Page 1 of Fiona
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FIONA
I’m older than Michelle by three and half minutes. The most important three and a half minutes of my life. If I didn’t have the title of “older sister,” I’d totally get lost in the shadow of my outgoing twin sister. Most of the time I don’t mind letting her have the spotlight, but sometimes I wish that I could be the one that shines.
I’m standing across the street from The Story Brew, waiting for the light to change so I can cross. It’s a small coffee shop where The Nice Girls’ Naughty Book Club—Quinn, Jess, Courtney, Michelle, and I—meet each week to discuss our love of deliciously dirty books.
I can see through the large storefront windows that the other members of the book club have already arrived.
Quinn and Jess started the club after having a bit of a run in with Victoria, the leader of our old book club—The Romantics. Victoria liked only reading sweet romance and wouldn’t even entertain the idea of reading something with a bit more heat between the pages. All of The Romantics’s book club was there to witness the blow up between three of them.
I knew without looking at Michelle that night that she would want to follow Quinn and Jess to their new erotic reading adventure. I didn’t really have much of a say in the matter. Michelle likes to lead and most of the time I’m content to follow—and here we are.
I clutch my leather covered tablet against me as the crosswalk sign lights up and I cross. As I approach the window, I can see Michelle is talking animatedly with the group and they are all laughing at whatever it is she’s said. I wish I had a fraction of charm she has meeting new people. Michelle can walk into a room full of strangers and walk out with a new best friend. I can walk into a room full of strangers and blend into the wall like a chameleon. It’s really the lamest superpower.
“There she is!” Michelle waves me over.
I zig zag through the tables and slip into the empty seat she’s saved between her and Courtney.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say to the table. “We have someone driving into town from our Denver office this week and we are swamped trying to get everything ready.”
“No worries.” Quinn smiles kindly.
The waitress appears at the table and sets down a cup of hot tea that Michelle obviously already ordered for me, but she always forgets the lemon wedges.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asks.
“A couple lemon wedges if it’s not any trouble.”
“Sure thing.” She nods once before walking off.
“Are we ready to get started?” Jess asks.
“Yep.” Courtney nods.
“Let’s do this,” Michelle says pulling out her dogeared paperback.
I open the leather portfolio holding my tablet reader. The screen lights up with the vibrantly colored book cover of this week’s book assignment—Cherry Pop. A young woman in her early twenties is wearing a shirt with two large red cherries on it. Her bubble gum bubble is big enough to cover part of her face. A guy stands behind her without a shirt on and one of his hands is resting on her hip while the other lifts the hem of her shirt to show off her toned stomach. The title is written in cursive font on the cover.
I hadn’t planned to suggest this book. I’d stumbled on it while searching the bestsellers list in romance. Something kept drawing me back to it even after I scrolled past it. It was something about the wide-eyed look on the girl’s face that I could see myself in. And when I read it, the similarities continued.
The story was about a young woman named, Cherry, who spent all her time so focused on school and then work that she never really dated much. It wasn’t until she admits to her group of friends that she’s still a virgin that they push her to try out a dating app and start to sow her wild oats.
Now I don’t know the women in this group very well, so I’m not about to admit how closely my life resembles Cherry’s life until she gets on the dating app. That’s right I’m a twenty-four-year-old virgin.
Courtney starts the discussion by talking about how she was a lot like Cherry but in high school. Everyone else joins in, each recounting their own stories on how they lost their virginity. Suddenly all the eyes at the table turn to me expectantly.
I freeze. I do not want to admit to a table full of new acquaintances that I don’t have a story to tell about my first time in a backseat of a mini-van like Jess or on the beach where sand goteverywherelike Courtney.
I open my mouth, hoping some lie will come out but nothing does. I flip through my mental rolodex of sex scenes I’ve read about in countless romance books but nothing comes to mind.
“Come on, Fiona,” Quinn urges. “I’m sure it’s not nearly as bad as getting sand up your crack.”
Everyone laughs at the table but me.
“Wait,” Michelle grabs my arm and shakes it but I don’t look at her. “How do I not know this?”
Stupid twin extrasensory perception.
