Page 66 of His Reckless Freshman

Instead, I settle for “Just class. Boring. You know how it is.” I shrug again, then notice her expression sinking, so I quickly throw in a little something more. “But I might have lunch with my cousin, Caroline, so… yeah…”

Wait, why did I say that?

I can’t have lunch with Caroline! She’ll take one look at my face and totally know I’ve been up to something.

Ugh. I am so not cut out for this secrecy, this weird-ass double life that I’m venturing into. I’m not sure I can pull it off at all.

But I want to.

I loved hanging out with Ben last night… and not just because of his lips and hands. My appetite suddenly flees as my stomach is swarmed by butterflies. No, not delicate butterflies—more like gigantic moths.

Dropping my fork, I push my breakfast tray away.

“So… how’s it going with the school paper?” Nylah asks, like she’s not done with this awkward conversation yet. Why does she keep asking me questions? Why does she want to engage? “Your article on the basketball team was so good. I love how you featured that player. What’s his name? Ben something?” She grins, and my stomach bottoms out. “Are you going to be doing a feature on any of the other players? Or has the editor given you something else to work on?”

The editor?

Ew! I don’t want to talk about him.

My shoulders ping straight, my skin no doubt paling as I think about the fact that I’ll be interacting with Kieran again in the future. I’ve already had to, and I survived it, but the more involved I get, the more I’ll be around him and…

I can’t tell her about my disastrous first time. She’ll never understand. Her first time was no doubt brilliant. She probably figured out what an orgasm was way before a guy ever touched her. Look at her—she’s so cool and smooth and put together, it oozes out of her every pore.

“Oh.” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Uh… did I miss something? Is it… not going well? Has he not given you something else?”

Oh crap. What is my face doing right now?

I try to pull it into line and answer her. “It’s, um… yeah, it’s fine.” I swallow and then my head starts doing this bobbing thing. It makes me look like a chicken at a disco, apparently, but I can’t seem to stop it as I try to hide and cover all my little truths with lies I can’t seem to form. “It’s totally… fine. Fine, fine, fine.” I put on a laugh, but Nylah sees right through it, her expression dipping into a frown. I can feel my face crumpling and have to conclude that this breakfast is a complete disaster. Rising from my seat, I grab my tray and mutter, “It’s gonna be fine.”

Then I just take off… without even saying goodbye.

Which is so completely rude!

Ugh. I should go back and apologize. I should explain myself.

But the idea of doing that makes my blood run cold.

I still can’t believe I spilled it all to Ben.

Although, that’s kind of working out for me, which I still can’t quite believe.

We spent the night together.

I shake my head, running back up to my room to quickly brush my teeth, because I don’t want to head to class with egg taste in my mouth. Blech!

As I clean my pearly whites, I once again start overanalyzing every little detail of my life and the worries escalate, building up around me like tower blocks until I’m walking to class with them piled up so high that I can barely see.

By the time I make it to the Humanities building, I’ve managed to convince myself that Kieran will make me write an article about the fact that I am awful at sex, Caroline will find out what I did last night and tell my parents on me, and Ben will never text me again because after thinking about it, he’s realized that I am not worth his time, and he’ll fall in love with someone ultra cool and beautiful like Nylah, and I’ll have to watch them ride off into the sunset while my single butt will be standing out in the cold, trying to convince myself that dying without ever having an orgasm is totally fine.

I’m so engrossed in these atrocious imaginings that I actually flinch and gasp when my phone dings. The person I’m walking past looks at me like I’m a psycho and actually veers away from me as I stomp up the stairs, muttering under my breath that “Yes, I’m a weirdo. You don’t have to make it so obvious.”

Pausing outside the glass doors, I rummage around in my bag, and when I pull out my phone… I stop breathing.

That’s Ben’s name.

Ben’s texting me again.

He’s initiating contact.