Page 49 of Practice Makes Perfect
“It’s complicated,” I say, drawing my knees up to my chest. “Or maybe it’s actually super simple, I don’t know. We’re not dating. We’re… he’s helping me.”
“Helping you?” Lea repeats. “With what, your anatomy homework?”
I snort despite myself. “No, he’s… teaching me. About sex stuff. Like a coach.”
“A sex coach.” She says it flatly, like she’s trying to process the concept.
“Exactly!” I nod enthusiastically. “He’s experienced, and I’m not. We ran into each other after the hockey game the other night, and we talked, and I asked if he would help me get more comfortable with… all that. So I could start dating again without having panic attacks every time a guy touches me…”
Lea’s eyes widen. “You asked Lincoln Garcia to be your sex coach? Just like that?”
“It wasn’t quite that smooth. There was a lot of rambling involved. And some panic. And then more rambling. But yeah, basically.”
“And he said yes.”
“Obviously.” I gesture toward the bedroom. “Then we set up some ground rules. It’s all very… clinical.”
That’s a lie. There was nothing clinical about the way his tongue felt against my nipple or how my skin caught fire everywhere he touched me. Or the fact that, ten minutes after he left me, I still feel soaked between my thighs and longing for release.
Lea gives me a skeptical look. “Clinical.”
“OK, not clinical, but structured. He even made a lesson plan.” I wince, realizing how that sounds. “God, that came out wrong. It’s not weird. Well, maybe it is weird. But it’s a good weird?”
“I can’t decide if this is the most creative pickup strategy I’ve ever heard.” She shakes her head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “I was going to! But I was worried you’d judge me. I mean, I’m hooking up with exactly the type of guy I swore I was trying to avoid.”
“Em.” Lea’s voice softens. “I would never judge you. As long as you’re enjoying yourself and being safe, that’s what matters.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just—” I pause, searching for the right words. “I wasn’t sure it would even work out, so I didn’t want to jinx it by talking about it.”
She nods slowly. “I get that. But aren’t you worried about catching feelings? I mean, even if it starts as just physical, it could get complicated.”
I laugh, but it comes out too high-pitched. “Louis said the same thing. But no, I’m not worried. What we have is totally casual. Linc made it very clear he doesn’t have room for a girlfriend right now with everything going on in his life, and I’m just trying to get comfortable with… you know.”
“Did you guys discuss whether he’s allowed to see other people during this… arrangement?”
The question hits me like a bucket of ice water. “Not exactly, no. We didn’t cover that.”
“And that wouldn’t bother you? If he was hooking up with other girls while he was with you?”
“No,” I say, too quickly. “Why would it? It’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything.”
Lea gives me a look—a look that says she doesn’t believe me for a second.
“What?” I demand. “I’m serious.”
“Sure you are,” she says, patting my knee.
I think I am, but am I?
A small, treacherous voice in my head wonders if I really would be OK seeing Linc with someone else. The thought sends an unexpected pang through my chest.
No. I push the feeling away. This is Linc we’re talking about. Linc with his reputation and his experience and his parade of willing partners. He’s not a one-girl type of guy. He made that abundantly clear.
He’s just doing this as a favor to me, and as an outlet for him—a stress release from all the pressure he’s under with the hockey team. It’s mutually beneficial. Nothing more.
He’s my coach, not my boyfriend.
