Page 72 of A Good Book

Grinding was never a word I equated with any part of sex. I was more of a making-love girl. A synchronized rhythmic dance. A well-choreographed ballet with a symphony and Ben as the conductor.

“Together,” I said. Gosh, it was so hot in the room.

“That’s good because if he comes first, you’re on your own to finish later. Men are too lazy. They don’t know how to fake it like women. They just blow their wad and quit. So we’re like, ‘Oh, you’re done? Yeah, me too. Oh, God! Yes. Yes. YES! It was so good.’ But not guys. If you come first, they don’t care, they just keep on riding along, taking their sweet time. I don’t know why we feel like it’s okay to not only let them be quitters, but to stroke their ego at the same time. Our moms warned us about guys like that, but sometimes you don’t know what you’re getting until it’s too late.”

First, my mom never warned me about guys who failed to keep going until I orgasmed. My mom never said the word orgasm. Second, I was inwayover my head. Olivia did proverbial back handsprings off a balance beam while I did one somersault on a crash pad. The most embarrassing part was I felt so proud of myself, like such a woman. There was even a moment afterward that I prayed I wasn’t pregnant.

* * *

Two dayslater I mailed Ben a letter.

Dear Ben,

Sorry I gave you the finger. You were a jerk, but I forgive you. Also, sorry I’ve used the word “I” three times. Let’s try this instead. Gabby misses you already. Olivia says hi and so does Jason. Can you believe there’s six inches of snow here and it’s not even Christmas yet? Remember how excited we used to get when it snowed in Devil’s Head?

Gabby has a test in social science tomorrow that she’s not ready for. She’s envious that you got straight A’s. Are you excited for your birthday? Gabby wishes she could be with you that day. She’ll bring your present when she’s there for Christmas? Speaking of Christmas, have you thought about what you want? Gabby wants mittens. Her gloves are not that warm. She needs to keep her fingers together.

Gabby hopes you don’t regret what happened, except the part where you were a jerk. Gabby thinks you’re a phenomenal kisser. Gabby hopes you don’t let anyone else read this letter. Mostly Gabby hopes you write her back.

Love,

Gabby

Ben didn’t reply.

The following week, I sent Ben a birthday card. Again, no reply.

Then the week before heading home for Christmas break, Olivia had news.

“I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, two seconds after getting back to the dorm room after her last class.

I looked up from my text book. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“Cassidy and Becky are moving to an apartment and they asked me if I wanted to move in with them. It’s three bedrooms, and they need one more person. I talked to my parents, and they’re fine with it.” She wrinkled her nose. “So I’m moving out at the end of the semester.”

I didn’t have a good response, but as soon as I opened my mouth to ask her a question, she added, “If they don’t need to move someone in with you, you’ll have this whole room to yourself. That’s pretty awesome, right?”

“Sure. I suppose.” I shrugged.

“Are you mad that I’m leaving you? I know it’s been hard since Ben left, but I really want to live off campus.”

“It’s fine.” I returned my attention to my text book, rereading the same sentence because nothing was sticking in my brain.

Ben consumed a majority of my thoughts, but Matt still occupied space along with the pressure of finals. I wasn’t sure I had the mental capacity to think about Olivia moving out. It wasn’t like we were best buddies. We were roommates who occasionally ate together and talked about sex, but she spent most of her evenings and weekends with Becky and Cassidy or on a date. Moving to the bottom bunk was a big bonus.

“Are you sure?” She hugged me from behind. “I’ll still come visit you.”

I laughed. “It’s fine.”

“If Ben comes to visit, you two can get it on without worrying about me interrupting.”

I couldn’t imagine a world where Ben would visit me, so I just replied with a tight-lipped smile.

A week later, with no word from Ben, I headed home for Christmas.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

RICHARD MARX, “RIGHT HERE WAITING”

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