Page 24 of Confessions of a Virgin on a Dating App
Don’t fall too fast.
Tristan walked me to my car, and we shared a final kiss, one that lingered on my lips and buzzed in my soul for the entire drive home. I was exhausted, but I knew the adrenalin from my newfound infatuation would make it hard to sleep.
You still have to tell him eventually.
Oh fuck off,I told the voice in my head, adjusting the rearview mirror as my nervous heart thumped in my chest.
But it was right.
It was only a matter of time before this all came crashing down.
And my heart would be crushed under it.
Chapter 7
Isaw Tristan two more times that week.
Like before, he messaged me about a third date before I even made it home. Except this time, he was wondering if I’d like to have dinner with him after work on Tuesday.
My heart thumped with joy. He didn’t want to wait until the weekend to see me.
Cassidy was her usual silly, fawning self as I prepared for my date, helping me pick an outfit and insisting on straightening my hair. The whole time, she preened on about how beautiful I looked and how she wished her hair was as thick as mine.
I used her glee over my dating life as an opportunity to ask about hers.
Specifically, about Aaron.
Cassidy froze like a statue, the flat iron steaming in her rigid grasp, and I realized I may have plucked a nerve. She and Aaron had known each other for years, but it wasonly within the past few months that he’d made his attraction obvious. As if some light bulb finally switched on in his brain.
“Oh, we’re just friends,” Cassidy replied in her usual cheery tone, although I could tell there was a bite to her words. A subtle warning not to push the topic further.
So I didn’t. I dressed in a flowy pink sundress, my straightened hair now cascading down to my belly button. I studied myself in the mirror, wondering if I looked better this way or with my natural curls.
But when I greeted Tristan at the restaurant, he thought it looked fantastic. Our date was wonderful, full of flirty smiles, animated conversation, and plenty of good food. I was beginning to settle into our dates, learning his mannerisms and quirks, and he no longer felt like a stranger. In fact, it felt like I had known him for years.
This time, he didn’t bring up going back to his house. The problem was that I really wanted to. I wanted to cook meals together and play video games curled up on the couch and all the other non-sexual things couples did at home. But that would always come with risks – a kiss lasting a bit too long, hands straying to places they shouldn’t go… and all of it would end with me in a half-naked panic attack, unable to explain to Tristan why I was so terrified of sex.
But I didn’t object when he pressed me against his car after our dinner date. I was in heaven, running my hands along his soft cotton t-shirt, feeling the firmness of his muscles hidden beneath his clothes. For a moment, I forgot all about my issues. I forgot all about my sexual dysfunction… until he slid his hand farther down my back. Too far.
It snapped be back to reality, reminding me what I couldn’t give him. My anxiety sped into overdrive, and I scurried back to my own car with a quick goodbye before Tristan could comprehend what washappening.
This “you’re not experienced” crap isn’t going to hold up much longer,I groaned as I butted my head against the steering wheel of my car.
Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of our townhouse with my nerves on fire, fingers trembling as I clutched the steering wheel. The whole way home, I wondered if I’d blown it… until a familiar notification lit up my screen.
Hey, want to meet me at Orange Blossom Coffee after work tomorrow? I figured we could talk about things.
Oh no.
He wants to talk.
That’s never a good sign.
Anxiety bubbled in the back of my throat the whole next day at work. I couldn’t read a single line of the manuscript I was editing without my mind drifting off. Back toward the night before, leaned up against his car, when I turned what should’ve been an amorous moment into an awkward mess.
I leapt out of my seat the instant I clocked out for the day. I was supposed to meet Tristan at six, which gave me half an hour to pile five outfits on the bed and stare blankly at all of them before deciding on something else.
I peered at my reflection in my bathroom mirror, smoothing the fabric of my baby-blue, knee-length dress. If I was going to be a nervous wreck, I at least needed to look nice.
