Page 25 of The Dating Pact

“You’ve got a cream for everything, don’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” When he didn’t answer, I left him to think while I cleaned out our bowls in the kitchen sink. Returning, I stood in front of him, my hands on my hips, as he fiddled with the supplies in my smoke box. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

He removed a tiny sheaf of paper and sprinkled some leaves into it, though his movements were clumsy. I sat right next to him, leaning over to help. “Fold it up carefully,” I instructed, wetting my fingertips to help with the grip. I rolled the joint then I held it out to him. “Lick it.”

He met my gaze and didn’t drop it as his tongue poked up, sliding along the edge of the paper. I ignored how the back of my neck felt like it was on fire and ran my thumb over the length of our homemade cigarette, making sure it stayed together.

“Here.” I handed it to him then reached across his lap to snatch the lighter from the box on the side table, and I swore he sucked in a gasp when my chest brushed him. But that couldn’t be right.

He didn’t see me like that. As a woman. With breasts.

Or did he?

We lit up and passed it back and forth while I detangled the new and strange thoughts infiltrating my brain about me and Jude and Jude and me.

We were friends. That was it.

And because we were friends, I tried again, “What’s wrong?”

He shrugged, rubbing his knuckle across his lower lip.

I hadn’t ever noticed how plump his lips were.

Dark pink and round.

No man had a right to lips like his.

Women paid money for that.

With marijuana relaxing my inhibitions, I scratched his beard, thinking he should trim it, if only to give those lips their due.

“I’m anxious, thinking about having sex again,” he said, his lips forming words that made me blink. Once and then twice.

I was supposed to be giving him advice about this.

“Why?” I forced myself away from him. “You think it’s changed or something since the last time you did it?”

He scrubbed his hand over the top of his head, strands of his hair falling out of the loose bun above the nape of his neck. “No, but, like… I don’t know.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Mechanics-wise? ’Cause it’s pretty simple. Unless you’ve got bad aim or?—”

“Dear god,” he muttered, leaning over to set his elbows on his knees and cover his face with his hands.

I started giggling. “Are you dealing with a rocket in your pants or something? Your dick’s so unwieldy you can’t control it, shoving it into whatever hole you?—”

“Brooke,” he snapped without any heat in his voice. Rather, he fought a grin.

“Hm?”

“I’m trying to be vulnerable here, and you’re laughing at me.”

“You’re right. You’re right.” I sat up primly. “This is serious business.” When he sent me a playful glare, I asked, “Should I draw you a diagram?”

He started to stand up. “I’m never talking about this again with you.”

I laughed and wrapped my hands around his forearm, yanking him back down to the couch. “I’ll be cool.” With a deep, theatrical breath, I showed Jude I could indeed be serious about this topic. “Talk to me.”

He crossed his arms, concentrating on the wall across from us. “I don’t know how to start it…any of this, but I mean the physical part. I don’t know how to initiate it.”

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