Through laughter, I attempt to explain, “I’m sorry, but…whowould say that last one? Seriously?”
At this point, he’s also fighting against a smile. I can see his lips twitching with the effort to maintain his composure.
“And, for the record, I wasn’t going to say anything like either one of your stupid impressions. I was going to say that it’s hot that you’re a virgin.”
He groans and shuts his eyes. “It’s not.”
“Itis,” I insist, reaching out to squeeze his knee. “There’s something sexy about knowing you’re the first person to pleasure—”
“Oh, God. Ken. Stop talking.” His pleas are issued with the same kind of tone I’ve heard him use with his parents. But instead of serving as a reminder that it would be a Very Bad IdeaTMto act on any interest I might have in him as a single gay man, I can only find it adorable.
That has to be the reason I lose all sense of reason when I say, “Fine. But if being a virgin is what’s making you feel awkward and self-conscious, let me help with that.”
Chapter Ten
“Let you…help…how, exactly?”
Is it hot in here? Like, I know it’s only mid-January, but itdefinitelyfeels hot in here. My skin is on fire, and my heart is pounding, and I must be delirious because it sounded a lot like Ken just offered to sleep with me.
“I mean…” He shuffles closer on the couch, abandoning his beer next to mine and licking his very kissable-looking lips. “You…wecan have sex. If you want to. You can get those first-time nerves out of your system. And I’d honestly be honored if you trusted me with that.”
“What, um” —I pause to clear my throat, which is suddenly super dry— “what happened toI’m your dad’s best friendandyou deserve betterand—"
“I was there for the conversation,” he cuts me off drily. “And that was said in the heat of the moment. Before…” Before he knew I was a lame, almost-thirty-year-old virgin. “Before we became friends. And youaremy friend, Cody. Sex, whether we have it or not, won’t change that.”
“Even if I’m bad at it?” The deep-rooted fear comes pouring out of me before I can stop it.
There’s no reason to have asked that question because there’s no way I’ll go through with this harebrained scheme of his.
His hand, still searingly warm on my knee despite the layer of denim separating his palm from my flesh, squeezes reassuringly. “Sex is like pizza,” he declares, seemingly completely off-topic. When I frown, he grins and shrugs. “Even crappy fast-food pizza is awesome to me.”
“That analogy is nowhere near as comforting as you think it is,” I laugh.
There’s a triumphant look on Ken’s handsome face now, and he winks. “Got you to laugh, though.”
He has a point. I do feel less tense and embarrassed now.
“Seriously, though, Cody. You’re not going to bebadat sex. Not with the right partner. As long as you’re communicating and you’re both enjoying yourselves, it’s never going to be bad.”
I want to argue with him that there arewaytoo many people on Reddit alone who would disagree with that argument. Not to mention the guys on Grindr who don’t want ‘minute men’ or guys with performance issues…
But he’s right that those people are probably not the kind of guys I’d want to sleep with anyway. I might have romanticized sex, but I want to do it with someone I have a connection with. And someone like that wouldn’t be an asshole to start with.
Ugh. Why does he always have to be right?
Clearing my throat again, I ask, “But, you’re not serious about…” I gesture between us, wondering when he got so close and, damn it, it should be a crime for someone as attractive as him to smell so good, too. “…us. Right?”
My heart is racing. I have no idea how I really want him to answer. On one hand, I’m horny and he’s my crush. He’salwaysbeen my crush. But on the other hand, he really has becomea good friend, and I don’t want to fuck up our friendship, figuratively or literally.
Steely eyes meet mine and Ken smiles gently. “I am, sweetheart. If being friends with benefits gets this chip off your shoulder, I’d be—”
“If you say ‘honored’ again…” I trail off, unable to finish the threat while my cheeks continue to burn.
Ken just shrugs. “Your trust and vulnerability mean a lot to me. I won’t take them —you— for granted. But,” he adds before I can tell him how ridiculous the idea is, “it’s your call, and I’m not going to be offended or upset if you’re not interested.”
“Not interested?” I repeat, my voice pitching high with disbelief. “Remember when I stood in your kitchen and practically threw myself at you?”
He frowns, appearing genuinely confused. “Wait.What?”
