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“No one forced you to choose that card. It was fate,” Sammy teased.
“Yeah, yeah.” Farrah resigned herself to her so-called fate. She spread her arms. “I’m ready. Have at it.”
They did. Her friends peppered her with rapid-fire questions. As expected, most were sexual but harmless.
Ever have a threesome? Nope.
Weirdest hookup spot? Lifeguard stand at the beach (depending on how you interpret the word “hookup”).
Celebrity fantasy? Ian Somerhalder or Henry Cavill. Or both. Farrah added that last part as a joke, though it earned her a few speculative glances from the guys.
Men. So predictable.
Blake asked the next question. “If you could hook up with one person in the program, who would it be?”
Farrah froze. Everyone stared at her expectantly as she worked to keep her face expressionless and her gaze from flicking in Leo’s direction. She was convinced any movement on her part would give it away. She thought about making something up, but she didn’t want someone thinking she had a crush on them when she didn’t.
Lie or take the shot? On the one hand, the smell of baijiu alone made her want to vomit. On the other…
Fuck it.
Farrah picked up the baijiu, poured the clear liquid into an empty shot glass, and knocked it back straight, holding her breath so she didn’t have to inhale its fuel-like odor.
Her friends burst into a spontaneous round of applause. Blake was the only one who didn’t clap. Instead, he watched her drink with a knowing smirk.
Farrah grimaced as the cheap, fiery liquid burned its way down her throat. Why the hell did Chinese people like baijiu so much? It smelled and tasted like rubbing alcohol.
Olivia handed her a glass of water, which she downed in five seconds. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. The urge to vomit subsided, but the alcohol’s brutal aftertaste lingered.
“You are a champ.” Sammy reached around Olivia to pat her on the back.
“You that desperate to hide something from us?” Leo joked.
Farrah played it cool with a shrug and a smile. “No follow-up questions,” she reminded him. She avoided his gaze.
Leo held up his hands in surrender. “Ok. Here’s an easy one. What’s your number?”
Aka the number of people she’d slept with.
She paused before answering. “Zero.”
Olivia knew this, so she didn’t blink an eye, but the rest of the table stared at Farrah like she’d grown another head.
“You’re shitting me,” Luke said.
“Nope.” Farrah lifted her chin with equal parts embarrassment and defiance. A nineteen-year-old virgin from L.A. was a novelty these days, but she wasn’t a prude. She had experience on all the bases. She’d just never hit a home run.
“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Olivia said loyally.
“Of course not.” Farrah couldn’t tell whether Leo was impressed, amused, or bemused. “You’re ready when you’re ready. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”
Farrah forced a smile. She chose not to mention that, if she had her way, she’d have lost her virginity already. Last year, she came this close to giving it up to Garrett Reiss, the hot junior in her Visual Communication class. After their third date, they made it all the way to his dorm room and to the pivotal moment before Garrett realized he was out of condoms. Before their next date could happen, she caught him playing tonsil hockey with another girl at the movies, and that was that.
Farrah didn’t want or need to wait for marriage or true love (although there was nothing wrong with that), but a girl had to have some standards. Sadly, every time she got close to doing the deed with someone who seemed to meet those standards, something came along and ruined it—wrong place, wrong time, no protection, guy turns out to be an asshole. The list goes on.
At this point, Farrah was never going to have sex. She could picture her headstone engraving already: HERE LIES FARRAH LIN, WORLD’S OLDEST VIRGIN, WHO TRIED TO GIVE IT AWAY BUT COULDN’T. MAY SHE REST IN PEACE.
“So how far have you gone?” Nardo looked intrigued. “Second? Third? Or—” He paused. “Wait. Have you gone past first?”
