“That sounds like heaven.”
“I can’t wait to sit on my ass.”
“You sit on your ass?”
“Well, no. I’ll still work out, hit the gym and shit.” My eyes rest on the dark hair falling over her right shoulder, quickly doing a scan, hitting all the points of her body. Delicate shoulders. Blue eyes. Gracefully shaped hands.
This is stupid.
I’m Rowdy fucking Wade for Christ’s sake. I’ve played in stadiums full of thousands of people—I don’t get nervous, and I sure as hell am never at a loss for words.
Scarlett smiles, offering up a piece of her muffin. “You want some?”
I suddenly want it all.
“You know,” she says, peeling off the muffin liner. “This holiday is going to suck and it’s partly your fault, being from Florida and all. I mean, who chooses Iowa over the Sunshine State?” She scoffs, envy filling her teasing tone.
I hesitate, weighing my words. “Why don’t you come home with me?”
Scarlett laughs, tipping her head back, the fabric of her shirt straining across her tits. “Go home with you—ha ha, very cute.”
Shit. She thinks I’m joking, and my stomach drops.
“It’s not the worst idea in the world.”
The idea takes root in my brain, and I immediately accept Mission: Get Scarlett to My House in Florida Over Break.
Plenty of couples do that, right? Visit each other and shit? It’s not unreasonable for her to come down for a vacation, is it? Spend time with me, get to know my friends? Meet my parents?
I’m not going to sugarcoat it: I’m fucking crazy about this girl.
Plus, she loves the ocean and I have the ocean, so why not give it to her? If she doesn’t see the logic in that, then she’s more unreasonable than I thought.
“You don’t seriously want me coming home with you.” She’s stirring her soup. “Do you? I mean, we just started…you know, hanging out.”
“I don’t want to be just hanging out, remember? Long haul?” I clarify. “I want to date you—just so we’re clear.”
“You want to be exclusive,” she deadpans.
I shift, uncomfortably. Why is she watching me that way? Like I’m an alien from another planet? “Yeah—that’s what we both want, right?”
Her hesitation only lasts a split second. “Yes.”
“Then why are you staring at me like that?”
Scarlett giggles. “Because, I just—this is crazy. This whole thing is nuts. I really like you, it’s just never been this easy with anyone before. Guys can be such dicks, and I guess I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s too easy with you.”
“Too easy—that’s a good thing, yeah?”
“Yes. That’s a good thing.”
I sit up straighter in my seat like a Golden Retriever wagging my tail, excited to have pleased my owner, recognizing Scarlett’s words as praise.
“I told you, I hate games.”
Her eyes are shining. “You like our games though.”
“Fuck yeah I do,” I mouth silently, raising an eyebrow. Jeez she’s sexy. “True or false, you want to sleep with me.”
“You’re so annoying,” Scarlett groans.
“Answer the question.”
“True.” She shrugs, noncommittal, slurping the soup off her spoon.
I grin wolfishly. “True or false, you find me attractive.”
“Put a leash around your ego’s neck, jeez. Of course I find you attractive—who doesn’t?” Scarlett crosses her arms, eyes stretching heavenward toward the ceiling. “True or false, you want to sleep with me.”
I like this game more now that she’s cooperating. “True.”
“True or false, you find me attractive.”
“Also true.”
Scarlett laps at a dollop of whipped cream heaped atop her hot chocolate, the froth slowly melting, steamy in her mug.
She licks it, cradling the mug, taking another sip from the edge with a tortured groan.
“True or false,” Scarlett begins tentatively, fiddling with the spoon resting in her soup bowl. “It’s normal for a girl to be a virgin at the age of twenty-one.”
Uh…say what now?
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that.” I might be an asshole sometimes, but what someone does inside the bedroom is their own damn business. “It hardly matters if someone is a virgin or not.”
“True or false: virgins freak you out.”
I scoff. What the hell kind of question is this? “No?”
“Pick one Sterling: true or false.”
“False—clearly. I’ve never had sex with one, but it doesn’t matter if someone is a virgin or not. It’s not a virus.”
“What if that virgin was me?”
I laugh a little too loudly, causing a table nearby to crane their necks and look over. “You’re not a virgin, quit fucking around.”
Scarlett blushes, dipping her head so I don’t see her flaming red cheeks. “Maybe they called me Cock Blocker back at the house for a reason, did you ever think of that?”
I scowl now, unamused. “Don’t you dare call yourself that—and no, they were calling you Cock Blocker because they’re pricks and they were bored, not because of anything you did wrong.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Well don’t. It’s not funny.” She hasn’t touched her soup, and it must be getting cold. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I am, but my nerves just kicked into overdrive.” Instead of eating, she runs her palms up and down the legs of her pants, as if wiping off sweat. “I have something to tell you but I’m doing a terrible job spitting it out.”
I sit back, my legs spread wide under the table. Waiting. “I’m a rock, Scarlett. You can tell me anything.”
“Right,” she says slowly. “I just don’t want to disappoint you because I know the kind of girls you’re used to and it’s not the kind of girl I am.”
“I decide what kind of girls I’m used to.”
I have no idea what she’s trying to tell me, but I can tell it’s important and clamp my lips shut; I’m one step away from telling her I’m falling for her in the middle of a damn sandwich shop, just to calm her nerves, to take that worried look on her brow and turn it into a smile.
She looks both determined and panicked and like she might want to throw up, still fiddling with the edge of her napkin.
“I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t like you, but I do want to have sex with you so I think you should know what you’re getting into.” She sighs nervously, crossing her hands in her lap. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“What is it? Do you have an STD?”
A nervous laugh bubbles out of her chest, erupting into a half laugh, half sob.
“Scarlett—are you pregnant?” Jesus Christ, please say no.
Another laugh, this one louder. “Would you stop? No, I do not have an STD, and no I’m not pregnant. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Sooo many things.”
Scarlett takes a deep breath, voice low.
I watch her—the way she’s avoiding my eyes, and the ruddy tint of her cheeks…
“Scarlett, are you a virgin?” I ask it slowly—carefully—setting my sandwich back on my plate. Rest my hands on the table and wait.
How is she a virgin?
She’s beautiful and clever and chatty. Smart, with a sassy mouth on her. Slightly perverted—a total bonus. Says what’s on her mind and doesn’t bullshit anybody. And when she looks at me, whatever shit I’m dealing with? It disappears.
All I want to do is be with her.
I couldn’t care less if she’s a virgin or not—I’d still want to fuck her seven ways from Sunday.
In fact, it’s fucking awesome.
Scarlett’s eyes are downcast as she spoons soup past her puckered lips, the blush on her cheeks more prominent because of her white shirt.
“Are you?” My voice is almost at a whisper, affording us more privacy, but I lean closer so she can hear me. “Is that why you didn’t want to have sex the other night?”