Beautiful Player
Page 16
I watched her eyes grow increasingly excited as she waited for me to attempt an answer. Something about her sincerity, her earnest consideration of this topic tightened an invisible band beneath my ribs. “Um, with lies? Women always assume we can read braille with our cocks. What’s that about? I honestly probably wouldn’t know a girl was a virgin unless she—”
“With surgery first, probably. Let’s call it ‘hymen restoration.’?”
Dropping my food, I groaned. “Jesus Christ, Ziggs. I’m eating brisket. Can you just hold off on the hymen talk for like—”
“And then”—she drummed her hands on the table, building suspense—“everyone is waiting to see what stem cells can do for us. But spinal cord injury, Parkinson’s . . . I don’t think that’s where they’ll start. You know what I think the big splash will be?”
“Edge of my seat,” I deadpanned.
“I bet it will be a restoration of the maidenhead.”
I coughed again, loudly. “Dear God. ‘Maidenhead’?”
“You said no ‘hymen,’ so—but am I right?”
Before I could answer and tell her the theory was actually pretty good, she barreled on. “Stupid amounts of money are spent on this kind of thing. Viagra for boners. Four hundred different shapes of fake boobs. Which filler feels the most natural? It’s a man’s world, Will. Women won’t stop to think that you’re putting actively growing cells in their vagina. Next year, one of your nongirlfriends will get her hymen regenerated, and she’ll give her new virginity to you, Will.”
She leaned down, put her lips around her straw, and sucked, her gray eyes locked on mine. And with that lingering, playful look, I felt my c**k harden slightly. Releasing the straw, she whispered, “To you. And will you appreciate what a gift that is? What a sacrifice?”
Her eyes danced and then she tilted her head back and burst out laughing. Holy f**k, I liked this girl. I liked her a lot.
Leaning forward on my elbows, I cleared my throat. “Ziggy, listen up because this is important. I’m about to impart some wisdom.”
She sat up, her eyes narrowing conspiratorially.
“Rule one we’ve already covered: don’t ever call someone before the sun is up.”
Her lips twitched into a guilty little smile. “Right. Got that one.”
“And rule two,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “Don’t ever discuss hymen regeneration over lunch. Or . . . like, ever.”
She dissolved into giggles and then moved out of the way when the waitress brought her food. “Don’t be so quick to mock it. That’s a billion-dollar idea, moneyman. If that comes across your desk soon, you’ll thank me for the heads-up.”
She dug into her salad, taking an enormous bite, and I tried not to study her. She wasn’t like any of the girls I knew. She was pretty—actually, she was beautiful—but she wasn’t poised or contained. She was silly, and confident, and so much her own person it almost made the rest of the world seem monochromatic. I had no idea if she even took herself seriously, but she certainly didn’t expect me to.
“What’s your favorite book?” I asked, the question bubbling up out of nowhere.
She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and I blinked down to my sandwich, picking at the tiny pieces of crispy meat at the edges.
“This is going to sound cliché.”
“I sincerely doubt that, but hit me.”
She leaned forward, and whispered, “A Brief History of Time.”
“Hawking?”
“Of course,” she said, almost offended.
“That’s not cliché. Cliché would be if you said Wuthering Heights or Little Women.”
“Because I’m a woman? If I asked you, and you said Hawking, would you be cliché?”
I considered this. I imagined saying that book was my favorite, and getting a few Dude, of course’s from my grad school friends. “Probably.”
“So that’s bull, for it to be cliché for you and not me just because I have a vagina. But anyway,” she said, shrugging and popping a small bite of lettuce into her mouth, “I read it when I was twelve, and—”
“Twelve?”
“Yeah, and it just blew me away. Not so much what he said—because I don’t think I understood everything then—but more that he thought that way. That there were people out there who spent their lives trying to figure these things out. It opened up a whole world for me.” Suddenly she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and smiled a little guiltily when she opened them again. “I’m talking your ear off.”
“With surgery first, probably. Let’s call it ‘hymen restoration.’?”
Dropping my food, I groaned. “Jesus Christ, Ziggs. I’m eating brisket. Can you just hold off on the hymen talk for like—”
“And then”—she drummed her hands on the table, building suspense—“everyone is waiting to see what stem cells can do for us. But spinal cord injury, Parkinson’s . . . I don’t think that’s where they’ll start. You know what I think the big splash will be?”
“Edge of my seat,” I deadpanned.
“I bet it will be a restoration of the maidenhead.”
I coughed again, loudly. “Dear God. ‘Maidenhead’?”
“You said no ‘hymen,’ so—but am I right?”
Before I could answer and tell her the theory was actually pretty good, she barreled on. “Stupid amounts of money are spent on this kind of thing. Viagra for boners. Four hundred different shapes of fake boobs. Which filler feels the most natural? It’s a man’s world, Will. Women won’t stop to think that you’re putting actively growing cells in their vagina. Next year, one of your nongirlfriends will get her hymen regenerated, and she’ll give her new virginity to you, Will.”
She leaned down, put her lips around her straw, and sucked, her gray eyes locked on mine. And with that lingering, playful look, I felt my c**k harden slightly. Releasing the straw, she whispered, “To you. And will you appreciate what a gift that is? What a sacrifice?”
Her eyes danced and then she tilted her head back and burst out laughing. Holy f**k, I liked this girl. I liked her a lot.
Leaning forward on my elbows, I cleared my throat. “Ziggy, listen up because this is important. I’m about to impart some wisdom.”
She sat up, her eyes narrowing conspiratorially.
“Rule one we’ve already covered: don’t ever call someone before the sun is up.”
Her lips twitched into a guilty little smile. “Right. Got that one.”
“And rule two,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “Don’t ever discuss hymen regeneration over lunch. Or . . . like, ever.”
She dissolved into giggles and then moved out of the way when the waitress brought her food. “Don’t be so quick to mock it. That’s a billion-dollar idea, moneyman. If that comes across your desk soon, you’ll thank me for the heads-up.”
She dug into her salad, taking an enormous bite, and I tried not to study her. She wasn’t like any of the girls I knew. She was pretty—actually, she was beautiful—but she wasn’t poised or contained. She was silly, and confident, and so much her own person it almost made the rest of the world seem monochromatic. I had no idea if she even took herself seriously, but she certainly didn’t expect me to.
“What’s your favorite book?” I asked, the question bubbling up out of nowhere.
She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and I blinked down to my sandwich, picking at the tiny pieces of crispy meat at the edges.
“This is going to sound cliché.”
“I sincerely doubt that, but hit me.”
She leaned forward, and whispered, “A Brief History of Time.”
“Hawking?”
“Of course,” she said, almost offended.
“That’s not cliché. Cliché would be if you said Wuthering Heights or Little Women.”
“Because I’m a woman? If I asked you, and you said Hawking, would you be cliché?”
I considered this. I imagined saying that book was my favorite, and getting a few Dude, of course’s from my grad school friends. “Probably.”
“So that’s bull, for it to be cliché for you and not me just because I have a vagina. But anyway,” she said, shrugging and popping a small bite of lettuce into her mouth, “I read it when I was twelve, and—”
“Twelve?”
“Yeah, and it just blew me away. Not so much what he said—because I don’t think I understood everything then—but more that he thought that way. That there were people out there who spent their lives trying to figure these things out. It opened up a whole world for me.” Suddenly she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and smiled a little guiltily when she opened them again. “I’m talking your ear off.”
