Page 19 of Practice Makes Perfect
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, a nervous habit I’ve never managed to break.Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.
Something had made me grab his hand, pull him outside, kiss him like I knew what I was doing. For a brief, glorious moment, I’d channeled the confidence I have in every other aspect of my life into something romantic. Honestly, that’s progress, even with the pathetic ending.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling of my car. “A step forward,” I whisper to myself. “One tiny baby step.”
But that’s all it can be. With Linc, anyway. His reputation precedes him—everyone knows he’s slept with half the female population on campus, and there are invite-only WhatsApp groups dedicated to his sexual prowess—and he’s not going to waste any more time with the freak-out queen.
We’re operating in different universes.
And, honestly, I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t spread gossip about me.
But, unlike with Derek, at least it’d be true this time.
Which is too bad, because there was definitely chemistry between us. If I hadn’t freaked out, who knows where the night might have led? But I did freak out, and now I’m sitting in my car having a conversation with myself like a lunatic.
The worst part is, I know my hang-up isn’t about dating itself. I can talk to guys just fine. I can even flirt with them—sort of. It’s the physical part that sends me into panic mode. The moment things cross from casual to intimate, my brain disconnects from my body, and all my carefully constructed confidence crumbles.
But how am I supposed to get comfortable with physical intimacy if I’m only ever with strangers? That’s the paradox. To get past my fear, I need practice. To get practice, I need to get past my fear. It’s the world’s most frustrating chicken-and-egg scenario.
And let’s be honest—what guy is patient enough to wait around while I work through my issues? Especially a guy like Linc, who could have his pick of experienced, willing partners. Why would he waste time on someone who might never be ready?
I bang my head gently against the steering wheel. “I need a manual,” I grumble. “Dating for Dummies: Trauma Edition.”
I finally drag myself out of the car and head toward my dorm, my steps heavy. The campus is quiet tonight—most students probably still clinging to the last precious hours before classes resume tomorrow. A few people cluster around the entrance to my building, and I slip past them with a half-smile.
I’m looking forward to a lazy Sunday afternoon of alone time, catching up on reality TV that I can discuss with my grandmother and free of any thoughts of boys or Linc. But when I push open the door to our dorm room, I discover my plans have been utterly sabotaged.
“There she is!” Lea chirps from her perch on the couch, cross-legged in sweatpants that are at least two sizes too big—definitely Declan’s. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she’s holding a mug of hot chocolate in her?—
Wait.
Lea.
Here.
The library text was a trap.
“I thought you were studying,” I say, immediately suspicious of her apparent change of plans.
“I am studying.” She gestures to a textbook that’s clearly been positioned as a prop. It’s not even open to a real page—just the table of contents.
Before I can respond, the bathroom door opens and Declan emerges, still adjusting his sweater. His eyes meet mine, and a knowing grin spreads across his face. He gives me a wink that makes me want to evaporate on the spot, given what happened with his friend the night before.
“Well, I should probably head out,” he says, strolling over to kiss Lea on the forehead. “Let you two catch up.”
“You don’t have to go,” I say quickly, willing to endure Declan’s presence if it means postponing Lea’s inevitable interrogation.
“Oh, I definitely do.” He chuckles and heads for the door. “Best friend time is important, especially when said best friend hooked up with the campus stallion.”
My face heats to nuclear levels. “I didn’t?—”
But he’s already gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
Lea’s face is practically vibrating with excitement as she sets her mug down and pats the spot beside her on the sofa. “Well?”
I dump my bag by the door and trudge over, delaying the inevitable. “Well what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Em Dubois. You left O’Neil’s with Linc Garcia, then you’ve been AWOL all day, including avoiding my texts. So…” She leans forward, eyes sparkling. “I want all the dirty details. Was he as good in bed as everyone says?”
