Page 28 of Talk Nerdy To Me
“Then of course there are the ones who ask too many questions about my family. Everyone has warned me about social ladder climbers using me and possibly hurting me or the family. I’m not sure if they mean emotionally or physically, but either way, if they’re warning me away, then I listen. And I’m supposed to avoid ‘cherry pickers,’ though I’m still not sure how to discern who chases virgins just to be the breaker of the most hymens. Contrary to popular belief, women maintain a hymen; it just stretches or tears during the first session of intercourse. That’s why pain scales vary. I have a normal hymen; the opening in it grows larger as I grow, but I’m finished growing, so it should hurt the least now.”
His laughter doubles, and he moves even closer, causing his jean-clad knee to brush against my shin. I have no clue why I shiver, but I do, and tingles ghost over my body.
As his laughter tapers off, I decide it’s safe to continue talking, since it doesn’t seem like he’s put off.
“Mostly, I’d just like to not be a virgin anymore, but I don’t want someone who will hurt me physically. I have an eidetic memory, so forgetting things is an issue, and I’ve read some horror stories. I’m not worried about getting hurt emotionally.”
His smile vanishes. “You need to be prepared, and—”
“I have plenty of lubricant and condoms, and I’ve been on birth control for years,” I tell him, practically gloating over my preparation skills. “Rain assures me I’ll want a lot of sex as long as the first time isn’t terrible, so I’ve stocked three drawers.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “That’s certainly prepared,” he mutters under his breath just loud enough for me to hear. “Definitely get someone who knows what they’re doing,” he says quietly, his eyes dipping to my mouth before coming back up.
He groans for no reason I can discern as he flops over to his back and puts his arm across his face. Without looking at me, he adds, “And I read about your memory, Girl Genius.”
I look down and start picking at a loose thread on his black bedspread.
“So if I asked you for the square root of any number, you’d know it immediately?” he asks, lifting his arm so he can see me.
“Doubtful. I’d have to do the math, even if it was in my head.”
“Terrible inconvenience,” he says with that same small smile.
I just glance around his room, taking in the sparse decorations and plain furniture that is peeling at all the edges. He doesn’t seem to care much for things. I like that.
“So tell me something real, Britt Sterling. Something very few know. You’re getting closer to a revelation; I can feel it,” he says, still grinning. “You can tell me why you’re really obsessed with sex.”
When I open my mouth to correct him, he beats me to it.
“Sorry. You can explain your fixation with sex. The real reason.”
Bristling, I decide to keep that to myself.
Instead, my eyes slowly lift to meet his, and I say something I’ve never said aloud to anyone. “Everyone thinks I’m smart.”
“Everyone thinks you’re a genius,” he says absently as he picks his guitar back up. “The smartest of the smart. That doesn’t have any relevance to the topic, though.”
“Just because someone tests to be a genius, it doesn’t mean they’re smart.”
He frowns at that, and I work a little harder to play along with this muse game of his. “I’m actually not very smart at all,” I go on.
“How are you not smart?” he asks, sounding confused…or constipated. One day, I’ll learn the difference.
Before I can answer, there’s a knock at the door, saving me from the confession.
