‘What’s wrong with being chaste?’
‘Absolutely nothing, especially if it results in an orgasm like last night.’ The more he says these things to me, the deeper my insides heat. It’s like the opposite to aversion therapy. ‘Why are you pulling that face? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It was a thing of beauty.’
‘Who said I was embarrassed?’
‘The colour in your neck is a bit of a giveaway.’ He pulls a pair of scissors from a nearby drawer and begins cutting chives into the eggs. ‘What I don’t understand is how does a girl who looks like you end up not having sex for three years.’
I guess Will’s sincere moments are few and far between as we return to his favourite topic; the ridiculousness of my sex life. Feeling a little off-balance, I place my head against the cool countertop, my words released along with a sigh.
‘And whatIdon’t understand is how the agency could’ve sent you to a neighbour’s address. Isn’t that a little too close for comfort?’
‘Nah,’ he answers immediately. ‘I’m not ashamed of what I do. Your turn.’
‘What?’ I ask, lifting my head again.
‘Your three-year abstinence. Please explain—it just won’t compute.’
I imagine not. Not to him, at least. But when the first boy you’ve ever loved tells you he needs a few months away to “find himself”, only to get lost in the process, or at least, forgot to return, you find you have to move states to avoid people’s pitying looks. And the questions. And then find, even with a new slate, sex, never mind relationships, is the last thing you seek out.
‘You can’t force someone to love you,’ I eventually reply. I suppose that could be taken several ways.
‘True. Unless you want to share a cell with a man of questionable morals named Bubba and then be made to sign some kind of register once you’ve served your time.’
‘Are you ever serious?’
‘Depends on the company. I’m extra humorous around the extra snipe-y, even if I sympathise with the reasoning.’ I raise a brow, inviting him to continue. ‘You had your heart set on someone, and that’s a lot of pressure for one little heart. Take it from me, it’s best to protect that little fucker. Plus, you’re obviously extremely sexually frustrated. You haven’t had sex in so long, you’re practically a virgin again.’
‘I was practically a virgin before,’ I mumble. Twenty-six years old and I’ve only had one real boyfriend. What a joke. I mean, I date. Occasionally. Once in a while. Okay, maybe three times in three years. And let’s just say, each time I was underwhelmed.
‘How do you not have a trail of men following you about over there?’
‘Maybe because I don’t always look like I did last night,’ I say, pointing a hand to the current look I’m sporting. Bird’s nest hair and pale face.
‘I’m sorry, but there’s nothing unappealing about the way you look this morning. Especially in my t-shirt.’ I glance down, realising for the first time the item I’m wearing isn’tmymarl grey nightshirt butamarl grey t-shirt. I pull it away from my body to read the slogan.Ultrasound techs do it better in the dark.Huh.
‘It was a gift.’
Maybe he has regular ultrasound tech client? I allow the t-shirt to snap back into place and catch him trying to stare down the neck.
‘Now who’s ogling?’
‘Actually, I suddenly find I need that t-shirt back. Now, if you don’t mind.’
‘Just as soon as you give me back my panties.’
‘Now that’s exactly what I mean.’ He turns to the stovetop, a bright flame jumping from a burner before he covers it with a saucepan.
‘What?’
‘The look you just gave me. The sultry purr. You must have men trailing you like tomcats to follow the proverbial pussy.’
‘You’re deranged.’
‘You have Tinder, don’t you?’
‘I prefer my love life to happen organically.’
‘And how’s that working out for you? Oh, I remember,’ he says, slapping his head. ‘Not too well for the last few months. Or the last thirty-six of them.’
