Page 74 of Hopeless
“If you hadn’t known I was a virgin, would you have fucked me?”
He fidgets now, hand scrubbing at his beard as he groans. “Jesus, Bailey.”
“Would you?”
He looks away, down river, before turning back to me. Slowly. There’s a sudden predatory vibe in the way he carries himself, in the way he moves. “Thoroughly.”
Maybe I should be flattered, but I’m not. I’m irritated.
With a disbelieving scoff, I move toward the shore, trying to hide my offense that a man I barely know is telling me what I should and shouldn’t do withmybody.
“Well, I broke my hymen with a toy some time ago. So I’m not sure what’s so sacred to you. It’smyvirginity. Feel free to take that benchmark of mine off ofyourpedestal anytime now.”
I reach down, grabbing my clothes, barely taking the time to wrap myself in a towel before sliding my feet back into my sandals.
“Bailey—”
I don’t want to hear from him right now. I want him to be as uncomfortable as I am, so I guess that’s why I toss back, “Besides, if you weren’t so lacking in creativity, you’d know there’s lots we can do that isn’t sex.”
Then I leave him there without taking a single glance back.
21
Beau
Beau:You at home?
Bailey:Yes.
Beau:What are you doing?
Bailey:Edging.
Bailey:FML. I am *EDITING*.
Bailey:My resume. Polishing it up. Changing a few things.
Beau:We really just going to skip over the edging part?
Bailey:Yes. It was an autocorrect.
Beau:Why does your phone assume you mean edging though?
Bailey:Guess my phone knows you.
“What isthat?” Bailey points at the shiny black and chrome Harley I just pulled up on.
I bought it to give myself something to do that isn’t holding my dick while thinking about you.
I don’t say that, though. Instead, I say, “My new motorcycle,” like the Neanderthal I am around her.
“But why?” She lifts her sunglasses off her eyes, pushing them back on her head. I know what she looks like, but I study the movement. She’s painted her nails a pretty peach color that pops against the tan tone of her skin. Her lips glisten with gloss, and a bead of sweat trails down her chest, right between her breasts. The ones propped up in a creamy orange triangle bikini top.
I assume she’s wearing matching bottoms, but I refuse to let my eyes trail that far down.
Today I’m in control. I won’t ogle the twenty-two-year-old propped on a lounger, sunbathing on my back deck.
“Because I wanted to.”
