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Page 7
“Those are my PMS panties. They stay.”
I point a finger at her. “House rule infraction. We’re not allowed to say panties.”
She rolls her eyes and heads toward the stairs. “I need to go finish that presentation for Monday’s meeting.”
I forget if I’ve mentioned it already, but Parks is a total workaholic.
“Fine,” I call after her. “Go nerd it up, but at least think about the party.”
Parker pauses. “You know I have girlfriends, right? I’m not so pathetic that when Lance cancels on me I’m going to be stuck home alone?”
“Yeah, I know, I just thought…I dunno. You looked bummed earlier today. Wanted to make sure you weren’t going to stay home tonight listening to Bonnie Tyler.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “You worried about me, Olsen?”
“Nah. Just wary of coming home to you on the couch with Häagen-Dazs all over your face while reeking of estrogen.”
She’s already moving up the stairs. “Suddenly that D you got in biology is making total sense. You apparently missed the entire section on how hormones work.”
“It just so happens that biology is a specialty of mine,” I call up the stairs.
“Earlier today, you didn’t know what the uterus was,” she calls back.
“I knew,” I mutter.
Mostly.
Chapter 3
Parker
Lance and I met when we were both sophomores, and if I’m being totally honest, it wasn’t one of those tumbling-into-love scenarios. No sparks the first time our eyes met, no butterflies when his fingers brushed mine.
It was more like we recognized that we were, well, right for each other.
It started when we ended up in the same study group in the econ class that kicked my butt. Despite paying careful attention in class, despite my constant studying, the homework was harder for me than for everyone else. I’d still be struggling to decipher the question when the rest of my study group had already scribbled their answer. After a while, I got sick of holding the group up, so I’d just sort of pretend that I got it, only to have to muddle through on my own back in my dorm.
Then one night, when I was feeling particularly frustrated, on the verge of tears because I wasn’t understanding anything and everyone else was understanding everything, Lance spoke up from the other side of the library table and asked almost the exact same question that I was too embarrassed to ask.
The same thing happened on the next question.
And the next.
It wasn’t until the fifth time of Lance playing dumb that I realized he hadn’t written a single word as the rest of the group patiently explained the answer to him. He wasn’t even looking at his homework, which I later learned had been done hours earlier.
He was looking at me.
When I tilted my head in silent questioning, he winked.
And that, my friends, is how you win over Parker Blanton. Homework help followed by a subtle, flirtatious wink.
I fell. I fell hard.
And it should be noted that when Lance was going out of his mind trying to understand symbolism in British literature our junior year, it was me doling out the homework help, thank you very much.
I know it doesn’t sound sexy, but like I said…it’s right.
Or, at least, it was.
Confession time. I’m twenty-four, probably in my physical prime, with a gorgeous, serious boyfriend…
And my sex life seriously sucks.
It hasn’t always. I lost Lady V my freshman year of college to a sexy baseball player who lived down the hall in our coed dorms. We dated for a couple months before learning the age-old lesson that sometimes being compatible in bed isn’t enough to make a relationship work. After one too many meals filled with awkward silences, we split with no hard feelings.
I hooked up with one of Ben’s friends later in freshman year, but that was more of a too-much-beer, too-little-sense kinda night, and it turned into a big fat nothing.
And then…Lance.
Our physical relationship progressed slowly. I don’t think either of us wanted to mess up a good thing by rushing it. And when the sex did happen, it was good. Really good. Well, pretty good.
But at least it was frequent.
And then, a couple months ago, it just…stopped. I mean, I guess I kind of get why. Work’s been crazy busy for me, and he has school and work.
But it’s been two months.
As far as dry spells go, it’s not horrible…
If you’re single.
But when you’re in a committed relationship, where there’s been casual, hypothetical marriage talk? Two months is a long-ass time.
And it’s not like there hasn’t been opportunity. I have my own bedroom in the shared house with Ben, and Lance has his own apartment.
So how is it that we’re having less sex now than when we were living in the dorms and had to tie dental floss on the doorknob to warn our respective roommates not to come a-knockin’?
Well, whatever. Tonight that changes.
I’ve spent extra time on my makeup, and I’ll admit…I look awesome. The tight black tank top and jeans aren’t anything special, but they’re not meant to be.
It’s what’s underneath that is the real treat: a brand-new lingerie set that blows my shopping budget for, like, the next six months, but it’s worth it.
It’s red, lacy, and doing rather fantastic push-up things to my boobs, if I do say so myself.
