Page 37 of Practice Makes Perfect
Coffee sprays across the table as Louis chokes, coughing violently. I slap his back while keeping one eye on my bagel to ensure it remains free of his germs, especially because whoknowswhere his mouth has been and who he’s exchanged bodily fluids with.
“Excuse me?” he finally sputters. “Did you just say you hired a… sex coach?”
I nod. “Lincoln Garcia.”
Louis’s eyes widen to a comical size. “Hockey dude? The campus man whore?”
“That’s the one.”
“Non. Pas possible.” Louis switches to French, a habit from childhood whenever a conversation requires privacy or contains gossip.“Tu plaisantes.”
“Je ne plaisante pas,”I reply, also in French. “We have an arrangement.”
“What kind of arrangement?” Back to English, his voice pitched low.
“He’s teaching me. About… you know.”
“Sex,” Louis supplies helpfully, fully recovered from his choking spell.
“Volume, Louis,” I hiss.
“There’s literally no one here.” Louis gestures at the empty tables around us. “So what, you two are just… practicing? Like hockey drills but horizontal?”
A laugh escapes me. “It’s not like that. Well, not yet anyway. We’re starting slow.”
Louis’s brow furrows. “I’m confused. When you said you wanted to start dating, I thought you meant—you know—dating. How does this arrangement with Linc Garcia, of all people, help you re-enter the dating world? It seems like fishing for sharks when you just want to dip a line…”
My laughter fades. “When I talked about my concerns, I wasn’t worried about dating itself. I can talk to guys fine. It’s what comes after that freaks me out.”
“The sex part.”
“Yes, Captain Obvious. I don’t want to spend dates worried about where things might lead or how a guy might react when he realizes I have zero experience.”
Louis’s expression softens. “Em, look at me.”
I reluctantly meet his eyes.
“You know, it’s not a race, Em.” He sighs. “My point is, anyone worth dating would respect that and be patient.”
“That’s a nice theory, but we both know it’s not always that simple.” I lower my voice further. “I need experience, confidence. And Linc is…” I trail off.
“Hot?” Louis supplies, his lips quirking. “Captain of the hockey team? The guy with more notches on his bedpost than goals on the ice?”
“Experienced,” I correct, ignoring his jab. “And he agreed to take things at my pace.”
Louis leans back, studying me with the intensity that always makes me feel like he’s scanning my brain. “You like him.”
I open my mouth to deny it, then close it again. The truth is more complicated than I want to admit. There’s something about Linc’s green eyes and the way he listened when I panicked that night—something beyond his reputation that draws me in. But admitting that to Louis would only strengthen his argument.
“The arrangement is practical,” I say instead. “The… other stuff is irrelevant.”
“Mmhmm. As practical as that blush spreading down your neck?”
I throw a balled-up napkin at him.
Louis takes another bite of his bagel, chewing thoughtfully. “And what happens when feelings get involved? Because they will, Em. You think you can just compartmentalize this?”
“We established ground rules,” I say, trying to sound businesslike. “This is a mutually beneficial arrangement with clearly defined boundaries. It’s educational, not romantic.”
