Chinese Handcuffs Read Online Free

that I can’t tell the difference between being horny and being in love and you might begin to envision the width and depth of my dilemma.
    Sometimes I feel I’m inside Jen’s head. God, I wish you knew her, Pres. From the day I first saw her at Chief Joe, the first day of our junior year, I was drawn to her like a masochist to hot tongs. Up lit my eyes, and over to her I went. It wasn’t lust or lechery or any of the baser passions that usually get me sauntering toward some girl’s locker between classes, digging into my bullshit bag of emotional magnets for the one that will pull her tight. What drew me to Jen was that magical sense of connection that goes beyond time and experience together, that sense that we already shared important knowledge—even if that knowledge was dark. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s powerful stuff. Screwballs like Stacy, no offense, would tell you Jenand I probably knew each other in another life, but unless Stace wants to offer me a close encounter of the physical kind, she’ll be hard pressed to get me believing anyone who had spent one life here would re-up for a second.
    Anyway, those two ladies are in my life right now, and though they’re as different from each other as either is from me—and neither wants into my pants—they give me what I need, and I wouldn’t be with one to the exclusion of the other, though Stacy’s been gone a lot and that hasn’t been tested. I don’t believe in ownership, and luckily for me, neither do they.
    You can’t talk about Jen without talking about hoops, just as you can’t talk about Stacy—at least I can’t—without talking about you. Jen is probably the best athlete at her sport, male or female, at Chief Joe, and that’s coming from me, easily the best male athlete, as you no doubt heard me say from time to time. It might be hard to get consensus from the athletic department, because I still don’t play any sports here, though every coach in every sport except golf and tennis has tried to recruit me. I don’t want to brag, but you should see me now, Pres. I think I could make varsity for any one of them. I just haven’t found anyone I wanted to play for. Like I said, I’m still hard to control.
    Actually part of what I just wrote is a lie: I do like to brag. That’s not new to you.

CHAPTER 2
    Generally speaking, driving into Jennifer Lawless’s territory was like water skiing in shark-infested waters behind a slow boat. Sooner or later you’d lose your ass. Practice was no different from a game to Jennifer, and today was no exception. The first team worked a zone defense, and she owned every inch of hardwood invisibly marked off to be hers. Three times Sandra Madison, the sinewy whippet of a second-string point guard, had tried to drive on her, and three times Jennifer’s lightning-quick hands whipped in like a snake’s tongue and batted the ball away, once into the bleachers and twice into her own teammates’ hands. On Sandy’s fourth try, Jennifer feigned fatigue (Sandy should have known better), let Sandy smell the path to the hoop, then moved in a flash to an intersecting pointand took the charge, hands in the air, crashing butt first to the floor.
    â€œThat’s our ball,” Jennifer said, smiling, then waved a friendly index finger side to side in front of Sandy’s nose. “Don’t come in here.”
    Sandy picked up the ball and checked her body parts. “Don’t worry.”
    The whistle blew, signaling the onset of conditioning drills, and as the girls lined up, Coach Sherman motioned to Jennifer, who approached like a racehorse following a tough workout, shoulder-length blond hair clinging to her neck like a wet mane, her long, sinewy legs glistening with sweat. Standing face-to-face, the two looked like images through a twenty-year mirror, identical long, strong bodies