“Some of them,” I agree, wanting to sink into the floor and disappear.
“What about yours?”
“You’re never reading it. And I’m using a pen name you’ll never find out.”
“That’s a yes.” He smiles, not maliciously, but I’m over here, dying of embarrassment. “Though, if you get this shy just talking about it…”
“Writing isn’t the same. I do it on my own, without you looking at me like you’re enjoying this.”
“I am.”
“Since when do you like watching people suffer?”
“As your hockey romance coach?—”
“Hockey coach,” I correct him.
“Glad you’re finally acknowledging it,” Noah says with a wink as I roll my eyes. “I just want to help you write the best hockey romance ever.”
“You—”
“Don’t tell me I don’t have to.”
“I was going to say you don’t know the first thing about hockey romance books.”
“Books, no, but of the two of us, pretty sure I’m the hockey romance expert.”
He doesn’t know how right he is, or maybe he does, but I don’t want to admit how little experience I have in that area.
“I didn’t think romance was in your vocabulary.”
“Touché.” He doesn’t look the least bit offended. “But grand gestures don’t happen in real life anyway, right?”
“I’ve got it covered,” I assure him, more because I want to get out of this conversation than because I have any confidence in my skills for writing sex scenes. But talking about it with Noah feels infinitely worse. Instead of backing off, he looks concerned.
“You’ve got a boyfriend?” he asks.
I laugh, awkwardly, because I think he’s serious. “Yeah, all the guys asking me out while I hang with your sister,” I say without thinking. “I’m sorry, that implied…Izzie is one of the more enjoyable things I do in my free time, that I would do even if I had a boyfriend, I was just pointing out that?—”
“How do you have it covered then?” There’s an intensity in his eyes that isn’t the least bit scary, but heat creeps up my neck, and I’m pretty sure I sigh before remembering I’m supposed to answer.
“It’s not like I need to act things out as I write them. I’m not a virgin, contrary to what I think you’re implying, and I read a lot, so I know what I like, whether or not my experience reflects it. And even if I had none, thriller writers don’t need to kill people to write about it.” I may have gone a little self-righteous and upset to mask how embarrassed my inexperience makes me.
“I’m sorry.” Noah looks like he means it, but he isn’t backing down. He even takes a step closer. “I wasn’t insulting your experience or making fun of you. I was trying to help.”
“By pointing out how ill-suited I am to write this book?” My chest is heaving. I’ve always been afraid I’m not good enough, and here he is, confirming that.
“By letting you try things on me. With me.”
I laugh, but it threatens to turn into a sob. Like this is my Carrie-at-the-prom moment, and all the falling I’ve been doing for Noah is wasted, hints of his interest all in my imagination, because this is cruel.
“Hey, I don’t know where your mind’s going, but I’m not playing you. With the hockey season and Izzie, trying to be a good captain and not flunk out of school, I don’t have time to date, and finding random girls to hook up with at parties gets old. I think you’re gorgeous, that we’re friends…and I think you might trust me, so I see this as a win-win situation for both of us. I was right about the skating, wasn’t I?”
He’s serious. And while a part of me wants to be flattered and say yes, so I can experience that, or let myself pretend for a while, I know I don’t want him, or anyone, like that. Not even considering how badly it would break my heart.
“That’s not at all the same thing. Watching people skate versus doing it myself was different, obviously, but sex and…it’s not real in books, okay? It’s women imagining how they wish it was. If partners were attentive and cared about making you happy, pleasuring you before themselves. Or even enough to check that you came. The few times I had sex could be considered mildly pleasant, or at least not too unpleasant, which isn’t promising, but it’s life.” I’m spiraling. Part of the reason I want a pen name is because I’m terrified people will read what I write and know I’ve only had sex with one guy, and that it wasn’t great, but I’ve basically just admitted that to Noah, of all people. “My point is, you don’t have to worry. I’m going to write the scenes based on my imagination, or what I’ve seen on TV, because guys like my hero don’t exist and readers don’t want what’s actually out there, they want multiple orgasms every single time, which is completely unrealistic.”
“Not with me.”
