopping.

What had I gotten myself into?

I hadn’t even told Noelle or Zara, though I knew they’d cheer me on if I did.

“Bailey,” Professor Johnson said, lingering in the doorway. “Can we chat quickly in my office for a moment?”

I glanced up from my laptop. “Sure.” I shut it quickly and slid it into my bag, then followed her out of the room and down the hall to her office.

Professor Johnson was the epitome of laid-back, down to her untameable frizzy gray hair and colorful floor-length skirts. A hippie in her youth, she’d racked up countless journalism awards for her coverage of international affairs. As our faculty advisor for the paper, she tended to give us a long leash. But she did check in with us every now and then when we needed guidance or when something went truly off the rails.

She lowered herself into her desk chair, gesturing for me to have a seat. “I wanted to touch base with you about taking over for Liam. I know it was sudden.”

“I’m excited,” I said, sinking into the red cloth chair across from her. “I’ve always wanted to handle the sports coverage.”

Professor Johnson raised her salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “Are you sure you can manage it on top of your other responsibilities? I know you have a heavy course load, and I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“No, it won’t be a problem.”

I just might have to make a few sacrifices. Like sleep. Or possibly my sanity. You know, those minor negotiable things.

“Good.” She nodded, sliding a piece of paper across the desk to me. It was a list of Liam’s assignments until Christmas. “I wasn’t sure what he passed along to you in terms of his current and future assignments. As you can see, he started a feature about how the assistant captain for the Bulldogs is stepping up to guide the team while their captain is injured.”

I took a closer look at the list, and my stomach plummeted to the floor. Much to my dismay, there it was, second bullet from the top: Bulldogs feature with assistant captain.

The Bulldogs’ assistant captain was Paul.

Would it be unprofessional of me to dry heave?

“Liam did an interview with him already?” I asked. “Does he have a recording or transcript I can review?”

“No,” she said, folding her hands over top of the desk. “He hadn’t completed it yet.”

By “starting” the feature, she meant Liam had thought about it. Maybe.

Dread took root in my stomach and blossomed from there. A one-on-one interview with Paul wasn’t exactly on my bucket list, even if it would add to my writing portfolio.

“Since you’re familiar with the team,” Professor Johnson added, “I knew it would be no problem for you to conduct the interview so you can write the article.”

I nodded, but I wanted to scream. “Right. None at all.”

“I can email you the guidelines for a feature article as well, since this is your first time writing one.”

“Thanks,” I said, “that would be great.”

By the time I left her office, it was time to leave to meet Chase at the traffic roundabout. I made my way out of the center for communications and texted Amelia for Paul’s number while I walked across campus. After receiving an exceptionally frosty response—almost like she thought I wanted it to hit on him or something, and um, not a freaking chance—she eventually passed it along.

Then I connected with him via text and arranged a time to meet at a coffee shop on campus Monday. Better to get it over with rather than have it looming over my head.

A few hours later, Callingwood had pulled off an impressive win, Chase and I had eaten more than our share of junk food at the game, and we were back in town.

He pulled into a parking spot in front of Lush Boutique and killed the ignition. The neon pink sign glowed accusatorially at us. Going in there would be like announcing to the world that I was having sex. Not just sex, freaky sex. Or that I was masturbating, which I wasn’t keen on advertising, either.

“Ready?” He turned to face me, dark brown eyes glinting playfully.

Nerves seized hold of me, fight-or-flight response kicking in. The trepidation was like the first time I’d filled my birth control prescription amplified times a million.

“Nope.” I shook my head, crossing my legs. “I changed my mind. I can’t go in there.”

Could I?

Chase lifted a shoulder, his expression neutral. “Okay. I won’t make you. We can leave if you want.”

Ambivalence simmered within me. In theory, I wanted to leave. But reality was a different story and he knew it. He was eerily good at reading me. But since he literally said what he was thinking all the time, I guess that evened out.

I bit my bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll be right with you.” He rubbed my thigh and left his warm hand there. “In and out. Easy.”

“But we have to pay before we can go home.” I looked at him, cringing. “Like, I have to stand there and face another person while purchasing…that.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You think a sex shop cashier is going to judge you for buying a little vibrator? Trust me, James. Those people have seen some shit.”

