Page 43 of Practice Makes Perfect
“Want something to drink?” Em asks, already moving toward the kitchenette. “I’ve got water, cinnamon cider, juice boxes—courtesy of Lea, who apparently still thinks she’s in third grade—or beer, but it’s some hipster IPA that tastes like pine needles and disappointment.”
“Water’s good.”
She grabs two glasses, her hands busy but her eyes constantly flicking to the folder I’ve set on the counter. I can practically hear her curiosity humming. From the little time I’ve spent around this girl, it’s clear that her mind works at a million revolutions a minute, and her body isn’t much slower.
It’s a pace I look forward to learning.
“So…” she slides a glass toward me, “are you going to tell me what’s in the mysterious folder, or should I guess? Tax returns? Your application to Hogwarts?”
I take a breath and open it. “It’s a lesson plan.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “A what now?”
“A lesson plan. For, you know, this. Us.” I slide the papers toward her. “What we’re going to cover. Week by week.”
Em picks up the first page, eyes widening as she scans it. “You made a—” she flips to the second page, “—a syllabus? For this?”
“I had some time after practice,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I thought it might help to have structure.”
“This is…” she flips through the remaining pages, “extremely nerdy.”
“Thanks?”
“No, it’s…” She looks up, fighting a grin. “You’ve scheduled foreplay sessions. With bullet points and… are these weekly learning objectives?”
I feel heat crawling up my neck. “I take your sexual education seriously, Em. I needed you to know that.”
“I appreciate the attention to detail,” she smiles at me, then goes back to reading. “Are we really going to?—”
“What?” I ask, when she pauses.
“Uh…” she flushesbeetred. Like, the sort of red that never comes out when it stains your clothes. A sort of red that makes me wonder if she’s choking.
“What?” I repeat, firmer this time. “Are you OK?”
“Umm… just… excited by the prospect of trying some of this stuff with you?” she says. “And mortified by the thought that I might be terrible at it?”
“That’s why we’re taking it slow. We build one lesson on top of the other.” I reach out to touch her arm, and she doesn’t pull away, instead looking up at me with a mix of attraction and panic in her eyes. “You’ll be safe the whole time, and you can tell me to go slower or stop at any time, OK?”
“I trust you.” She smiles, and it’s the warmest damn thing I’ve ever felt. “So… what’s on the agenda for today, Professor Garcia?”
I lean against the counter. “Basically what we did at my place. Making out. Getting comfortable with each other.” I pause. “Except this time, without clothes.”
“Oh.” Her voice is small, and she fidgets with the hem of her sweatshirt. “Right.”
“We don’t have to?—”
“No! I want to.” She takes a deliberate breath. “So how do we… start?”
I set my water down. “However you want. We could talk more, or just jump in, or?—”
“I’m nervous,” she blurts out. “I know it’s stupid. People get naked with each other all the time. Every day. All over the world. So many naked people.”
I step closer, gently taking her hands. “Em. Breathe.”
She inhales sharply. “Sorry. When I’m nervous, my mouth just?—”
“I can go first,” I offer. “Take my clothes off first, I mean. If that would help.”
