Page 61 of Champagne Fizz

Snickerdoodles, just the tip would have me blasting off.

“Uh, in my world,” I brave, feeling reckless, “I think you already know the answer to that question.” I lift an eyebrow and Simon realizes how his comment doesn’t quite land the same when he’s talking to the Duchess of Abstinence over here.

“Look—”

“You care,” I say as kindly as I can. “I get it. You’re a nice guy. I know that, Simon.” I pick up my water cup and start gulping it down. “In fact, I love that about you. Being a nice guy is why I’m even attempting to have this conversation with you. But you’ve got to give me a little space, alright? And trust me, penetration jokes are only going to make me need half a dozen more of those.” I point to his untouched fizzing champagne.

“I’m sorry,” he says, genuinely apologizing.

“It’s fine. People make sex jokes all the time.” My face heats. “I know I’m the one who’s the weirdo in this situation.”

“Being a virgin isn’t a bad thing,” Simon defends, lowering his voice.

“When you’re seventeen, of course not, Simon,” I reply, initially agreeing with him. “But I’m twenty-five. It’s a little different, don’t you think?”

“It’s not a race.”

“No, but how many other virgins do you know that are over the age of twenty? Anyone?”

Simon tries to think, and of course he doesn’t come up with anyone. “I work at Flambé,” he defends. “That isn’t the best sample group.”

“Nor is any group of people who’ve graduated high school,” I toss back.

“Some people don’t have sex till they’re married,” he attempts, and I nod.

“Yes. But they also don’t org—” I catch myself, but then force myself to say it. “Orgasmwhen somebody kisses them.”

That zip of heat crackles through the air between us again, and for a second I feel the echo of all those tingles shooting through my skin when he kissed me: the wet of his mouth, the need of his tongue, the desire to lay back and give in to everything he wanted.

Simon’s quiet, maybe he’s remembering the kiss too, when the waiter returns with my refill. I deliberately don’t touch it (even though I’d prefer to slap it back like a pig at a trough). Instead, I lift up the water Simon suggested I drink and finish it off.

“Thank you,” I say, dismissing the waiter and picking up the champagne glass when he’s gone.

I raise the glass to Simon.

“I know you have questions,” I say, “so ask them.”

Rather than throwing back the liquid like an alcoholic, I take one dainty sip to show Simon I’m staying present.

“Okay,” Simon says tentatively, finally reaching for his own champagne. “Why haven’t you tried before?”

“We never get that far,” I state. That’s just a fact.

“Because—?” He motions to my body like it’s a dynamite trip wire.

“Chernobyl.” I nod, making a mock-explosion with my hands.

“But … haven’t you had boyfriends?”

“Not ones that got past second base.” I take another sip of the bubbly orange liquid as he takes in that information. “And boyfriend is a strong word. Guys like to mess around before committing to the boyfriend card. And yes, I’ve tried all the things, telling them I’m a virgin, or pretending I’m uber religious, or the good ol’ fashioned lets-take-this-reeeeaaaaallly-slow, like glacially slow. But guys get bored.” I dig a fingernail into the reclaimed wood of the table top. “Not that I’m trying to make a blanket statement about your entire gender. I’ve just found … men are impatient.”

“Did you tell them you orgasm easily?”

“Heck, no! Not if I could help it.”

Simon watches me, not saying anything and letting the intensity of my reply hang in the breeze. I can see his brain ticking away behind his eyes, and there’s a kindness there, even though I’m obviously a weirdo.

“Don’t you think,” Simon says slowly, mindfully choosing his words, “that telling them about your condition might be the secret ingredient?” He clasps his hands around his mimosa carefully. “It’s hot, Kendall. Staying at second base isn’t really a problem if your girlfriend is satisfied every time you touch her.”

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