Page 244 of Faking the Goal

"I'm a very sexual person," I say, mostly because I feel the need to reclaim whatever scraps of dignity I still have left. "I like sex, and I'm not embarrassed by that. I've never believed women should have to act ashamed for enjoying it."

"And you shouldn't." He glances back at me, recovering enough of his composure to nod seriously. "You should own your sexuality."

"But," I add, exasperated. "there is a pretty big difference between being comfortable with my sexuality and telling the man sleeping next to me that the only thing capable of knocking me unconscious is an orgasm. One is confidence. The other is information you absolutely did not need to have. So, yeah, it's embarrassing."

"Not really." He shrugs, looking at me earnestly. "You can be honest with me, Trouble."

"Yeah, but it's awkward," I say, drawing my knees up to my chest and hugging them.

Silence settles between us.

Not the comfortable kind we've somehow grown used to lately, but one that hangs heavy in the room, stretching longer and longer until it almost feels impossible to breathe through.

I stare down at my knees.

I've already embarrassed myself beyond repair tonight.

What's one more humiliation?

"...I haven't slept with anyone in months."

The confession slips out so quietly I almost hope he doesn't hear it.

"Really?"

His eyebrows shoot up before he can stop them.

I slowly turn my head and level him with a flat stare.

"Yeah," I deadpan. "Really."

His eyebrows lifted before he could stop them, and for the briefest moment, I caught the corner of his mouth threatening to curl upward, like he found the revelation oddly amusing. Maybe it was the fact that someone like me had apparently gone months without sex. Maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever it was, he seemed to catch himself almost immediately, pressing his lips together as if swallowing the smile before it could fully appear.

I decided not to ask.

I was already humiliating myself enough as it was.

Letting out a long sigh, I dropped my gaze back to the blanket pooled over my legs. "The really pathetic part is that I've tried... you know... helping myself." I grimaced, feeling the heat creep back into my cheeks. "But I've been spectacularly unsuccessful in that department. I'm too stressed. Too anxious. The second I start relaxing, something pulls me right back out of it. I start thinking about the stalker, or the nightmares..." I gestured vaguely in front of me. "Kind of kills the mood."

I let out a humorless laugh.

"So I haven't exactly..." I pause, grimacing. "...had an orgasm in a very, very long freaking time."

I bury my face against my knees. "And as someone with a very healthy libido," I mutter, "it's honestly driving me insane."

Another silence settles over the room.

Not awkward this time.

Thoughtful.

When I finally look up, Kentaro isn't staring at me with embarrassment or judgment. If anything, he looks almost concerned, his brows drawn slightly together as he watches me.

Which should be comforting.

Instead, it makes me nervous.

He rubs the back of his neck before speaking, choosing his words with obvious care.