Page 25 of Talk Nerdy To Me
“So what’s it going to take to get you to tell me more about your story? Because that always adds more emotion to the eyes.”
The first thing that pops into my head is that…if he’ll take my virginity and make it good, I’ll tell him every sordid detail. Even I realize that that is not an acceptable thing to say.
Is it?
He has my pictures pinned up, which I don’t think is a social normality, even though he seems confident that it is, given his easy explanation. He even makes it sound charming.
But…I still don’t think I should proposition him so soon.
Never mind. I like Base. He seems nice, and according to Maverick, all attractive musicians have sex with girls all the time, which means he’d have plenty of experience in making this nice.
Definitely going to ask him. So long as he’ll comply with the standard test for sexually transmitted infections.
The words just won’t seem to come out, though.
“I need your bathroom to properly tend to my body as it sheds the lining that went unused when my uterus didn’t receive a fertilized egg,” I tell him as a substitute, when inane and unexpected panic wads up in my throat.
I should have stuck with freshen up. Or I should have asked him to break my hymen—though that’s just a figure of speech. The hymen actually only stretches after sexual intercourse, though it’s still referred to as “breaking it,” since it’s irreversibly changed after that.
Head ramble.
His grin doesn’t falter as he gestures to it. “Definitely the most unique way I’ve heard it referenced,” he says, not laughing at me and not looking at me like I’m from another planet.
Hesitating, since I feel like this is almost a trick, given Taylor’s reaction earlier, I dart into the bathroom. Finally.
This lining has been extra annoying to shed.
By the time I finish up and wash my hands, I expect him to be gone. But he’s on the bed again, lying on his back with his guitar on his stomach as he strums lazily, not really making music.
“So, do I get your story?” he asks with a conversational tone as his eyes stay on the ceiling.
“The whole story?” I ask.
Usually there’s a sense of urgency inside of me to change the topic. But I think his overly relaxed attitude is relaxing me. Odd, since I was in a panic before I went into the bathroom.
Maybe all my reactions to him are a direct result of my menstrual cycle.
“No. Never the whole story. Then I wouldn’t have anything new to figure out. Start with a secret,” he answers.
He stops strumming and pats the bed beside him with smirk on his lips. He’s not the first guy to do that in my lifetime. But he’s the first guy to do it playfully and clearly not sexually.
Another oddity is how the only ones who’ve propositioned me for sex are usually the ones I’m not attracted to. Rain assures me it’s okay to be shallow, since I’m not looking at long-term.
Rambling in my head again…
Climbing onto the bed, my eyes meet his as I move toward the back corner next to him. His eyes rake over me again as that smile of his grows.
“I don’t have secrets,” I say when I’m sitting cross-legged beside him.
His gaze lingers on my shorts for a minute before his eyes lift to meet mine. “A girl that claims no secrets? You’re trying to write the songs for me now.”
His consistent grin is starting to infect me. That’s the only thing to explain why I can’t stop my own smile from forming when I don’t even know what I’m smiling about.
“You may have the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen,” he tells me, strumming the strings on the guitar idly.
You can barely hear the party music thudding in here.
“Why aren’t you at your own party?” I ask.
