She nods. “Round two is when you stop putting so much pressure on yourself. When you’re ready, you try again without the impossible expectations. Also, I hope I didn’t push you further than you wanted.”
“No. It was good. Well… not good in the way it ended. But I liked that it was with you.”
She smiles. “Me too.”
My whole life has been built around expectations and turning that voice off feels impossible. I clear my throat. “I need to grab something from the car.”
“Oh.” She doesn’t look surprised—just amused. “Okay.” She rises to her feet and reaches back, helping me up with her.
I blow out a breath, half laughing, half mortified. “I’ll be right back.” I jog to the SUV, pop the back door, and dig around, pretending this is not the most humbling moment of my life. When I finally find what I’m looking for, I straighten with a folded pair of pants in my hands.
When I turn back, Nora’s eyebrow is already raised. “Do you keep a spare set of clothes in your car?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. Then I shrug; honesty feels easier than pretending. “Sometimes you don’t know what’s going to happen.” Her laugh is bright and unfiltered, making it both worse and better. “Come winter,” I add because my mouth is apparently committed to oversharing, “I swap them out for something warmer.”
“Oh.” She nods solemnly. “That makes sense.”
I gesture behind her. “Could you?—?”
“Yep.” She spins around instantly, lifting a hand. “I’ll keep an eye out for anyone who doesn’t need to know about your… preparedness.”
“Thank you.” I change as fast as possible, doing my best not to think about the fact that five minutes ago she was straddling my lap. When I’m done, I tap her shoulder. “It’s clear.”
She turns back, eyes drifting to the rear of my SUV. “It’s all fun and games until the batteries die,” she reads from the bumper sticker. Then she grins. “I say the same thing.”
I blink. “You have a drone?”
“No,” she deadpans. “My vibrator.”
Heat detonates across my face, my brain helpfully supplying images of Nora on her bed with a vibrator, making the same soft moans from a few minutes ago.
“Don’t be embarrassed about vibrators,” she adds.
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“Is that why you’re turning fifty shades of tomato?” She grins, clearly enjoying this. “Anyway, while we’re already knee-deep in awkward—what’s your manscaping routine?”
My brain goes blank. “My what?”
“Do you trim the bushes?” She gestures casually toward my crotch. “The nether region.”
“That’s… a thing?”
“It’s a courtesy. No one wants to get lost in an unruly jungle when they could vacation on a well-groomed beach.”
I hesitate. “Do you… manscape? Womanscape?”
“I don’t know if that’s the technical term, but yes. And it makes me feel sexy. Plus, during oral sex, no one needs to be flossing their teeth.”
My throat tightens as I stare very deliberately at anything that isn’t her. “Okay. Let’s get going before it gets too dark.”
Later that night, I’m home, staring at my ceiling as if it might explain adulthood to me, when my phone buzzes.
Nora
Here’s some study material for you.
I tap the link. A website loads with cartoon-style illustrations of five different manscaping options with percentages based on popularity.
