Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
"Yesterday in your dorm room," he begins, slowly. I stare at him waiting, wanting him to spit it out already, but I sit silently, waiting for him to continue.
"I shouldn't have done that," he finishes.
Done what? The kinky roleplaying? I thought that was fun. Wait, did I initiate that or did he? Does he think I'm a freak? Or does he mean he shouldn't have come to my dorm at all?
"I shouldn't have…" He pauses, searching for how he wants to phrase this, and all I can do is stare at him and wait. "Entered you without a condom."
Oh. Okay. He's right, I guess. I want to tell him it's fine, no big deal, but I tread carefully, because I liked it. I liked that he lost control enough to want to. I liked that he'd
trusted me enough to. And I damn well liked the feeling of him, sliding inside of me, knowing it was impossible to get any closer to him than that. Then when he came down my throat
telling me to taste myself on him? I get a little wet remembering it and I shift on the countertop.
I want to tell him these things and remind him I'm on the pill and that he didn't come inside of me, but… gynecologist. I really want to avoid a safe-sex lecture from my lover.
"I'm taking the pill every day." I smile at him, wanting to lighten the mood. "And I don't have any STD's," I add in as a joke.
He doesn't look amused. At all. Instead he tells me to, "Stay," like a child and leaves the kitchen.
What is his problem? I fear he's going to whip out a pregnancy test and make me pee on it in front of him. He walks back into the room with a sheet of paper. Oh, shit. Does he have some
kind of STD? Is that what he's so worried about? What the hell is on that paper?
"I had this done in October," he says, handing the sheet to me. I stare at it with no idea what I'm supposed to be looking for.
"Luke, I don't know what any of this means," I say, indicating the sheet. "What are you trying to say?"
"I'm trying to tell you that I'm clean, you have nothing to worry about."
"Great." I smile, relieved.
"No, Sophie. It's not great." He looks annoyed. "You should always have this information prior to having unprotected sex." He runs a hand over his eyes. "I'm setting a really shit
example for you. Promise me you'll never allow anyone to touch you without a condom before exchanging test results first."
"You want me to have all my future lovers hand over test results prior to ditching the condoms. Got it, Doctor," I say sarcastically because this conversation stings. I can't look at him
right now. I cannot believe he's lecturing me about future lovers. Am I supposed to be touched by his concern? Creeped out by his authoritative decree? Or devastated that he's talking to
me about other men touching me?
"Goddamn it." Luke mutters something about going to use the gym as he stalks out of the kitchen. I hear the front door slam two minutes after that and I still haven't moved from where he
sat me on the counter.
What just happened? Is he mad at me or I at him?
I clean up the kitchen and take the pie out when the timer dings, then stare out the kitchen windows at the Philadelphia skyline, still confused about what set him off. Was I not taking
his safe-sex talk seriously enough? Forgive me, but being lectured by my current lover about future lovers pisses me off.
Luke’s still not back from the gym. I know it’s in this building, but I'm not sure which floor so I couldn't go find him even if I wanted to. I'm bored, I'd like to go out for a walk and
window-shop the cute stores along 18th Street, but I don't have a key to get back in and besides, I don't want to leave without talking to him.
I wander back into the kitchen and use my iPad to look up recipes on Pinterest. Determining Luke has all the necessary ingredients for pumpkin chocolate-chip cookies, I set to work on
those to keep busy. This kitchen is a baker's dream. Tons of counter space and a big high-end oven. Plus a dishwasher to help clean it all up. I can't imagine Luke using any of it—I'm
not sure why he even has mixing bowls and baking sheets. I don't want to think too hard about it either, because I don't want to imagine some previous girlfriend making herself at home
like I am right now.
The front door clicks open a while later, while I'm peering into the oven checking on the two trays of cookies inside. Heels click-clack a second before a female voice calls out for
Luke.