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Sophie shivers. “Ugh. I hate that guy. Is he still a smarmy asshole?”
“Yup,” Lauren answers for me, popping the “p.” She drains her cocktail, studying the ice at the bottom before she speaks again. “Is he still bothering you, Frankie? I hope he didn’t give you a hard time after I put him in his place.”
“No, no. He never said anything about it to me.” My burger calls to me from the plate, begging me to take another bite of its greasy, savory-sweet goodness. I give in, praying that someone else will talk while I chew. But no such luck. Everyone is silent, chewing and waiting for me to elaborate. “Derek showed up at the movie theater and was being horrible to Julian. I thought Julian was going to punch him in the face, so I intervened. Derek didn’t believe that we’re dating, so, well. You know.”
I hide my embarrassment behind another bite of burger.
“Goddammit, Frankie, you can’t moan like that—it’s not fair.” Lauren drops her fork onto her plate. “So tell me more about your coffee date this morning. Did Julian scramble your eggs?”
Emma and Sophie burst out laughing so loudly that four different tables turn to look.
“Lauren!” I slink down in my seat.
“Or did you have a French kiss, I mean toast?” Emma winks at me and Lauren, nudging her mom in the side.
“A valiant effort, Ems.” Sophie pats her on the head, earning an annoyed look from Emma. “I bet whatever they ate, there were definitely strawberries.”
Emma, Lauren, and I make eye contact. I have no idea what Sophie is trying to hint at. I’ve never heard of strawberries being a euphemism for anything sexual. After a second, Sophie sighs and leans over the table to whisper something in Lauren’s ear.
“How could I forget about strawberry-gate?” Lauren is laughing so hard she’s in tears. “God, I love Gabe, he’s so hot.” She wipes a finger under each eye before stealing my iced tea and taking a sip.
“Do you know what they’re talking about?” Emma asks, leaning away from her mother. Sophie and Lauren are cackling and making incoherent noises about guitars, fruit, and someone named L. Ann.
“No idea.”
Most of the time, I forget how different my life was like as a kid. Growing up in tiny Altus, Oklahoma, not even an hour’s drive from the Texas border, the middle kid out of seven, is so different from my friends. My dad is a preacher at the local Baptist church and my mom works on the Air Force Base. To say my upbringing was conservative is an understatement.
And even though I stumbled onto my fair share of racy fan fiction on the internet, without the privacy of my own computer, I stayed away from anything that I wouldn’t be able to explain away to my parents. Or convince my siblings they hadn’t seen. To this day, I don’t even own a vibrator, terrified that somehow my parents would find out I have it.
I wasn’t quite on the same level of sainthood as Jamie Sullivan from A Walk to Remember, but I was just as innocent until the day I got to MIT.
There was one guy my sophomore year of college—we went out to dinner a few times. But after a heavy make-out session in his car at the end of our fourth date, he walked me to my door and blindsided me with the “I see you like a sister” speech that I’d heard a dozen times before. When I asked why he’d been happy to get to second base with someone he saw as a sister, he’d just shrugged. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Frankie, but you’re just not what I’m looking for in a girlfriend.”
I found out later from a friend that he’d been telling everyone it was like going to second base with a dude, I was so flat-chested. My A-cups weren’t enough to overlook the fact that I was the best in our class. It didn’t stop one of the other guys in our class from taking my virginity a few months later, but it hadn’t been particularly special. Just a chance to check the box and get it over with.
Sex was one of those things I figured was just not going to be for me. Until this morning, I’d never really understood what all the fuss was about. I’ve even flirted with the idea of being asexual or gray-sexual over the years, but the labels never felt quite right. When Lauren and Sophie would talk about it, or some scene they’d read in a book, I would smile and nod and wait until the conversation turned to a more familiar topic to chime in. It figures that the day I finally have some interest in the topic, Emma is here, and I can’t ask the million questions running through my mind.
By the time I’m home again, my stomach still uncomfortably full, I’ve had time to overthink the entire morning in excruciating detail. I’ve also had time to dwell on the fact that I haven’t heard from Julian at all.
We haven’t texted each other once since this whole crazy arrangement started, except that one time he texted me from the lobby to warn me that Derek was down there. It shouldn’t worry me that I haven’t heard from him all day. But that was before this morning, when everything changed.
It didn’t occur to me after Friday because, frankly, I’m an idiot. I assumed Julian letting me kiss him was a fluke. Something he would rather forget. It never occurred to me to expect to hear from him.
But after that “breakfast,” I can’t stop thinking about him.
Did he like it? Was he just humoring me on Friday? Did he come back this morning because he enjoyed it? What was there for him to like? I didn’t give Julian anything back in return. I would have, but my family calling drove it all from my mind in an instant.
Shit. I may have fucked everything up. And I never asked the girls about what I should do.
What if he’s mad at me?
Not if. I know he’s upset, only an idiot would assume he wasn't, after my panic this morning.
What would Lauren do?
Lauren would drive over to his house and give him an apology blow job. Well, to be perfectly honest. Lauren wouldn’t have answered the call from her family in the first place. Besides, I don’t know where he lives.
What would Sophie have done, though?
