Page 47 of Like First Love, Again

“Take me home,” Mia rasped.

Twenty-Four

Feeling not unlike a horny dude, Tori jumped into the driver’s side of her Jeep and shifted her underwear. After nearly an hour of making out on Mia’s couch so hard that her face was numb, desire had glued the fabric to her body.

She drove home with the windows down, hoping the balmy breeze would cool her off. In early August, the nights were just as hot as the days, but even the surface of the sun would feel cooler than the heat raging in Tori’s body. She tried, very hard, not to think about how badly she wanted to do more than kiss Mia.

Don’t be greedy, she told herself as she navigated through Midtown—and the usual tourist chaos—on her way home. If someone had told her weeks ago that she’d be making out with Mia, she wouldn’t have asked,That’s it?

If Mia were ready for more, she’d say so. Tori wasn’t going to be the one to take things further. Plus, it wasn’t like kissing her wasn’t excruciatingly hot. Hot and incredible and enough. She shifted in her seat again and focused on the road.

As soon as she punched the code into her front door, she texted Mia to let her know she was home. Her phone rang a minute later.

“Hi,” Mia said, sounding a little breathless.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tori chuckled and kicked off her shoes by the entrance.

“Nothing, I just got out of the shower. Did you know that cold shower advice is bullshit?”

Tori finished pulling off her shirt on her way to her bathroom upstairs and fumbled with the phone. She must have misheard.

“What?” Tori swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

Mia hesitated. “Does kissing not turn you on?” She sounded so unsure. “Or are you not feeling?—”

“Oh my God. Are you kidding?” Tori took her stairs two at a time and pulled her shorts off when she reached her bedroom. “I’m so turned on I was heading straight for the shower.”

“Spoiler alert. It doesn’t work,” Mia joked, but there was a real frustrated edge under the jest.

“Did you really take a cold shower?” Tori dropped her voice at the same time that she sat on the corner of her bed.

“Yeah,” Mia replied, voice just as soft. “Is that embarrassing?”

“No.” Tori gripped her own thigh like that might redirect the pulse of hunger warming her skin. “It’s really hot.”

“Yeah?” Mia said in a way that made Tori picture her cheeks brightening. “You’re not just saying that?”

Tori shifted her weight, grabbing the edge of the mattress when she moved back. The friction of the contact made her want to grind against it. To chase relief anywhere she could. “Trust me. You’re, um, not alone.” Her stomach fluttered with insecurity. She wasn’t sure how direct to be—how upfront with what she wanted.

Mia paused like she was workshopping her response. Like she was also awkward and unsure from the newness of it all when it was dressed in the trappings of the familiar.

“At least you can do something about it.” Her voice was gentle, like lips grazing Tori’s neck.

“I’m pretty sure you can too,” Tori replied, heart racing at the image of Mia arching off the bed.

Mia’s laugh sounded too much like a groan. “I didn’t exactly think about packing my vibrator, Tori.”

Tori swallowed hard when a toy entered her mental image. Jesus. Old habits told her to cut the fantasy off at the knees. To stop herself from objectifying Mia. But she was tired and her grip on self-control slipped.

“I’m pretty sure people have been getting off before batteries were invented.” Tori tried to keep her tone light, but there was no hiding her desire.

“Yeah, um. I’ve just… I guess I’ve never taken the manual option,” she replied after a beat. “Maybe I should tell you so you know what you’re in for. I mean, assuming we… Well… Whatever. It takes me a really long time to have an orgasm. And sometimes it doesn’t happen at all, so I just fake it.”

Tori furrowed her brows, unsure where to start. “Fake it? Why?” She also wanted to ask how her ex didn’t know the difference between real and performance, but withheld her judgment.

“To put the other person out of their misery?”

Tori’s eyes snapped open. “You should never feel pressured to fake it. If it’s just not going to happen, you can say so. It’s not always about getting to the finish line.” She wished they were having this conversation in person. That she could reach out for her. “And trust me, I sincerely doubt it’s a chore for your partner,” she added instead of saying that her jaw could fall off and she still wouldn’t want to stop.

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