Page 20 of Practice Makes Perfect
I feel my face—my whole body—utterly and completely sag. Reading my body language like a book, Lea stops abruptly,her enthusiasm fading as she actually looks at my face. Her expression shifts from excited gossip-hunter to concerned friend instantly.
“Em?” she asks, gentler now. “What happened? Are you OK?”
I collapse onto her bed and stare at the ceiling. “Nothing happened.”
“Nothing nothing? Or something nothing that you don’t want to talk about?”
I sigh, covering my face with my hands. “Closer to the second one.”
“Did he…” Her voice takes on a dangerous edge I’ve only heard a few times before. “Did he do something you didn’t want?”
“No!” I sit up quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that. He was…” I search for the right word. “He was perfect, actually.”
The tension leaves Lea’s shoulders. “Then what happened? Because you look like someone ran over your puppy, backed up, and ran over it again.”
I laugh despite myself. “That’s a horrifying image.”
“Stop deflecting,” she says, nudging me with her shoulder.
“It wasn’t the worst,” I mumble. “It was… nice. Until it wasn’t.”
She waits, giving me space to continue, but when I don’t, she pokes me in the ribs. “Time for a bit of your own medicine, Em. I’ve spilled my guts to you about Declan for months—including the bits involving literal snot-coming-out-of-my-nose crying—so tell me what happened.”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “We went back to his place. Things were… progressing. And then he asked if he could unbutton my jeans, and I freaked out. Like, full-on panic attack freaked out. I pushed him off me and ran out of there so fast I’m surprised I didn’t break the sound barrier, and then?—”
“Whoa, slow down, you’re in turbo mode again…” Lea smiles and puts a hand on my leg, trying to calm me. “So… why?”
“Because there was a guy in high school who freaked out and destroyed my reputation when I said ‘no’ and I haven’t been with a guy since, OK?” I blurt out.
“That’s… Em, I’m so sorry,” she says, wrapping me in a hug. “And did you tell him?”
I close my eyes, trying to calm my racing brain. “There wasn’t time for a heart-to-heart between my freak-out and my Olympic-worthy sprint to the elevator.”
She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Em, he probably thinks he did something wrong.”
“I know.” I groan and flop back onto the bed. “But what was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry, it’s not you, it’s my intimacy issues from high school?’ How lame is that?”
“Maybe not in those exact words,” she says gently, clearly aware she’s walking in a minefield. “But something.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like there’s going to be a second chance.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Trust me, I do. Guys like Linc don’t waste time on—” I gesture vaguely to myself. “Whatever this is.”
“Hey.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Be kinder to yourself. After what happened?—”
“I don’t want to talk about that, Lea.” The words come out sharper than I intended. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“You never do,” she says softly. “But maybe you should. With someone. It doesn’t have to be me.”
I stare down at my hands, picking at a hangnail until it bleeds. “It was a long time ago.”
“Not that long.”
“Four years.”
“And in those four years, how many guys have you dated?”
