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Sophie shook her head, swallowing hard. “No, you weren’t. It’s just…I don’t know if I can explain it. I live my life in here.” She tapped her forehead. “In tune with my brain, my thoughts. I don’t really have that kind of connection with my body.”
Lazily, I stroked over her slick pussy, drawing moisture out onto her thigh. “You feel pretty connected to me. But I get what you’re saying.” I did. Her education had been narrow.
Her leg slipped over mine. “I am finally starting to grasp how much pleasure we are capable of.” But then she shook her head. “That sounds awkward, but it’s true. I’ve given myself pleasure and I understood all of this in theory, but actually experiencing it is totally different.”
“I understand.” I did. Sometimes I felt too alive. It was why I drank. To dull the reality. If she spent the majority of her time in academics, sex was setting off pheromones she wasn’t used to. “You of all people should know that sex releases happy hormones and shit.”
“Me of all people?” She gave me a smile, pushing her hair back. “What does that mean?”
“Girl genius. Surely you picked up on random sex facts over the years, Miss Blow Him Away.” That still killed me, that she had taken a blow job class. Who does that? Sophie.
Sophie’s nose wrinkled. “Yeah. So this is the effect of oxytocin? I did read that its release decreases your urge for carbs and increases your urge to procreate.”
That made no sense to me because I was pretty sure I could smash a pizza right then. I gave her a sidelong look. “I feel no urge whatsoever to procreate.”
Sophie laughed. “No, I meant in women.”
This was a conversation guaranteed to kill my hard-on. “Do you feel the urge to procreate? Because that’s a no from me.”
“Oh, stop!” She smacked me in the chest. “I do not want to procreate. I’m not sure if I even want to have children, but if I do I’ll be at least thirty. At least.”
“You’re the one who brought up the urge to procreate.”
“Fair enough.” She smiled at me, her cheeks still flushed by those same hormones. “Do you want kids?”
That made every muscle in my body tense. I did not want to be a dick to Sophie. I didn’t. I forced myself to relax, and let my fists release. “I would have to say no. Considering I might have one and I’ll never know or not.”
I don’t know why I decided to tell Sophie. Maybe because she was being honest and straightforward with me. Maybe because she had decided to trust me. Maybe because I was sober. Maybe it didn’t even matter.
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that if you want to know why I hate my brother, the answer is simple. He fucked my girlfriend. And then nine months later Camp came along.”
It wasn’t very often that I could even force the little boy’s name off my lips. I didn’t like the name. It was yet another of Ali’s indulgent moves. Camp was a noun, not a name. But whatever. The major reason I couldn’t speak his name out loud was because it hurt so damn bad.
I had thought he was mine. Had anticipated his birth. Been excited.
Then it had all come crashing down around me in the most glorious explosion of family drama. Jerry Springer shit.
And Ali had rolled and I had walked into the arms of my favorite lover. Booze.