I’m about to head out the door when I get a text from my friend Casey.
I point a finger at her. “House rule infraction. We’re not allowed to say panties.”
She rolls her eyes and heads toward the stairs. “I need to go finish that presentation for Monday’s meeting.”
I forget if I’ve mentioned it already, but Parks is a total workaholic.
“Fine,” I call after her. “Go nerd it up, but at least think about the party.”
Parker pauses. “You know I have girlfriends, right? I’m not so pathetic that when Lance cancels on me I’m going to be stuck home alone?”
“Yeah, I know, I just thought…I dunno. You looked bummed earlier today. Wanted to make sure you weren’t going to stay home tonight listening to Bonnie Tyler.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “You worried about me, Olsen?”
“Nah. Just wary of coming home to you on the couch with Häagen-Dazs all over your face while reeking of estrogen.”
She’s already moving up the stairs. “Suddenly that D you got in biology is making total sense. You apparently missed the entire section on how hormones work.”
“It just so happens that biology is a specialty of mine,” I call up the stairs.
“Earlier today, you didn’t know what the uterus was,” she calls back.
“I knew,” I mutter.
Mostly.
Chapter 3
Parker
Lance and I met when we were both sophomores, and if I’m being totally honest, it wasn’t one of those tumbling-into-love scenarios. No sparks the first time our eyes met, no butterflies when his fingers brushed mine.
It was more like we recognized that we were, well, right for each other.
It started when we ended up in the same study group in the econ class that kicked my butt. Despite paying careful attention in class, despite my constant studying, the homework was harder for me than for everyone else. I’d still be struggling to decipher the question when the rest of my study group had already scribbled their answer. After a while, I got sick of holding the group up, so I’d just sort of pretend that I got it, only to have to muddle through on my own back in my dorm.
Then one night, when I was feeling particularly frustrated, on the verge of tears because I wasn’t understanding anything and everyone else was understanding everything, Lance spoke up from the other side of the library table and asked almost the exact same question that I was too embarrassed to ask.
The same thing happened on the next question.
And the next.
It wasn’t until the fifth time of Lance playing dumb that I realized he hadn’t written a single word as the rest of the group patiently explained the answer to him. He wasn’t even looking at his homework, which I later learned had been done hours earlier.
He was looking at me.
When I tilted my head in silent questioning, he winked.
And that, my friends, is how you win over Parker Blanton. Homework help followed by a subtle, flirtatious wink.
I fell. I fell hard.
And it should be noted that when Lance was going out of his mind trying to understand symbolism in British literature our junior year, it was me doling out the homework help, thank you very much.
I know it doesn’t sound sexy, but like I said…it’s right.
Or, at least, it was.
Confession time. I’m twenty-four, probably in my physical prime, with a gorgeous, serious boyfriend…
And my sex life seriously sucks.
It hasn’t always. I lost Lady V my freshman year of college to a sexy baseball player who lived down the hall in our coed dorms. We dated for a couple months before learning the age-old lesson that sometimes being compatible in bed isn’t enough to make a relationship work. After one too many meals filled with awkward silences, we split with no hard feelings.
I hooked up with one of Ben’s friends later in freshman year, but that was more of a too-much-beer, too-little-sense kinda night, and it turned into a big fat nothing.
And then…Lance.
Our physical relationship progressed slowly. I don’t think either of us wanted to mess up a good thing by rushing it. And when the sex did happen, it was good. Really good. Well, pretty good.
But at least it was frequent.
And then, a couple months ago, it just…stopped. I mean, I guess I kind of get why. Work’s been crazy busy for me, and he has school and work.
But it’s been two months.
As far as dry spells go, it’s not horrible…
If you’re single.
But when you’re in a committed relationship, where there’s been casual, hypothetical marriage talk? Two months is a long-ass time.
And it’s not like there hasn’t been opportunity. I have my own bedroom in the shared house with Ben, and Lance has his own apartment.
So how is it that we’re having less sex now than when we were living in the dorms and had to tie dental floss on the doorknob to warn our respective roommates not to come a-knockin’?
Well, whatever. Tonight that changes.
I’ve spent extra time on my makeup, and I’ll admit…I look awesome. The tight black tank top and jeans aren’t anything special, but they’re not meant to be.
It’s what’s underneath that is the real treat: a brand-new lingerie set that blows my shopping budget for, like, the next six months, but it’s worth it.
It’s red, lacy, and doing rather fantastic push-up things to my boobs, if I do say so myself.
I’m about to head out the door when I get a text from my friend Casey.
