Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
I try to play dumb, but my body betrays me. My knees press together; my toes curl against the carpet. “Nothing. I mean—not nothing. I just—stayed at someone’s place, and yes, he’s male. That’s all.”
She nods, a big smile on her face. “So. Spill.”
I shake my head, stare at my knees. “It’s not—he’s not…” I can’t even say the word “dating,” not when the whole thing still feels so new.
Simone waits, silent, like she has all afternoon. I know that trick; it’s what she does with the kids she tutors: never push, just leave the silence on the table until someone can’t stand it anymore.
I give in. “I—” My voice is so small I have to clear my throat. “I had sex.” The words hit the air like an accusation. “Last night. For the first time.”
Simone’s eyebrows go up, but she doesn’t make a sound. She sits on the box nearest me, knees spread, leaning forward.
“With a man?” she says, softer than before.
I nod, not trusting myself to talk.
She waits.
I try again. “He’s older,” I say, which is true. “Like two decades older, and he’s obviously not in school. Not really part of any of the dorms or classes, or anything.” I gesture at the mess of boxes, the empty walls. “It just happened.”
Simone’s face stays perfectly still, but her knuckles go white around the edges of the cardboard. “Okay, but do you like him?”
I let the question hang there, not sure how to answer. I think about the way Thomas looked at me, really looked at me, the way his touch was both a command and a comfort. I think about how the city looked from his windows, endless and blue and glittering, and how for a second, I thought: This is what it’s like to be chosen.
“I think so,” I say, and it feels like stepping out over open water. “I mean, it’s still early.”
Simone draws a breath, holds it. “Was it good?” she asks, and her voice is all curiosity, no judgment.
A laugh escapes me—nervous, bright, barely under control. “It was amazing. And terrifying. And not what I thought it would be.” I drop my eyes, picking at a loose thread in the mattress. “He was so gentle with me, despite his huge size. Like Sim, I didn’t think he would fit at first. Like no way, nuh uh.”
She giggles.
“That’s what I thought the first time I saw Liam’s tool. It was also near panic, shaking my head, my pussy’s going to be destroyed. But it was good right? You enjoyed it?”
I smile, warmth rushing through me.
“It was amazing. He was so tender, and not just in bed. After, too. He made breakfast. He made it feel like I belonged there, even though we hardly know each other.” My voice catches, stupidly, and I hate how soft it sounds.
I can’t look at my roomie, so I stare out the window at the thin slice of sky. I don’t know how to say it without sounding like every other girl who’s ever mistaken sex for love, but there’s a gravity in the memory, a sense of having crossed some private, irreversible threshold.
“He treated me like I mattered,” I finish, and the words feel so tiny compared to the feeling in my chest.
Simone says nothing, just sits there, face still and open. I can see her thinking, gears turning behind her eyes. I wonder if she’s remembering her own first time, or if she’s trying to calibrate whether I need comfort or reality.
She finally says, “Does he know it was your first?”
I nod. “Yes, I told him.”
“Did you tell anyone else?” Her voice is wary. “I know you have that bet going on with the girls down the hall.”
I shake my head. “No. I haven’t told anyone but you. Not yet.”
Simone nods, as if she expected this. “Do you want to?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t even decided if I want to see him again,” I lie, trying to sound nonchalant.
She gives me a look that’s half-smile, half-pity. “You want to. I can tell.”
The truth of it stings, but also relieves me. “Yeah,” I say. “I do. I really like him.”
Simone sits there a while, then stands and comes over, perching on the edge of my mattress. She puts a hand on my shoulder, gentle, the way you might touch a cat that might bolt at any second.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone,” she says. “Not even me. But—” She hesitates. “Don’t get caught up in hormones, okay? I mean, it’s natural, but my first time, I thought I was going to get married to the guy. The flood of endorphins was so strong that I couldn’t see straight for months.”
“Oh no, it’s not like that,” I babble. “I’m totally fine.”
Simone smiles sympathetically.
“Good, I’m glad to hear that. And if you do see him again, make it because you want to. Not because you feel like you owe him, or anything like that. You don’t owe him anything.”