“God, what is wrong with me?” I mutter.
He chuckles in response. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You just had a little fun.”
I tense beside him, glancing down at his T-shirt. He seems to pick up on my discomfort immediately because he chuckles to himself as he adds, “Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything.”
I don’t know if I should be relieved or not, but I am. If I’m going to lose my virginity to my best friend, I’d like to remember it.
“Then where are my clothes?” I ask.
“You don’t remember streaking naked through the streets last night?”
My eyes widen in terror as blood rushes to my cheeks. “What?”I shriek. “Are you serious?”
Declan breaks out in laughter. “I’m joking, Shelby. I gave you a glass of water to take your aspirin with, and you spilled it all over yourself, that’s all.”
Flooded with relief, I let out a sigh and cover my face with my hands. “So you changed my clothes?”
“I couldn’t let you go to sleep with wet briefs. And your suitcase is organized quite meticulously. I didn’t want to mess anything up, so I just gave you a pair of mine.”
I rest an arm over my eyes to block the light as I beg my stomach to settle down. My head is throbbing, and I can’t escape the urge to throw up. I don’t want to spend my day with Declan hungover.
Then it’s as if he reads my mind like he always does. “I think we should just be lazy in the flat today,” he says. “Watch some telly. Maybe even catch another one of the championship rugby games you like so much. We can just order in.”
“You’re the best friend a guy could have,” I say with a moan, making him smile.
“I am.”
After a long, grueling shower in which I just stand under the stream without moving for thirty minutes straight, Declan meets me in the kitchen after he’s made a trip to the local bakery and returned with croissants and coffee.
Then, we do exactly as he had planned. I stay in my pajamas all day and manage to stave off the sickness as we watch movies and television and sports games we don’t care about, most of the time carrying on conversations over the sounds of the television. It feels like life in the dormitory again. It feels like home.
Although Declan and I do talk nearly every day while we’re apart, I still love these moments when we can catch up as if no time has passed since we last were together. He tells me about the wild escapades of his older brother, the less-wild escapades of his younger brother, his pain-in-the-arse sister, and how he sold twopaintings on commission.
I tell him about the play I was in, disappointing my mother for turning down the role she had secured for me on the West End and opting instead for a smaller production on the other side of the city.
“And you really haven’t shagged anyone all year?” he says.
“Really,” I reply.
“Why not?” he asks. “You’re just not interested in anyone?”
I respond with a shrug. “I don’t know. To be honest, intimacy kind of scares me.”
“It scares you?” he asks. “What the hell scares you about it?”
I twist my mouth in concentration as I think about my response to this question. Picking at the cotton of my flannel joggers, I carefully assemble a response that feels closest to the truth.
“You know, it’s like that night in the gymnasium by the pool. How you said I could do things with you because I can trust you, because some people would take advantage of me. Just the idea of giving so much power and a part of myself over to a complete stranger terrifies me. And it’s not that I’m afraid they’re going to hurt me. It’s that I’m afraid…” My voice trails as I reconsider what I’m about to admit. But then I remember this is Declan, and I never have to worry with him. “I’m afraid they’ll reject me.”
I watch as Declan’s brows furrow, and his head tilts to the side. “Are you daft?” he demands. “Reject you? Why would anyone reject you?”
A chuckle slips through my lips. “I don’t know. Lots of reasons, I guess. What if I’m too passive or too soft, or I’m not good in bed, or I’m not a good kisser, or I’m not funny enough or smart enough or good-looking enough?”
“All right, stop, stop,” Declan urges, waving his hands in front of him. “You are being ridiculous. You hear yourself, right?”
“Yes, I hear myself,” I reply. “I’m not being ridiculous. It’s justinsecurities, Declan.”
“But that’s the thing, Shelby,” he says. “Sex is fifty-fifty. If you’re passive, you find somebody who’s more dominant. If you’re too soft, you find somebody who’s a bit rougher. You don’t have to be the best at sex. You’re not the only person doing it, and it shouldn’t all be on you. You put too much pressure on yourself. You act like it’s all up to you to please the other person, but is that other person pleasing you?
