“Soo, I’m going to take this food and eat it in my room,” Becca says, interrupting Izzy and me. “Sorry you’re not getting more out of this than you are, Iz. It’s tough for you.”
I don’t miss the annoyed look Izzy sends Becca’s way as she practically skips into what I can only assume is her bedroom.
“She’s right,” I say. “I added this whole writing thing to our agreement without you getting anything else. What do you want? I could…” I trail off. I have no idea what I could help Izzy with. Besides a fake boyfriend, the only thing I know she needs is—
I look up and notice Izzy’s bright red cheeks.
“No,” Izzy says, but it’s with surprisingly little conviction.
“But I could,” I say, the idea taking root in my mind like the most beautiful flower about to grow.
“I…we…it’s a bad idea,” Izzy says.
She’s caving. Oh my God. She’s fucking caving.
“Why?” I ask, trying to figure out how to get her to agree. It’s not about making our agreement fair. It still won’t be fair. She could help me write a million songs and somehow it feels like I would still be getting more out of the deal than she would.
“Wecan’t have sex!”
“Wait, are you a virgin, Iz?” I ask, suddenly worried I’ve misinterpreted the comment that caused her so much embarrassment.
“I—No! I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it if I was, but I’ve…no. I’ve had sex before. It just…wasn’t very good.”
I don’t love thinking about Izzy having sex with other men, but I try to push that jealousy down. At least they weren’t very good.
“So we’ve both had sex before,” I say. “Why can’t we do it again? But better, obviously,” I tack on, feeling it’s important to remind her that it would be different—better—with me.
“Have you ever spice coached someone before?” she asks.
Wait. What? “I’ve never heard the term spice coach before, so I’m going to go ahead and say no.”
“It’s a romance book term that Lila, Jameson’s sister, throws around sometimes. It’s where, you know, you coach someone in how to have good sex.” Izzy’s cheeks are bright red as she explains it to me, her gaze focused on the window over my shoulder like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. “So it’s not about mutual satisfaction, it’s about the…coach…helping the…coachee…try out different things so they are more prepared for future sexual encounters.”
The final part of that sentence doesn’t sit right with me, but I brush it off. That’s a problem for future me to deal with once I’m back in Nashville. “I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I’ve never done that before—”
“See? No—”
“But”—I say when Izzy cuts me off—“I can do it. I know I can. And it would make me feel so much better if I could do something to pay you back for spending time with me while I attempt to write my music.”
“I would do it anyway,” Izzy admits, her eyes finally meeting mine.
“As would I,” I say, enjoying the blush that flares on her cheeks at my admission.
“Come on, Izzy. Please? Let’s just try it. If you’re uncomfortable at any time, we’ll stop.”
She shakes her head.
“Come on, let me sex coach you. We can have rules and everything.”
“It’s called spice coaching,” she says, and I can tell from her tone that’s she’s giving in. “It somehow seems better than sex coaching.”
“Okay.” I pull out my notebook and pen. “Rule number one: Consent matters.”
“Solid rule.”
“So I need you to agree to this, Izzy.”
She nods.
