Page 22 of Finally Home

Two hours and many drinks later, we’re both well past tipsy and much closer on the couch than we were earlier.

“I’m just saying, Starling, that position is one-hundred percent not possible. I mean really think about it.”

I have no idea how we landed on the topic of the infamous backbend but here we are, arguing about it while I pretend I’m not in desperate need of a cold shower and a date with my left hand.

“Roly-Coly-Oly, how do you know it’s not possible? Have you tried it?” Her face screws up at her question, and she shivers. “Actually, never mind. I really don’t want to know.”

The liquor is loosening my tongue. “I haven’t tried any position, Wren.” I pick up the vodka bottle from the table and take a swig, staring at the ceiling. “Not with any girls anyway.”

I turn toward her loud gasp and squint one eye to make the second Wren go away so I can focus on the first.

“Rhodes. Are you seriously trying to tell me you’re gay?” Her voice is a shriek, and I put my hand over her mouth to make the sound stop. Unfortunately, that worked a little too well, and she licks my palm, which sends a pulse through my already painfully hard cock.

The hurt look on her face distracts me from my wet hand. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? We’ve been best friends for eight years!” Honest-to-God tears form in her eyes, and I scramble to come up with a response through the alcohol brain fog.

It’s hard to focus on anything, but I manage to answer her question with a shake of my head, gripping her shoulders tightly. “God, Wren. No! I mean…I was never really attracted to any girls in college, and yeah at one point I thought I might be gay. I did some stuff with a guy when I moved out here, but that didn’t do anything for me. So yeah, definitely not gay.” I’m going to regret the vodka in the morning, but I’m not sure if it will be because of the hangover or because I can’t seem to shut my fucking mouth.

“Hold on,” she grips my arm hard where it’s still clutching her shoulder. “Okay, so you’re not gay, but you tried stuff with a guy? What kind of stuff?”

Her question has me covering my face, mortified. But it’s the open curiosity and lack of judgment in her eyes that makes me comfortable enough to answer honestly. “I didn’t technically have sex with anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I murmur. “But I kind of…gave a blowjob. But then when he tried to reciprocate I couldn’t keep it up.”

I feel sick with nerves admitting all of this to the girl I’ve been in love with for years, but it’s also sort of freeing. I’ve never been able to tell anyone about this. Even Cope and Aidan don’t know the extent of the encounter. “It felt fine, good even. But I just couldn’t get into it. I didn’t love blowing him either, so I’m pretty confident I’m not into guys.”

The next part of what I want to tell her is arguably the most embarrassing, so I say it as fast as possible, hoping to just rip off the damn band-aid before I puke from the anxiety rolling through me. “The truth is, Starling, that I’ve never had sex with anyone. Male or female.”

Wren gapes at me, but she doesn’t say anything, so I ramble on nervously. “It’s not that I didn’t want to! For most of college I actually thought there was something wrong with me because I wasn’t getting the sexual urges or feelings all the other guys on the team seemed to have. After a lot of research, I finally figured out I’m demisexual.”

“What does that mean?” she asks quietly.

I’m grateful she’s not freaking out or making a huge deal out of me being a twenty-five-year-old virgin, so I take a deep breath and try to release some of the tension from my jaw before I get a migraine. “It basically means I don’t feel sexual attraction for a person until I develop a close emotional connection with them. So, theoretically, I could develop an attraction towards a person regardless of their gender, as long as I was emotionally attached to them as well.”

I hold my breath, waiting for some profound words of wisdom and acceptance from my brilliant best friend, but in true Wren fashion, she doesn’t do what I expect. Instead, she curls back up against my side and hums. “That’s really cool, Rho. Is it weird that I’m proud of you for being able to explore your sexuality like that? Because I am. You’re braver than me.”

Something in her tone strikes me funny, and I turn slightly to study her profile. “What do you mean, I’m braver than you?”

She’s quiet for long enough that I nearly start to doze off, but her next words make me snap my head up because I’m not sure I heard her correctly. Then, I groan, dropping it back down into my hands to stop the spinning and choke back the bile that threatens to rise from the sudden movement.

I clear my throat and slowly open my eyes to stare at Wren. “I’m sorry, did you just say you never had an orgasm with Derrick?”

There’s no way…

Wren clumsily rolls off the couch, landing on her back on the floor. She peeks up at me with her hands over her red cheeks, and a tiny whimper escapes. “God, this is mortifying. It’s not like I never had one at all, but… I just couldn’t get there… from sex. He always made out like I was the faulty one, and there must be something wrong with my body that I needed… more.”

“You’re joking, right?” The anger from her words sobers me up a bit, and I’m livid. “What a fucking prick. Wren, Starling, I’ve never been with a woman like that and even I know that they rarely come from penetration alone. I swear, next you’ll tell me he only ever wanted to do doggy.”

I glance down in time to see her cringe, and my jaw nearly hits the damned floor when I gasp. “No.”

She groans. “Rho, it’s not like I didn’t ask! I’m not a prude, and I’ve watched porn. I thought it was normal to just not experiment with sex once you were married!”

I don’t bring up that her ex-husband might be the one who needs to experiment sexually, and instead, focus on her words. My dream girl talking about porn and experimenting with sex has me rock hard again, and I shift uncomfortably on the couch. Risking an awkward glance at her, I adjust myself and sigh at the release of pressure.

“But enough about my pathetic sex life!” She sits up quickly and grabs her head for a second squinting like she’s in pain before she points at me. “Let’s talk about you and your lack of attraction.”

I cut her off with a grunt, not wanting to spill any more liquor-fueled secrets. “Can we just pretend I never said anything? This whole conversation has been mortifying, and I need to stop drinking unless I want to deal with a wicked hangover during our lazy day tomorrow.”

I stand up slowly, throw our trash away, click the TV off, and head to the kitchen to pour two glasses of water. Grabbing those and the bottle of Tylenol, I wrangle the tipsy girl up the stairs and into the guest room, where she collapses onto the bed and is asleep in seconds. All talk of my attraction blessedly ceases with her cute little snores.

Crisis averted.

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