Page 16 of Necessary Roughness

“Your first time should be special, Red,” she says, sounding like my mom. For a brief second, I resent her T-shirt, patterned with musical notes. But then I take a breath and tell myself to cool down. “It should be with someone you really like.”

“But I don’t really like anybody,” I remind her. “All the art guys are wimps, the science guys are more into watching porn on their computers that they built, and the jocks…well…”

“Yeah, the jocks…” she muses, taking another sip of her beer. Fran and I may not always get along, but when it comes to the meatheads on campus, we definitely see eye to eye.

Fran’s a music major and I’m a weirdo art major. A lot of people think those are easy majors, but they just don’t have a clue. I spend more time in the art building than I do in my own dorm room, and Fran’s fingers are about to fall off from all the time she spends practicing violin at the music building. As such, neither of us are high up on any guys’ lists.

“I mean—they have nice bodies,” I say. “But most of them have the personality of a ten-year-old paintbrush.”

“What, you don’t like the I-am-the-king-of-everything attitude?” Fran laughs. “The every-girl-wants-my-dick face that they make when they walk into a room?”

“Oh, I love it!” I say sarcastically, glancing around the bar as a group of them walks in. I point discretely to the one in front, who for some stupid reason, is wearing a pair of green sunglasses despite the room being dimly lit.

“Look at him. for example,” I say. “He’s making a very subtle fashion statement with those glasses, which of course makes my ovaries swell for him, and that cut-off T-shirt has my baby-making

instincts on overdrive. If I could only get his dick in me!”

Fran giggles and points to the one behind him, one of those jock guys who’s decided to see if he can grow his hair longer than most girls, and tosses his head like Fabio as he cracks a joke to his buddy.

“And him? He knows girls will want to just sit behind him and braid his hair before he fucks them,” she explains with a smile. “I’m barely able to contain myself right now! Maybe I can use his hair to repair the bow on my violin!”

I stifle a laugh and cover my face as the two of them look over in our direction.

“Oh, don’t look!” Fran whispers. “They might come talk to you!”

“Eeek!”

“But then again, maybe you want that?” she asks. “Since you’re in such a hurry to lose that V-card of yours.”

“And you’re not?” I ask. “Come on, Fran, I’ve seen the sheets moving at night at least a few times.”

Fran pretends to gasp, then shakes her head. “Like I said, I want to wait for someone I really like. I’m not a slut-skank like you.”

I gasp back, obviously so offended. “Slut-skank, bitch? You better watch it!”

And then I hear it—a booming, loud, bass-filled male voice behind me, accompanied by the strong scent of…man.

“Who’s a slut-skank and how do I get her number?” the voice asks. I turn around, expecting to find another sunglass-wearing-meathead or a grinning chad with a fireman’s outfit on, but instead, I find myself staring directly into a pair of sparkling blue eyes that just happened to be attached to the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.

“Whoa…” I whisper without even realizing it.

“Whoa? Whoa what?” he asks with a grin that could melt panties.

“Huh?” I stammer. “Oh, nothing. And since you were asking, she’s the slut-skank.”

As I point to Fran, I realize I don’t even know why I’m doing it. This guy is hot, clearly a jock, and a perfect candidate to lose my virginity to. When his eyes leave mine and move to her, I feel it like a punch in the stomach, then quickly reach out and tug on his hand.

“Kidding!” I laugh. “I’m the slut-skank. Looking for a good time?”

Ouch, what was that? I regret it as soon as I say it; I’m failing on every single level right now, and that’s confirmed when Fran bursts out laughing. Thankfully, Mr. Mystery Man just smiles.

“You’re a liar,” he says, catching me off guard.

“Excuse me?”

“I know who you are,” he says, waving a scolding finger at me. I can see his biceps ripple through the sheer fabric of his T-shirt. “You’re Red, the quirky art girl who thinks she’s too good for everyone.”

Now that comment knocks me completely off balance. My jaw drops open and I glance over at Fran, who looks like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or chew him out. She chooses the third option and stays silent.

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