Page 55 of Whiskey Splash

“But that’s not how the world sees it!” I grumble, frustrated. The double standard is infuriating. Arie can claim the slutty whore title all she wants, because again—she’s Arie. She knows how to wear it like a badge of freaking honor. She’s completely impervious to these things.

“Fuck the world!” Arie practically yells. “They don’t know you. They don’t know Desmond! It’s none of their damn business! You’re allowed to fuck who you want, when you want, where you want, and let’s be honest for a second—it sounds like it was pretty freaking awesome!”

I start picking at a loose thread on the side of the blanket, pulling the string and letting it unravel. It was a pretty awesome night, wasn’t it? If I close my eyes and admit it to myself, the truth is I haven’t felt so connected, so completely in the moment, so ready to surrender in, well … I can’t remember when.

“I’m not in love with him, you know,” I say quietly. “There’s nothing between us except ridiculous flirting and—”

“The best freaking orgasm of your life!” Arie interrupts. I bite my lip, not wanting to admit it. “Esme, that isn’t nothing. In fact, for you, it’s pretty damn important. You actually let your guard down enough to have an orgasm.”

“Hey!” I growl at her. “I’ve had orgasms before!”

“Not a real one.” Arie shakes her head wide-eyed. “Not agooooooodone!” Arie’s voice gets low and guttural like she’s trying to point out some deeper mind-blowing orgasmic space that only the privileged elite are allowed to access. “Not a toe-curling, pussy exploding, ring-my-fucking-bell-you-beautiful-sex-god type of orgasm.”

“It wasn’tthatgood,” I counter, pulling the blank up higher and hiding under it.

“Oh, fuck you it wasn’t that good,” Arie sasses, pinching me in the leg. “You already told me the story about Mr. Pike and his other-worldly tongue. And guess what, I’ve been around you your whole life to know the difference between a BS-you-totally-faked-it orgasm and the real fucking deal.”

“Fine,” I admit, my face flushing. “It wasn’t too shabby.”

“Wasn’t too shabby? God! I should record this and send it to Desmond and see how he feels about your lackluster review.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me!” Arie tosses back at me, and for a second I think she might pull out her phone and start texting him. But instead she keeps talking. “And for the love of all things sacred, Esme, you’ve been drinking too much of the Disney Princess Kool-Aid. You don’t have to be in love with Desmond to have sex with him, much less have mind-blowing sex with him. And simply because you have sex—and yes, let it please be mind-blowing sex—that doesn’t make you a whore.”

“I know that.”

“Actually, I don’t think you do know that.” Arie shakes her head and looks at me softly. “I think Jeremy Vaughn took your virginity and now you can’t consider being with anyone without his voice lingering in the back of your mind, calling you a whore whenever you have sexual desires.”

“This isn’t about Jeremy Vaughn!” I snap, pulling away from her and getting up. I throw my blanket on the couch and walk to the kitchen.

“Or maybe it has everythingto do with him,” Arie says, as I stomp into the kitchen and tear open the freezer door, scouring the contents for something sugary and bad for me. Ice cream preferably.

“Can we please have a conversation about guys where you don’t bring up Jeremy Vaughn?” I toss around the corner at her. “This isn’t the same!”

“No?” Arie asks from her spot on the couch, not coming over as I pull out ice cube trays and frozen dinners and bags of peas, making a mountain on the countertop. “Because last time you let a guy get close to you, he burned every ounce of your trust and shared intimate photos of you with his friends. And now here comes Desmond, who likes you despite all your awkwardness, actually likes you and is genuinely into you.”

“You don’t know that!” I say, glaring into the ice box, which is empty and doesn’t contain even a measly old freezer-burnt pint of ice cream.

“Earth to Esme, there was enough chemistry, enough genuine connection between you and Desmond, that he managed to get you to open up and let down your guard. He got you to feel comfortable and brave enough to be the girl I know you can be! That’s nothing short of a miracle in my book. But then some other asshole takes photos of you and you think it’s the same thing as what Jeremy did. Only, it’s not. Because the last thing Desmond wants is photos of you on the internet.”

I stand there holding bags of frozen vegetables, my fingers aching with cold seeping into my hands, trying to take in everything she’s just said and make sense of it.

“So, yeah,” Arie continues. “You’re right, Desmond and Jeremy actuallyarenothing alike, except for the fact that you’ve crisscrossed all your wires and are telling yourself they are. Because you don’t want anyone to hurt you ever again the way Jeremy did!”

I drop the vegetables in the sink and step to the side, moving into view so I can look across the counter into the living room where my sister is sitting.

“Can you really blame me?” I say softly, my whole body an exposed wire that she’s pulled all the insulated coating from.

Arie looks at me sadly, and I can’t take the pity in her eyes. I start breaking up the frozen mounds of vegetables against the side of the sink, the big rocky chunks slamming against the metal basin. It’s like she’s known all this for years and here I am disappointing her again. I’m nothing more than Arie’s lame little pity project that she just can’t seem to crack.

“You know what?” I shake my head. “Maybe you should just go, okay. Maybe I just need—”

“Someone to nod and listen and reaffirm your confirmation bias? You want me to confirm everything you already believe so you can sit and stew about it?” Arie snaps, standing up. “You can get a dog for that.”

“I just want someone on my side! Okay?”

“Iamon your side, Esme!” Arie hisses. “The problem is you don’t like what I have to say.”

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