I send back a laughing emoji and drag the towel over my face.
Lex: Working out.
Jordyn: Ooh, horny exercising after a night with the sexy singer.
Leave it to Jordyn to pick up on the vibe from a hundred miles away.
Lex: We kissed.
Jordyn: Holy shit, babe!! How was it?
Lex: Exquisite. Hot. Perfect.
As if I came with a how-to manual.
Jordyn: Yasss! I knew Chaz would bring it. So excited for you.
Dee: Me too!! Just catching up. So, how are you feeling?
Conflicted.How can I desire something so badly yet fear it just as much? The idea of being intimate with Chaz presses all my panic buttons. What if I freeze up like I’ve done before—or worse, go numb? It’s not like I’ll be able to fake it. He’s too perceptive, too observant. He wouldn’t be fooled for a second. That would be catastrophic—a humiliation of epic proportions that would send me spiraling.
Lex: I want to pump the brakes and hit the accelerator all at once. I’m supposed to be figuring out my future and taking care of my health, not getting in over my head with Chaz.
Jordyn: A hot, exquisite kiss, babe. Sounds like he’s just the man to offer you some sexual healing.
Dee: Marvin Gaye. I’m ovulating just thinking about that song.
Jordyn: Right?! After Dr. Snooze, you deserve someone who makes you feel desirable, who will bring out that little sex pot I know is waiting to break free.
My friends have no love for Richard, a.k.a Dr. Snooze. But as bad as it was with him, my sexual issues started long before. I didn’t feel the kind of desire other women talked about—not until now. I lost my virginity at twenty-two to Winston Hughes in the penthouse suite of the hotel his father owned. It wasn’t good—certainly not earth-shaking. After the initial burst of pain, all I felt was numb. I wanted to believe it was first-time nerves, but subsequent encounters proved otherwise.
Lex: What if, despite the hot kiss, I still can’t have an orgasm?
Jordyn: Oh, babe. Just because you haven’t with other men doesn’t mean you won’t with Chaz.
Dee: It’s true, Lex. You obviously have a strong connection that goes beyond just attraction. Most women experience more pleasure during intimacy when there’s an emotional element involved.
This is a sad commentary, given that I was nearly engaged to Richard, and yet it’s true. There is just something about Chaz that makes me feel different. That makes me justfeel. But?—
Jordyn: I can practically hear you freaking yourself out. I bet you’re rolling your lip.
I release it from between my teeth.
Lex: There’s just too much that could go wrong.
Dee: My suggestion is to talk to Chaz. Be honest with him about your experiences and worries. From everything you’ve told us about him, he’ll be patient and understanding. That might take the pressure off.
Always the voice of reason, what Dee said makes sense. I just can’t imagine having that kind of conversation with him. What would I even say?Hey, Chaz, I’m frigid, but I’m hoping you can thaw me out.
After ending the chat, I toss my phone aside and put on another Pilates video. I push through the movements as if my actions can somehow force away the nagging thoughts and lingering desires.
Initially, I’d misjudged him as a smooth, tatted playboy too charming for his own good. He proved me wrong on that first non-date and ever since. He’s funny, emotionally deep, and thoughtful. He’s the first man who truly wanted to get to know me. He caters to my interest in photography, freezing his butt off so I can geek out over angles and lighting. He listens and supports me. He makes me chocolate-flavored lattes topped with adorable foam art. He looks at me like I matter.
I can’t bear the possibility of disappointing him. It’s assumed that most adults enjoy sex of some kind. I just don’t. I loved kissing him, but that will eventually lead to intimacy, and that’s when he’ll discover I’m . . . broken.
Tired of the litany of thoughts that do nothing but exhaust me, I put on my noise-canceling earphones and blast my Fuck-It playlist. Music is often my mental salvation when other strategies don’t work. While it doesn’t stop the intrusive thoughts, it immerses my brain in the lyrics and rhythm, filtering out the rest.
I open my laptop on the kitchen island, pulling up a blank document. I title it “My Future” and frown.Too onerous.Deleting the words, I try again. “Career Options.”Better.The music pauses in my ear, announcing a text message fromChaz Delgado, Airbnb host, the name I’d given him when that’s all he was to me. The electronic voice reads:
