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I got up, walked over to her, circled my arm around her belly, and rested my chin on her shoulder. “Everything okay?” I asked quietly.
She sighed and I felt the tension leave her body. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just get sick of being judged all the time, you know? So I’m into guys in their forties instead of guys in their twenties. Why should that matter? I’m twenty years old. Why can’t I date whoever I want without getting shit about it?”
Rachel had always been supportive of me. When we were younger, we went to the same school, and though I had always been one of the social outcasts, Rachel had been Miss Popular. With her long auburn hair, bright-blue eyes, flawless skin, and early-to-curve figure, she was the girl all the boys wanted to date and the one who had invitations to sit at every girl’s lunch table. And she had never, not once, complained about being saddled with a little brother who didn’t rank in the same social circle. She used to let me hang around with her, glared at anyone who even thought of making fun of me, and generally took care of me. She was a good sister.
“I didn’t mean to judge you,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
She patted my arm with her free hand. “It’s okay. I’m probably being a little hypersensitive because I found out Rodney’s wife didn’t know anything about their pending divorce.”
Rodney was the current boyfriend. Age: unknown. Marital status: uh, yeah.
I stepped away from her, planted both hands on the counter behind me, and lifted myself up so I could sit down next to the stove and talk to my sister while she cooked. “So he lied to you?” I asked.
She took in a deep breath. “Yup. He lied. Shocker there, right? I should have known I was nothing but a piece on the side. Why else would a successful ad exec want to spend time with a big-chested bimbo?”
“Hey, now,” I said. “You are not a bimbo. You took AP classes in high school.”
“I took AP Spanish,” she said as she looked up and met my gaze. “Did I ever tell you that Mr. Ramirez was going through a divorce?”
My jaw dropped. “Shut up! He’s, like, a thousand years old.”
“He was forty-seven and he was fit for his age.” She went back to stirring the sauce.
Yeah, I had to give her that. The Spanish teacher had a smoking body for an old guy. “Hey!” I said excitedly. “I just remembered something.”
“What’s that?”
“Mr. Ramirez is divorced. Like, all the way divorced. I heard him saying something about his ex-wife last fall.”
“Great,” she said with no conviction whatsoever. “I’m no longer a hussy because the teacher I was banging senior year actually ended up with a failed marriage. Go me.”
I chuckled. “Nice use of ‘banging.’”
My sister grinned. “Thanks. I might have done better in my English class if I’d been asked to use bang or blow in a sentence instead of blithe.”
“What does blithe mean?” I asked.
“Uh.” Rachel furrowed her brow and chewed on her bottom lip. “I still have no clue.”
“Huh.” I swallowed hard and steeled my nerves. “And what about blow?”
She froze and panned her gaze over to me slowly. “You’re seventeen years old and you’re asking me what it means to blow someone?”
I rubbed my lips together anxiously. “I’m not so much asking what it means… more, uh….” I gulped again and tried to figure out how to articulate what I wanted to know.
Rachel turned off the burner, carried the pasta pot to the sink and poured it into the colander, and then walked back over to me and hopped onto the counter so we were shoulder to shoulder.
“So you’re looking for tips on how to give a killer BJ?” she asked, grinning wickedly.
I buried my face in my hands and mumbled, “Oh God.”
My sister cackled. “Well, you’ve come to the right person. I just happen to be a subject matter expert.” She elbowed my ribs. “And if you’re lucky, deep-throating might run in the family.”
The heat radiating off my face was so intense it was a wonder my skin didn’t melt off. “Oh God,” I said again.
The laughing stopped and Rachel nudged my shoulder with hers. “Hey, Charlie,” she said.
“Uh-huh.” I still didn’t look up.
“Sex isn’t anything to be ashamed of. It’s natural and beautiful, and don’t you let anyone tell you different or make you feel guilty for enjoying it, okay?”
I dropped my hands and met her gaze. “Yeah?” I asked shyly.
She dipped her chin. “Definitely. Now, blowjobs. The secret comes down to angles.”
“Angles?”
“Yup,” my sister said. And then she started explaining something way more critical than high school English.
MY BACK hit Scott’s bedroom wall, and then he slammed his mouth onto mine and shoved his tongue inside.
“You’re sure your parents are going to be out late?” I panted when we separated for a two-second air break.
