“Okay, now spill. What happened with Theo?” she asks.
I take a sip of my drink while I try to figure out how to answer her question. I know she won’t judge. Unlike Theo, when I told Nicole about my past, she sympathized, but she didn’t pity me, and she’s never once changed the way she acts around me.
“I think I’m broken,” I admit.
She quirks a brow.
“I mean, I know I am. I’m fucked up. But”—I lean in so no one else can hear—“I haven’t orgasmed during sex since I was with Owen.”
“Owen, as in your college boyfriend?”
I nod, and her eyes go wide.
“Holy shit, Bri, that was, like … years ago.”
“I’m well aware,” I say dryly. “Theo was the first guy I’ve been with since I came home.”
When I was in college, I met Owen, and we fell in love. We spent months planning our future together until Anthony caught us and then snuck into my apartment and raped me.
A couple of months later, Andrey found out I was pregnant, so Owen and I ran. We ended up in a shitty motel, where Andrey found us, killed Owen, and then forced me to abort my baby.
I moved to Russia to get away and never once even considered looking at a man. I was busy helping my grandfather run his company and trying to heal from the trauma.
But when my brother Dominick dragged me home after our grandparents passed away, I had a lot of time on my hands. So, I decided to put myself out there.
I went on too many first dates and barely any second ones. So, when I met Theo and he seemed to tick all the boxes of what I was looking for, I grabbed ahold of him.
“Girl,” Nicole drawls, “you need to get back on the horse. You might as well be a virgin at this point. The man didn’t even give you an orgasm, so he doesn’t count.”
I snort out a laugh. “I want to, but it’s hard …”
Nicole snickers at my unintentional pun, and I roll my eyes.
“A couple of times, I came close …”
“To coming?” she questions.
“No.” I laugh. “To sleeping with a man. But it never felt right.”
“And it felt right with Theo?”
I think about that for a second and then shake my head. “No, it felt … comfortable and safe.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” she says. “You need to be taken out of your comfort zone.”
“Maybe,” I agree. Then, because deep conversations like this stress me out, I add, “At least he wasn’t allergic to pussy.”
“What?” Nicole barks out a laugh.
“When I first came home, I tried to pick up a man. I broughthim back to a room at the country club, but his face was only between my legs for about twenty seconds when he told me he was allergic to pussy.”
“Oh my God, stop!” Nicole wheezes because she’s laughing so hard.
“I mean, I’m not an expert on the opposite sex, but is that really a thing?”
“Excuse me,” a gentleman says, sliding in next to me and leaning against the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I glance down at my whiskey sour—which is still more than half full—and wonder how men manage to function, let alone pick up women.
