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“BJ, how many girls have you slept with over the past three years?”
“I don’t know. Keeping track would be seriously douchey. They’re not conquests, they’re fun-time friends,” I joke.
But she doesn’t laugh. Lovey rolls her eyes. “A lot, though, right?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“Like one a week?”
“Why are you so focused on the number?”
She sits up. “For the sake of guesstimating, let’s say one girl a week for each semester, which is sixteen weeks long, for the past three years, give or take a few.”
I feel a little sick. “I don’t think it’s that many. There were a lot of weeks I didn’t sleep with anyone.”
“Sure, but some weeks there was more than one bedmate.”
“Not often.”
“Whatever. I’m trying to do mental math, and you’re making it impossible.” Her nose scrunches up. “Ninety-six.” She makes a face like I just farted. “Oh, that’s a lot.”
“Are you sex-shaming me?” An uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.
“I don’t think I need to. You’ve had a lot of meaningless sex, BJ. As your best friend, I love you, but that’s a lot of orgasms without any connection. I’m super glad you’ve found someone you connect with, but you should consider giving her a heads-up about your prolific past. Because chances are, she’ll run into one of your former flings in Chicago.”
“Twenty thousand people go to that school.”
“I need both hands to count the number of times some girl has come up asking if you want to hang out again.”
“Yeah, but I’m with you all the time.”
“News flash, BJ, label or no label, you and Winter are a thing, which means you’ll be together a lot.”
“I really don’t think it’s a big deal.” I’m not sure I believe that as I say it.
“Which part? All the sex you’ve had with random hookups for the sake of getting off, or the possibility that Winter will run into one of them on campus?”
“She’s not like that. She’s easygoing.”
Lovey sighs. “Last word on the topic, and then I’ll drop it.” She gives me her arched eyebrow. “Would you be easygoing if the tables were turned?”
I don’t know what my face is doing, but her smirk tells me she’s made her point.
I wake at five thirty in the morning. Lovey is wrapped around the body pillow next to me. We must have fallen asleep talking, which isn’t unusual, particularly in the summer since her parents’ place is just down the road. The body pillow became a necessary addition to prevent any awkwardness.
I shake her shoulder, and she makes a noise. “Hey, Lovey, you fell asleep.”
She lifts her head and blinks blearily at me. “Time’s it?”
“Five thirty. When do you have to be at work?”
“Seven.”
“You should get a move on, then.”
“Kay, kay,” she mutters.
I hear footfalls on the stairs, but going down, not coming up. I throw off the covers and open the door, peeking into the hall. Winter’s bedroom door is open, and a light filters up the stairs. My parents are early risers, but they usually don’t start their day until six thirty.
