Page 30 of Sweeter Than Fiction

Realizing what I just said, I proceed to start rambling. “I mean, I’m not a virgin or anything. I’ve done it. Lots of times. Well, not lots. It’s just that none of the guys were very good at it, so I didn’t want to keep going. Like you said, sometimes, it’s better to just do it yourself.”

For the love of God, Abby, stop talking!

But I’m not done. “I have no idea if I like the kinky sex type stuff. Or when a guy takes charge.”

Don interrupts with a big smile on his face. “You don’t know if you like being called a good girl?”

If my face gets any redder, I worry it may catch fire. “No. Uh, I have no idea if I like that either.”

Well, if he didn’t think you were a freak before, he probably does now. Way to go, Abby.

Wanting to get the spotlight off of me, I stammer, “What about you?”

“Oh, Abs, I only like being called a good girl on really special occasions,” he jokes.

“I mean what kind of stuff are you into?”

“Whatever the woman I’m with is into.”

I roll my eyes. “That answer seems like a copout.”

“It’s the truth. If there’s something she wants to try, usually, I’ll give it a go. It all depends on the woman and what she likes. But if I have my choice, I like being in charge.”

I don't know what to say, so Don speaks again. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

My eyes go wide, suddenly fearful that he’s about to suggest something from the topic we’ve been discussing.

Abby, don’t freak out. And whatever you do, don’t look down at his grey sweatpants.

Too late.

I looked.

Motherfucker.

Seeing my wheels turning, Don leans In to speak in a low voice. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to get pizza and watch Gilmore Girls.”

“Oh,” I let out a nervous giggle. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

As attractive as Don is and as curious as I’ve been while hearing things through the walls, there’s no way we’d take things further.

We’re supposed to be friends, right? Adding sex to that seems to defeat the purpose.

Plus, I’m fairly sure Don would be extremely disappointed with me in that way. I’m not anything like those leggy models.

Just now processing what he just said, I ask, “Can we do something besides pizza, though?”

“Sure. Was the pizza I got last time not any good?”

“No, that’s not it. I love pizza. It just doesn’t like me. I’m lactose intolerant, and the cheese just messes me up.”

“Shit, Abs, I had no idea. Why didn’t you say anything? I didn’t mean to make you sick.”

“Don, it’s fine. I still eat dairy every once in a while. It just gives me a stomach ache, so I try to avoid it as much as possible.”

He nods. “Of course. We’ll figure something else out.”

We talk a little while longer before deciding to call it a night.

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