I glanced at the store through the windshield, back to him, then at the store again.

Part of me was curious. Most of me was intimidated.

It was just a store. A simple brick and glass structure, innocuous enough from the outside. But as for what it contained…

Chase squinted, leaning over the steering wheel. “Look,” he nodded at the window, “Carl’s working the register today. He’s super nice.”

“You know the cashiers by name?”

“It was a joke,” he said, laughing. “How much of a perv do you think I am?”

I reached over and poked his arm. “I plead the fifth.”

“If you join me, you have some input.” He winked. “But I can go in without you if you want. We could make it a surprise like I said before.”

“That sounds even scarier.” I drew in a breath and held it for a beat before exhaling. To go, or not to go? The million-dollar question.

Chase held my gaze. “James.” He lowered his voice, intentionally doing that thing that somehow massaged my brain—not to mention other parts of my body—and made it impossible to say no to.

“Yeah?”

“Come on.”

“Fine,” I grumbled, but I was a little thankful for the prodding.

What was the worst that could happen? Other than dying of embarrassment.

CHASE

I’d done my homework for this outing, and I’d intentionally chosen a nicer, chick-friendly store per the reviews and pictures online. The inside of this one looked more like a clothing boutique than a sex shop, finished with wood shelving and decked out in black and pink decor.

It was the opposite of the seedy, fluorescent-lit type of store one would picture when thinking “sex shop,” which made it perfect. Hopefully.

We entered and made a beeline past the role play costumes, sex swings, and a BDSM section taking up an entire corner. Fortunately, no one else was in the store, so that was one less thing to potentially freak out James.

On the far wall stood an array of vibrators, butt plugs, and other battery-operated toys. I guided her over, maneuvering myself so I was blocking the adjacent shelf of massive suction-cup dildos from her line of sight. We were shooting for baby steps here. Hell, some of them even disturbed me a little. They were gigantic. I didn’t even want to think about the amount of lube those would require.

I scanned the display, looking for something beginner friendly. They had a decent selection, at least. Rabbit vibrators, bullet vibrators, G-spot stimulators, massage wands, the works. I quickly ruled out anything too anatomically correct. I was pretty sure she had no desire for a veiny purple battery-operated cock. Ditto the low-end toys; this wasn’t the type of purchase to cut corners on.

“I don’t even know what most of these things are,” Bailey said under her breath, fidgeting with the sleeve of her gray wool coat. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

I squeezed her hand. “It’s pretty awesome that you are. Gonna be worth it.” And I meant it on both counts.

“If you say so.” She ran a hand through her loose blond waves, stealing another nervous glance at me. Then she turned her attention back to the display with a hint of curiosity on her face.

See? I knew she had a naughty side. It was just buried really, really deep.

And uncovering it would be half the fun.

My gaze fell to an app-operated turquoise vibrator, my interest piquing. Remote control. The display said the app worked remotely from different locations. Holy shit. If I could get James off while I was out of town for hockey, that would be the fucking sexiest thing ever. Definitely not happening today, but it was going on my shopping list for later.

“What about this?” I grabbed a hot pink silicone bullet vibe off the shelf and examined it. It looked and felt high-end, with a contoured shape, and it wasn’t much larger than my thumb. It was about as cute and non-threatening as a sex toy could get.

Bailey eyed it warily, like it might bite. “I don’t know.”

Turning it over, I switched the button on the base to low. It hummed quietly, vibrating in a pulsing pattern. I pushed another button, and it moved in a slower, wavelike rhythm. Versatile. Nice.

“Look, it has different settings.” I held it out to her, changing the pattern again to a steady vibration. “See? It’s not scary.”

She furrowed her brow and reached out, poking it with her finger. “Huh,” she said. “It’s softer than I thought it would be.”

“Potential?”

“You tell me.” Bailey shrugged. “I have no idea what I’m looking at.”

“We can keep looking if you want.” I switched it off and set it back on the shelf, scanning the other toys. “This one looks like a tube of lipstick. This one fits on your finger. This one has suction…”

“This first one sounds fine.” She turned, surveying the store for onlookers—like she might randomly stumble upon a college classmate in a random sex toy boutique downtown. “Should we go pay?”

