Page 39 of Seeds of Love
My brain, ever practical, kicks in.
“Wait,” I blurt out. “When was your last STD test?”
He runs a hand through his hair. To my surprise, he doesn’t look put off. “Last week, actually. Part of the gym’s free health check I always take advantage of.”
“And?” I press, because apparently, I’m committed to this awkward line of questioning.
“All clear.” His lips quirk up. “You?”
“Got tested at my last check-up. All negative.” I take a deep breath, willing myself not to blush. “And I’m on the pill, so…”
“Good to know,” he replies, his voice low, but his eyes are dark in a way that makes my stomach flip.
“Okay,” I manage.
“Okay,” he echoes.
We sit there for a moment, the silence stretching between us. Finally, I blurt out, “Well, shall I take my clothes off then?”
His eyes widen comically. “You want to do it now?” I tuck some hair behind my ear.
“Why not?” I say, trying to sound nonchalant and not like I’m about to hyperventilate. If we don’t do this now, I’m worried I’ll chicken out. Besides, I’ve thought this through. It’s a foolproof plan:
Step 1: Lose virginity.
Step 2: Date hot college men with newfound confidence.
Step 3: Stay best friends with Freddie.
Step 4: Try not to cry when he inevitably dates a supermodel who probably speaks five languages.
See?Foolproof. What could possibly go wrong?
“I guess so,” Freddie says, taking a deep breath that makes his chest rise in a very distracting way. He puts a hand on my knee, and sweet baby llamas, his hands are warm and large. I can’t help but wonder how they’re going to feel elsewhere.
“Lex,” his voice is low and serious, like he’s about to give a TED talk on the art of making perfect toast. “I believe sex is better when both people talk.”
“Talk?” I echo, wondering if I misheard him.
“Yeah.”
“That doesn’t sound very sexy,” I point out, imagining us discussing the finer points of quantum physics mid-coitus.
“Not about the weather,” he clarifies, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Oh really?” I ask sarcastically, because apparently, my default setting is smartass, even when I’m about to lose my V-card.
He tilts his head, looking annoyingly attractive. “Really.”
I suck in a breath as his hand strokes my thigh, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Suddenly, I’m very interested in this whole talking thing.
“It’s better when you both say what you’re enjoying or not enjoying, if you want more or less of something,” he explains. “And of course, if you want to stop, you just have to say so, and we will.”
“Okay,” I squeak, my earlier bravado evaporating. Holy shit. I am going to have sex with Freddie Donovan.
“I like this,” I offer lamely, glancing down at his hand on my thigh.
Freddie grins. “That’s the spirit.” He stands up, and a wave of heat rushes over me. My body is very on board with this plan, even if my brain is still short-circuiting. He dims the lights to just the right level, and I try not to think about how he clearly knows the optimal mood lighting for deflowering socially awkward college students.
