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"Talking to your future boy toy?"
"Who else do I talk to?"
"Your sister?"
And a few friends in Europe. But really, I've been too busy with school and therapy to socialize. So many older people tell me their best friends are from college. Sometimes, I worry I'm missing out.
I guess that's life. I can only focus on a few things. Right now, my emotional energy goes to healing, not building friendships. Besides, I have Dare. I always have Dare.
My phone buzzes in my lap.
Dare looks at it expectantly. "That must have been a fun text."
My cheeks flush.
"Is that how you flirt with him from across the ocean?" he asks.
My chest flushes too. It's strange, discussing romance with him, but I don't want to let on. I want to banter the way we normally do. "How'd you know?"
"Did it with a girl once."
"You really needed to keep the spark alive on your eleven-day relationship?"
"Oh, yeah, day ten, it all fades."
A laugh spills from my lips. It's easy and good and normal and totally difficult and abnormal too. There's a strange feeling in my stomach. An excess of nervous energy.
"No." He sits back, sips his drink, motions not bad. "It was a request of hers."
"How's that?"
"To keep a boring dinner interesting, by texting at random times, in random intervals."
"Really, a text?" See, I can talk about sex. We can talk about sex. It's not weird at all. It's totally normal.
"She didn't want to spring for the vibrating panties."
"That's not—"
"There's an app too," he says.
"And you've used it?"
"It's on my list for your next birthday."
My blush deepens.
His laugh deepens too. "I looked it up. To see if there was an easier way."
"And?"
"I kept texting."
"You didn't like her enough to spend, the, what, fifty bucks?"
"A hundred fifty bucks."
"Are vibrators really that expensive?"
He raises a brow. "Don't tell me you don't have one."
I do have one. Two, actually. But I don't really use them. Until recently, I didn't spend a lot of time noticing sexual feelings, much less enjoying them.
Then I went through a million years of therapy, so I could notice them without cringing.
Actually enjoy them.
And then Dare touched me and—
No, this is my first time back home after heavy duty healing. I'm reacting to familiar circumstances in unfamiliar ways.
I'm not lusting after my best friend.
I swallow a sip of coffee. No one is arguing with me. There's no need to shout, if only in my head.
Now. What were we saying?
Shit. Vibrators. Great.
"They were all gifts," I say.
"You still have that one?"
Oh. Right. "It's in California." In my bedroom at my mom's house, at the bottom of my underwear drawer.
"Still works?"
The vibrator Dare bought me when I went to college. As a joke. Well, not a joke, exactly. More a Dare sort of gesture. Hey, now that you're discovering yourself, how about this too?
"Last time I checked," I say.
"When was that?"
"No comment." I do masturbate now, but I typically take a more manual approach.
"Oh, yeah." He smiles. "That's something you can enjoy if you stick with this guy."
"What is?"
"Phone sex."
"Why would we have phone sex?" I ask.
"'Cause you're attending grad school in the fall?"
"And?"
"And you're going to keep seeing Mr. Smarty-pants," he says.
"I'm not looking for a boyfriend," I say.
"What if it takes a while?" he asks.
"To woo him?"
He chuckles. "Did you just say woo?"
"Would you prefer seduce?"
"He's a guy. You can say 'do you want to have sex,' and he'll say yes."
"No." Maybe that's how it goes in Dare's world. Dare is a perfect ten. I am… not.
"Yeah." His eyes flit to my chest. "He'll do it just to see you naked."
My cheeks flame.
"But you'll probably take a while to get comfortable."
"Can we not?" Seriously, I do not want to spend the entire trip, or even the wait until boarding, examining the intricacies of my feelings. I'm tired of examining my feelings. I want to stop thinking about feelings and start fucking someone I like.
"Fuck no. We can and we will. This is what we're doing."
Maybe it's somewhat necessary, but only somewhat. "We're seducing Archie," I say.
He motions to my phone. "Give me that and I'll have you in his bed in twenty-four hours."
"You will not."
"You want to bet?"
No. I shake my head.
"You're the holdup. Not him," he says.
"Maybe he's not into casual sex."
"It's goodbye sex. And, of course, he's into it. He's probably been touching himself, thinking of you all semester."
"Based on what?"
"Do you ever leave the shower in a towel?"
What does that even mean? "What else would I wear?" I ask.
"And you still have those short pajamas?"
"It's hot in Europe."
"Is he gay?" he asks.
"No," I say.
"Then he's thinking about you." He doesn't press the matter. He moves on to the subject of my hesitation. "How far did you go with the religious guy?"
"I'm twenty-two."
"Second base?"
"Yes." My cheeks flush.
"Third?"
"No." Nerves fill my stomach. I don't want to say this. I don't want to admit how much time I've spent hiding.
