Page 30 of Exchange of Heart

‘Give it a rest, would ya? You’re meant to be relaxing.’ My barstool rocked on its uneven legs.

‘I can’t,’ she hissed.

‘Another.’ I slammed my glass onto the counter.

The lady behind the bar wandered back over with a grin. ‘You’re really putting these away.’

My heart raced as I took in her tight jeans and low-cut shirt.

‘I could put you away, too,’ I smirked.

The grin fell from her face. ‘Sorry, I’m not into chicks.’

‘What? I—’

‘Am a lesbian,’ Nora supplied with a pointed look in my direction. ‘You simply can’t resist the curves of the female body, can you?’

I looked down at my body and sighed.

‘Yeah. Vaginas. Obsessed,’ I mumbled.

Which was technically true. This morning, the ache between my legs had been an invitation I couldn’t ignore. My fingers slipped beneath my cotton underwear and trailed along the soft folds. There were so many parts I wanted to explore, but first, I’d slid one finger inside, then another. It was great, really, but it wasn’t making me groan like I’d expected. My moist fingers then stroked up the centre of my folds – her folds – fuck. The line of what belonged to who was blurry now that everything was in my possession. It was already day two, so I’d come to terms with the fact that this was my body. At least for now. I’d made it to my clit, and that’s when I’d released a pornographic moan. Girls in bed never moaned the way I did. I’d frozen at the realisation. Oh my god. Were they faking it with me? It dawned on me that every girl I’d been with had been sexually neglected, because the more I rubbed, the more the pressure built until my legs shook and my brain stopped working. What the fuck had I been doing in bed with women my entire adult life? Well, other than clearly not getting them off? I’d spent the next half hour treating myself to a rubix cube treatment, learning every pattern and combo possible to figure out how to send myself into a new dimension of pleasure. What I wasn’t prepared for, was the revelation that the tiniest point of a nail was equivalent to the blade of a knife. In the end, I’d been equally satisfied and mortified at how bad I’d been with my hands during every previous sexual encounter.

Then came the crushing realisation that Nora’s body had turned me on. I refused to be turned on by Nora Claremont.

‘Sorry,’ the bartender repeated sympathetically.

I blinked away the arousing memory and focused on my empty glass. ‘All good. Can I get another, though? Please?’

She nodded and poured me the biggest pot of honey I’d ever seen. I reached to grab it, but she kept her hands on the glass so I couldn’t slide it back to me.

‘Just, go easy on the drinks. Okay?’

‘Scouts honour.’ I held up four fingers which I’m pretty sure was not correct, but she released the glass regardless.

‘Are you gonna drink that or what?’ I nodded at Nora’s untouched cocktail.

God. She was such a buzzkill.

‘I am,’ she said.

‘You haven’t even taken a sip yet.’

‘We don’t all throw our drinks back, Corey.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe you should. Then you wouldn’t be so…’ My hands waved from her head to her toes.

‘Wouldn’t be so, what? So Corey-looking? Is that the key? To get drunk enough that I somehow look like myself again?’

‘I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell giving it a go.’ I picked up my drink and poured it into my mouth.

Nora stared at me, her expression unreadable. Before I could ask what was wrong, she picked up her drink.

‘Bottoms up.’ Her head tipped back as she chugged the entire cocktail in one go.

‘Yesss!’ I cheered. ‘That’s what I’m talking ’bout.’ My hands drummed the counter. ‘Another of the tall white looking cocktails please.’

The bartender shook her brown curls with a chuckle. ‘You two are single handedly funding the bar today.’