Page 1 of Drive Me Wild
ONE
JOSIE
I’m surrounded by balls.Big balls, tiny balls, oddly shaped balls. White balls, orange balls, dark brown balls. So many bloody balls. Even when I was in a relationship, I never had so many goddamn balls around me. Two balls are more than enough… this is overkill.
Turning to my best friend, I shoot her a panicked look. When I asked her boyfriend to pick up a few props for our photoshoot, I didn’t think he’d buy an entire sporting goods store. What does he possibly think I’m going to do with an athletic cup meant to protect a man’s groin?
“Do you think it’s enough?” Blake asks, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Or should I get more?”
Ella and I both give him a resounding, “No!”
I kick a basketball out of my way, so I don’t trip and accidentally break something. I’ve been assisting Ella while she restarts her podcast, and I can’t exactly sue for worker’s comp for simply helping a friend.
“This is more than enough,” I quickly reassure him. “Thank you, babes.”
Glancing around the photo studio Ella rented, I start mapping out a game plan. A white backdrop covers one wallwhile exposed brick makes up the others. A few windows close to the ceiling let in gorgeous natural light that will be great for what I have in mind for her podcast cover and promo photos.
I hand Blake a white ceramic mug featuring theCoffee with Championslogo emblazoned on the front. “Do you mind filling this up with some coffee? There should be some in the kitchen area. I want to get some photos of El holding it.”
Plus, I could use another cup.
He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”
McAllister is one of the top Formula 1 teams and, as part of their marketing team, I’ve learned a lot. Not only do I know how to engage an audience and capture someone’s attention with a thirty-second video, but I also know that Blake—the driver who does not like being told what to do—will happily jump through any hoop if it involves his girlfriend.
He leans down to kiss Ella like I’m not in the room—an intimate moment I’m awkwardly included in simply because of proximity.Ugh.The two of them are great together, but I’m a freshly single woman, and their lovey-dovey cuteness is a constant reminder of that. Of Andrew. Of the lease I just re-signed on my one-bedroom flat after backing out of moving into Andrew’s place.
Nope.Not going there today. Or ever.
I pull out my phone and connect it to Bluetooth so we can listen to some music while we work. I’m the de facto DJ and the automatic aux holder because, objectively, I have the best taste in music.
I’m not sure where my love for music comes from. Definitely not from my parents, who think Justin Bieber was in One Direction. Maybe from one of my birth parents, although I’ll never know for certain. Fun perk of being adopted, I suppose; my past is just as mysterious as my future. Which is also probably why I used to be obsessed with astrology—it gave mea frame of reference for my quirks and preferences my parents can’t take credit for. Scorpios like music that makes them feel deeply and connects them to their emotions: check.
I click on my playlist titled “cigarettes and sex.” It’s filled with angsty songs that you want to scream along to at the top of your lungs. The kind of songs that let you get out your energy when you feel like a badass. Also, the kind of songs that will force apart a couple who are kissing in front of you.
Joan Jett and The Blackheart’s “Bad Reputation” does its job, and Ella and Blakefinallystop kissing. Her cheeks are completely flushed, although I’m not sure if it’s from desire or embarrassment. If you had told me a year ago that this Formula 1 fuckboy would now be the king of PDA, I would’ve thought you were high.
“Great song choice, Jos,” Ella compliments me, her cheeks still pink. “I swear you’re a musical savant or something.”
I throw her a quick thanks before turning to Blake with a wide smile. “Coffee?”
He rubs the back of his neck guiltily before disappearing from the room. Ella and I begin setting up the sports equipment, rearranging and taking test shots to see what looks best. Unlike the McAllister drivers, Ella listens when I give her simple directions—no eye rolling, mumbling under her breath, or flat out refusing.Cough, cough, Blake.
“Remi texted me again,” Ella says casually. “About getting your mom on her podcast.”
I swallow back a groan. Remi Baxter is the host of my favorite podcast, Dating and Dildos,and is now Ella’s mentor in the indie podcasting world.When Ella told her my mum istheCaroline Bancroft, London’s leading sex therapist, she nearly had a heart attack.
There’s a reason my mum has a seven-month long waiting list just for a consultation—she’s the best in the field. Thatdoesn’t mean I want her spouting sex advice to millions of people, especially because she tends to “anonymously” usemeas an example. God knows why. Most of the sex I’ve had is… vanilla. Not bad by any means, but it certainly wouldn’t be featured in the Kama Sutra. I’ve never had sex in a position called theHimalayan Hump,or anything elusive and bendy like that.
“Nope,” I confirm. “The reason I love her show so much is so I can hear someoneotherthan my mother talk about sex and dating. And if there’s even the slightest chance the worddickcomes out of her mouth, I’m vetoing it. On the list of things I hope toneverexperience, that’s in the top five. Top three, if we’re being completely honest.”
I love my mum. I really, truly do. But sex to her is a normal dinner conversation.Please pass the rolls, darling. Oh! And by the way, have you had an orgasm today?When other kids were learning about the birds and bees, I was learning about breast cancer screenings and boundaries. I’m grateful she’s open about these types of things, but it can be a lot sometimes. I still have post-traumatic stress from when she taught a safe sex class at my school and demonstrated how to properly put on a condom using a banana. She kept repeating that it wasn’t an accurate representation of a man’s size, and I still can’t eat the yellow fruit to this day.
“Can I at least tell her you’ll think about it?” Ella asks, picking up a stray tennis ball. “Pretty please?”
I start singing the chorus of Megan Trainor’s “NO” in response. There’s no way in hell I need my mum making it anymore obvious to the world that her love language is vibrators.
I only stop my private concert when a brilliant idea strikes like lightning. “El, let’s do a test shot of footballs and American footballs. I think it’d be a cute double entendre to have both.”
