Page 71 of A Favor Owed

“How do you know?”

“I just know. Don’t wait.”

“Fuck,” he groans. And then his glorious body is moving again, and finally he comes and collapses on top of me. I cover my eyes with my hand and try to take deep breaths. I quickly realize that’s not going to happen with Brady on top of me, so I just focus on not freaking out. I did it. I finally did it. I knew it would hurt a little and might not be a home run the first time, but I also know it can only get better from here. And I have a feeling Brady will make sure of it.

“Shit, Angela,” he says, propping his head up with his hand and not looking at me. “I’m so sorry. That must have sucked for you.”

“It was actually a lot better than I thought it would be,” I say softly.

“Wow,” he says. He sounds genuinely crushed. “That’s brutal. Is that why you’ve been holding out on me? You knew I would suck?”

I giggle.

“There’s nothing funny about this, Angela.”

“You always deliver, don’t you, Brady?”

“Unless everyone I’ve had sex with graduated with honors from the Meg Ryan School of Fake Orgasms, then yes, I always deliver. One hundred percent. Make that one thousand percent.”

“Have you ever had sex with a virgin?” I ask, running my fingertips along his spine.

He shakes his head, still not looking at me. “No,” he says. I smile and continue to lightly stroke his back, waiting for it to sink in. Suddenly, Brady’s head pops up. He looks at me, at the embarrassed flush on my cheeks, at the slight grin on my face. He tentatively touches the corner of my eye, where tears still pool. He rubs his thumb across his fingers, feeling the wetness. “What the hell?” he whispers, shock whipping across his face and widening his eyes.

He sits up abruptly and turns on the bedside lamp, revealing the blood on his sheets. “Holy shit,” he whispers, staring at the stain.

“Um, are you okay?” I ask.

“Holyshit, Angela,” he says, tearing his eyes away from the sheets and fixing them on me. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

Okay… He’s not exactly taking this well. I pull the sheet up so that the grotesque stain and I are both covered. “I guess I should have,” I say, feeling all kinds of embarrassed. “We should have used a towel. I didn’t realize there’d be so much blood…” Now I’m mortified.

“I’m not worried about my fucking sheets, Ange!” he exclaims. He runs his fingers through his hair and covers his face with his hands.

“What are you worried about then?” I ask, genuinely baffled by his reaction.

He looks up and stares at me like I’m crazy. “You, Angela!” he says. “I’m worried aboutyou!”

I look around like I’m missing something. “Um…why?” I ask.

His shoulders sag, and he sits back on his heels. He shakes his head. “I’ll be back,” he mutters, climbing out of bed and heading to the bathroom. He slams the door behind him, making me jump.

Well, shit. I totally didn’t expect this. I don’t see what the big deal is. What is his problem?

When he comes back, he turns off the lamp and crawls under the covers with me. He lies on his back for a few minutes, his arm over his eyes. Finally, he turns on his side toward me and tentatively runs a finger along my cheekbone. “Ange,” he says, his eyes full of an emotion I don’t recognize. “That’s kind of an important piece of information, don’t you think?”

“Sorry,” I say, my voice edged with attitude, mostly because I’m annoyed with myself for not telling him but also because I don’t understand what’s going on with him.

He closes his eyes. “You don’t need to be sorry,” he says, mildly exasperated. “I’m the one who’s sorry. But why didn’t you tell me? Why did you trust me enough to do it with you but not enough to tell me?”

And then I realize what his problem is. I’m staggered by it, completely unsure how to react. Brady is, if I’m reading him right…hurt.

I take a deep breath. I don’t want to tell him why. I’m not even sure I know how to explain it without giving too much away. But hurting him has made me want to cry, so I opt for a half-truth. “I didn’t want you to stop, and I was afraid that you would if I told you.”I was afraid you would treat me like everyone else does, like someone who no one will touch because they don’t want to be corrupted by my world.

“Wow, Ange, that is some messed-up shit.” Don’t I know it. “Let me get this straight,” he continues. “You thought I’d kick you out of bed because you were a virgin?”

Not quite, but close enough.I shrug. “I guess.”

“For a smart girl, Pines,” he says, shaking his head, “you’re an idiot.”

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