“What’s wrong?” Charlotte asks.
Lucy fingers the braids draped over her bosom. “I don’t like repeating gossip, so this doesn’t leave this field.” She worries her lip. “I feel like I have a gift of spotting chemistry, and I know you just met Ryan, but I can feel the attraction. Plus, Austin said you two were making ‘googly eyes’ at each other yesterday. So it’s my duty as your sort of mentor to tell you this.”
My God. She’s so good at suspense building. “Have you ever thought of writing thrillers?” I ask. “Cause I am dying to know what you’re going to tell me.”
“Really? No, but thank you. Maybe someday I will.”
“Okay, you might want to spill it before the guys come back,” Charlotte says.
“Okay, yes,” Lucy says. “I think I know Ryan. We did a campaign for his weed company and don’t take this the wrong way, but he might be too boring for even you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well…he’s a virgin.”
I laugh. And then laugh some more. Then stop. “But he’s got a beard.”
“I know, right? When Belinda told me, I literally said the same thing. That may be the only thing she ever said that didn’t put me to sleep. This was a few years ago, though, so maybe he finally got laid?”
“If he is a virgin, I think that’s a good thing,” Charlotte, ever optimistic, says. “You can mold him into what you want. Like sex clay.”
“Shh,” Lucy says. “Here they come.”
Is this a big deal, if he is? But how could he possibly be?
“One more round,” he says.
My friends circle through their turns until I’m up again.
The heavy handle feels weightless as I raise my arms and release with a “Screwwww thissss clown worrrrrld.”
“Fuck, yeah,” Ryan says as I hit the target. “You did it.”
Before I know what’s happening, he swoops me into his muscular arms and spins me around. He smells heavenly. Clean, woodsy…clay?
I slide down his hard body and land on shaky legs. “Better late than never,” I say. “Speaking of late, I guess we should get going.”
As we head to our cars, despite Lucy’s bombshell, I feel pumped for day two of the craft fair. His potential virginity isn’t my concern. Even if that’s all I think about as we reach the parking area. Beside his truck, the breeze plays with Ryan’s dark hair as he unbuttons his shirt.
“Like my shirt?” he asks. Beneath his blue and black flannel is a T-shirt that says... “Will you go out with me?”
The weight of everyone’s stare pins me to the spot. He reaches into the driver’s seat and holds up a choice of a Yes shirt or a No shirt. It’s the cutest thing ever.
“Turn around,” I say.
When he does, I put on the Yes shirt, but take the No shirt too. I, too, live for convenience.
Three
“Something to think about as you fall asleep… Did you know a face-recognition software determined the Mona Lisa is 83% happy, 9% disgusted, 6% fearful, and 2% angry?” Ryan texts me.
“Haha! I did not know that. Did you know that one theory for the smile on her face is that clowns were dancing to amuse her?” I send back.
“Clowns are creepy as fuck. On that note, sweet dreams.”
“Night. Sweet dreams to you.”
I smile at the phone. All week we’ve been texting useless history and ugh, why is whether he’s a virgin so daunting to me?
The clay rock paperweight stares at me from my nightstand. Until Ryan, I never really grasped the symbolism and importance of the rock on the FriendsOfFriends site. It’s an accurate metaphor for the hardships we face seeking love.
A rock is permanent and aren’t we all searching for something that endures? I guess I kind of get now why Dune reveled in scaling mountains. Finding genuine love is a struggle, but we keep finding a way around the obstacles, hoping for success.
So, I guess I’ll ease up on the FriendsOfFriends marketing department. Especially since I’m about to make use of their site.
The internet experts have failed me, so I’m going straight to the people who are in the trenches like me. FriendsOfFriends has an advice tab where members can give you advice, so I type out my quandary—
Hi. I’ll just get right to it. I’ve met a guy who seems perfect for me in every way, and we have our first date tomorrow. There’s a possibility he’s a virgin.
What do I do? Is there etiquette about asking someone something so personal on the first date? Do I wait for him to tell me? This is anxiety inducing because I don’t want to ruin his first time. Not that I’m a bad lay, but what if I disappoint him? I don’t know if I can take the pressure.
Signed,
Anonymous
I press submit and settle back into the pillows on my bed. Within minutes, a notification pops up that I have a comment and I click on it.
Carl: Hop on his dick. The end.
Connie: Girl, run like Forrest. What if it doesn’t work out and then you’re the bad “first time” story for the rest of your life? Twenty years later, I tell anyone who will listen about Parker and his awful Cheeto fingers.
Dan: I think the obvious question here is why you’re asking us total strangers, instead of talking about it with him? And why is he still a virgin?
Laura: Fuck him. Literally.
This is a hot button topic it seems, and the opinionated comments continue to blow up my phone. And my panic. Why would he possibly be a virgin? There’re really only two possibilities that come to mind. Either he’s a level of religious that I can’t keep up with, or he’s a level of old-fashioned that I can really respect…for him. Not for me. My sexual awakening has only just begun to stretch. I can’t put my libido back to sleep now.
Dwight: I’m a virgin. You can practice on me and get over your fear.
Alison: Have you considered he may not want a second date, so this is all for naught?
Alison has an excellent point. But I’m a worrier, Alison, and you’ve just added another worry. Thanks. The comments keep coming.
Hank: Listen, here’s my advice…Dogecoin! To the moon!
Bliss: Message me, Dwight.
The satisfaction of matchmaking Bliss and Dwight and the hot crypto-tip have done nothing to solve my dilemma. If a gal can’t turn to the internet experts in her time of trouble, where can she turn? My MC romances always featured men of vast and sometimes even concerning experience. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to find any new romance books to download that fit all of my keywords—beard, lumberjack, virgin, artist, marijuana—but I sure do find a lot of images I may want to save for later.
I close the laptop and burrow under the covers. My phone lights up and it’s another text from Ryan. It’s a link to a song by Scarlet Letter. As I listen to the lyrics, about a chance encounter and all the possibilities the singer imagines before she walks away, my heart swoons. No guy has ever sent me a song, and it feels good for someone to woo me. No guy has ever wooed me before. And I like it. Even more than the beard.