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My mouth drops open in indignation. What kind of person does he think I am?
But then, I can’t exactly argue. I must come across as a total slut, trying to sleep with some guy I met only days ago. I don’t know the first thing about him, and everything I do know, I got from Meghan, since I’ve barely said five words to Oliver before tonight. I know he’s old enough to buy whiskey, and that he doesn’t know I’m not. I know he’s from Ireland, and he’s visiting his uncle, and… That’s basically it. I don’t know his last name, or if he has a girlfriend back home, or if he likes to eat small children in his spare time.
And yet, I invited him into my room, alone, and got drunk and made out with him while my sister’s sleeping on thefloor. Not to mention that sleeping with a fifteen-year-old would probably make him a felon.
Yep, I totally deserve his judgment.
He clears his throat and rubs a hand over the back of his head, staring at the floor. “It’s just that, I… Uh, I don’t have sex.”
I gape at him for a minute, trying to find words. I’m not sure I heard what I think I heard, or what it means if I did.
“Like,ever?” I ask finally, hearing how much I sound like Daria when I told her I hadn’t.
“Like never,” he says, and I think there’s a small smile in his voice. He leans away to look at my face. I wish he wouldn’t. He has the longest, darkest lashes I’ve ever seen framing his lavender eyes, and damn if they don’t make me want to forget all the reasons I shouldn’t kiss him again.
“Wow.”
I absorb this information for a minute, trying to think straight and clear my head from the fog of alcohol and hormones. Of all the ways in which Oliver is different from the other guys I know, this one is definitely the most surprising. And he’s in college. What kind of college guy doesn’t party and hook up? That’s the whole point of college. Even myparentsdid that. One New Years when they went out drinking and came home loud and laughing, I heard them giving Dad a hard time about his fraternity days.
“Why?” I ask finally.
“Why do you?” Oliver asks, his brow furrowing as he glances at the glass door to the balcony when a sheet of rain crashes into it like an ocean wave.
Why does it always come back to this? Why do I always end up talking about something I wish no one knew about?
“I…don’t, actually,” I admit with a sigh. I could lie, but it doesn’t seem worth it anymore. Of course I found the one celibate guy on the planet when I’m finally ready to give it up.
Oliver waits for me to go on, but least he doesn’t look at me like a mutant freak from outer space.
“I need more to drink,” I say, getting up to get the whiskey. I so do not need more to drink, but it keeps me from having to face him.
“You don’t…?” he presses when I don’t elaborate.
“No,” I say, slumping down on the bed again. “I don’t hook up.”
So much for losing my virginity to a hot college guy to get back at Todd and Elaine. It was like the perfect first-time story.
“You don’t hook up,” Oliver says, looking way too skeptical, like he thinks I’m full of shit. Not that I blame the guy. I literally burst into tears when he put on the brakes. He probably thinks I’m a complete nympho.
It should be easy to tell him otherwise and make him think well of me again, but for some reason, it’s harder than telling everyone I already knew. I only really told Daria, and she already guessed. Then she told everyone else, and I just had to confirm.
“I was, kind of, um…” I take a drink for courage. “I was just tired of being the freak. Everyone I know is always talking about it all the time, and I was tired of being left out, so I thought I could just sleep with someone and get it over with.”
I take another drink, heart racing and stomach churning. But I did it. I said it. It’s all out in the open.
Except the part about being fifteen, but then, there’s no reason he needs that on his conscience for the rest of his life. He didn’t know, so it’s not his fault anyway, and nothing happened. We just kissed.
“I know it sounds stupid,” I add when he doesn’t speak.
“That does sound stupid,” he says, taking the bottle away from me before I can take another drink. “Reallystupid.”
So not helping.I pick at a hangnail, wishing I had the whiskey bottle so I’d have something to do with my hands. I wish I’d never told him. I wish he’d go away and let me be humiliated by myself.
“I’m glad you ended up with me then, and not my brother,” he says after a while. “He wouldn’t have thought twice about it.”
“Damn.”
I curse my bad luck for ending up with the gentleman the one night when I really wanted the scoundrel. Another word I would never use to describe an American, but the accent is doing weird things to my brain.