“Yeah. Let me look at the box for a second.” Fifteen speeds, ten different rhythms, anatomically designed, made out of medical grade silicone with a USB charger. So theoretically, I could charge it in my truck. Handy. And a six-hour battery life, which I couldn’t see using in one go, but good to know.

Bailey laughed. “You’re acting like you’re buying a car.” Then her eyes fell to the price tag, widening. “Oh my god. You practically are. It’s a hundred and twenty dollars.”

“Good toys aren’t cheap,” I said. “Plus, think of where it’s going.” We’d already established that I was paying, and it wasn’t up for discussion, so there wasn’t much more she could say to that.

I held up the box. “You in agreement?”

“Sure.”

I snagged a bottle of toy cleaner to go with it, and we made our way to the cash register by the doors. Contrary to my joke about Carl, the sales associate working the register was a chick. She was close to our age, heavily tattooed with a septum piercing, and a name tag that read Harriet. Weird. She did not look like a Harriet.

She glanced up from the worn paperback she was reading, bookmarking her spot and setting it aside. “Find everything you were looking for?”

“Sure did,” I said, passing her the items.

Bailey gave her a polite, albeit uneasy, smile. I squeezed her hand again, and she squeezed it back. She’d actually come, and I was stoked that she did.

And eager to get her back to my place.

Harriet scanned the vibrator box and the bottle of toy cleaner, then I handed her my credit card. There was a display of massage candles beside the register that looked intriguing, but we could circle back to that one later too. My list kept getting longer and longer.

“Since you spent over thirty dollars today, you get a complimentary sample of flavored lube,” she said, printing out my receipt and placing it in the small black and pink bag.

“Cool,” I said.

The cashier pointed to the display. “Which flavor do you want?”

“You pick.” I nudged Bailey.

“Huh?” She snapped out of her daze, glancing over at the bottles on display: mango, pink lemonade, strawberry, watermelon. “Um…strawberry?” she squeaked, cheeks turning pink. Adorable.

The salesclerk tossed a tiny sample bottle into the bag and slid it across the counter. Bailey grabbed it, which I took as a massive win.

“Next time, I’ll pack sunglasses and a hat for you,” I said, throwing an arm over her shoulders and kissing the top of her head as we headed for the door. “You can go incognito.”

“Oh my god, no.” She glanced up at me. “Next time we’re ordering online.”

“So you’re open to expanding your toy collection down the road?”

Bailey laughed. “Never change, Carter.”

“You wanna swing by the handcuffs on the way out, or…?”

“I’m good,” she said. “Maybe next time.”

Wait, what?

I turned to look at her. “Really?”

“I said maybe.”

Pushing the door open, I held it for her, and we headed back outside into the chilly fall air. The weather had taken a turn, reminding us that winter was imminent.

“Food time?” My truck beeped from afar as I hit the remote start, the engine roaring to life.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m starving.”

I guided her to the passenger-side door and backed her up against it. My hands found her waist and I leaned in, kissing her quickly. Had to keep it brief because I was already too worked up for my own good. Plus, she smelled delicious, like vanilla and Bailey. Good enough to eat. Literally.

Hmm. Maybe we could skip that meal.

We pulled apart and I studied her face. “What are you in the mood for?”

“I’m not sure.” She shrugged, lips quirking. “What about you?”

Opening that box and test driving the toy, but I wasn’t going to push my luck. She could take it home, and we’d see how that went. Fingers crossed.

“You,” I said. “Sitting on my face.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked over my shoulder, then back at me. “Carter.” She gave me a look. “We’re in public.”

“Technically, we’re in a parking lot. And I didn’t mean here. Just, you know, later.”

I opened the door and shut it behind her before walking around to the driver’s side.

“What’s the over/under on the timeline for opening that box?” I put the truck into reverse and backed out.

“I don’t know,” Bailey said evasively. “Depends on lots of things.”

I stole a glance at her. “I give it four days, max.”

My real bet was two, but I was being conservative.

“Aren’t you optimistic?”

“Always,” I said. “Gonna tell me when you do?”

Her expression shifted, a mixture of self-conscious and mischievous. “You want me to?”

“Hell, yeah.”

Ideally, I wanted a play-by-play, pictures, video. A highly detailed review. But I’d settle for knowing. My imagination could do the rest.

She grinned. “We’ll see.”