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“Maybe I should just cancel,” I mumble, ignoring her attempt at humor.
“Don’t you dare,” Peyton protests. “You need this, Lanna. When was the last time you were with anyone that wasn’t your hand?”
“Aaron,” I admit, my voice small.
“Jesus, it’s worse than I thought.” She sighs.
I cringe, because I know she’s right. Aaron and I broke up seven months ago, after he cheated on me with my then best friend, Dani. I’d been friends with Dani since elementary school, so it really hurt catching them in bed together.
I'll never forget walking through my apartment door after going home sick from work and finding the two of them in bed together. I heard noises that, in hindsight, were a warning, but I didn't think anything of it back then. When I pushed open the door and saw the two of them together, I felt sick. I played it back over in my mind again and again, sure that it was something I did. Did I push them together? Could I have done something differently?
But there was no indication that anything was going on between them. It was completely out of left field. It took me forever to get over it. I’m not even sure I'm completely over it now, because I’m sure it’s affected my ability to trust men. I was grateful for Peyton for being there for me back then, just like I’m grateful to have her here now.
“Lanna, you need to do this,” she says, pleading with me. “I know it’s out of your comfort zone—so much so that you’re probably shitting yourself, but short of hiring you an escort, I don’t know what else to do with you,” she says.
I laugh in spite of myself, because I know she’s right. I sigh and close my eyes. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“Fine. I’ll be there soon.”
~~
“I can’t do this,” I mumble, breaking out into a sweat.
I wipe my forehead as I pace Peyton’s living room, my breathing shallow. All I think about is all the ways this can go wrong. I walk back into her bedroom and sit down on her bed. She kneels in front of me, taking my hands in hers, ready to avert my breakdown.
“Yes, you can,” she says, staring into my eyes. “You’re going to go out with Jake, have some fun, and if you end up back at his place, then you’re going to fuck the cobwebs out of your vagina, okay? Do this for you, Lanna. Do it for your vagina.”
I laugh helplessly and nod. Okay. For me. I nod. I can do this. For my vagina.
I get to my feet, feeling pumped for all of about five seconds before the sick feeling starts to creep back into my stomach. I wrap my arms around Peyton and kiss her cheek, determined to leave before I chicken out. She hands me a shot—of what, I have no idea, but I just shrug and drink it back.
“I’ll call you,” I promise, grabbing my purse and my phone.
She squeals and follows me to the door, hitting me on the ass as I walk out.How did I let her talk me into this?
I should be in bed. I should be lying there, with the television on, admiring Jensen Ackles, while watching reruns of Supernatural, not standing in front of a bar in a dress that feels too low, too short, and too tight, watching Jake saunter toward me.
I brace myself as he gets closer. His dark hair blows gently against the wind. I shiver as his dark piercing eyes lock on mine and his lips part into a sexy smile.
He’s much better looking than stuffy old Chase…
All I need to do now is actually believe that.
“Hey.” He smiles when he reaches me. “You look incredible.” He leans in to kiss me on the cheek. I nearly faint as his aftershave embraces me because it’s the same one Chase wears.
“Thanks,” I say, barely able to get the words out.
He takes my hand and leads me inside, wasting no time in making a move on me. We’re barely through the door when his lips begin to ravage my neck. He's moving faster than I was expecting, but I go with it, because it’s been that long since I’ve been with anyone, and Peyton is right.
I know a big part of the problem is that I’m scared to put myself out there after what happened with Aaron, but tonight I’m going against everything my gut tells me and just going for it. I’m going to rip it off like a Band-Aid because I’ll feel so much better if I just do this.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, finally dragging himself away from me long enough to look at me.
I smile. “A wine would be nice,” I say. “Something white and dry.”
