Unsteady, I make my back to the table where Chelsea, Angel, and Jen await, gaping at me with matching expressions of shock.
I slide into my chair and look around the table. “Good news! I’m getting laid tonight. He just went to get us a room.”
They erupt into ear-piercing shrieks so loud, they can probably be heard from outer space. Wincing, I wave a hand at them to stop. “Guys, please. You’re making a scene.”
Chelsea hoots. “This from the girl playing tonsil hockey with a stranger in the middle of a bar!”
“It wasn’t tonsil hockey, you adolescent. And we weren’t in the middle of the bar. We were all the way over there, up against the wall.”
I grab Chelsea’s water glass and suck down every drop of liquid in it. My mouth is a desert.
Must be nerves. Which is also probably what’s making my knees knock, my heart thud, and my hands tremble.
Mr. Dark and Stormy has quite the interesting effect on my body.
Jen demands, “What the hell happened between you leaving this table like you were walking off to your own execution to you coming back ten minutes later drenched in sweat with a date for a dicking?”
I look down at myself. “Am I sweating? Oh God, I’m sweating. Fuck.”
Chelsea cackles. “From the looks of him, you’ll be a lot wetter in a few minutes. Good for you, girl! I’m so proud! You couldn’t have given me a better birthday present.”
Imagining what I’m about to do with Cole, I panic. My pulse surges into overdrive. I look at Chelsea beseechingly. “I haven’t had sex in three months.”
She makes a face at me. “You have sex with your vibrator every day.”
“I meant with something breathing. What if I forgot how to do it? What if it’s awkward and horrible? What if he’s a premature ejaculator? Shit, did I remember to shave?”
“Shave?” repeats Chelsea, outraged. “How many times have I told you to wax your kitty? Shaving leaves stubble! Stubble is not sexy!”
Jen says, “I got all my pubes lasered off. Hurt like a bitch, but it was worth it.”
Angel says, “I can’t afford the laser, so I use that lotion that melts off all the hair at the root. Smells weird, but it works.”
“Good grief, will you people stop yammering about pubic hair and give me some emotional support? I’m about to go have a one-night stand with a hot stranger! Give me some womanly words of advice. Angel, you go first.”
“Why me?”
“You’re the most experienced.”
She frowns. “Did you just call me a slut?”
“Forget it.” I turn to Chelsea. “You go.”
She snorts. “So I’m Second-Slut-in-Command, huh?”
“For God’s sake. Jen? Any help here?”
She regards me with a serious expression, then says, “Condoms. Multiple condoms.”
“Obviously!”
Chelsea pats my handbag, lying next to her empty water glass. “I’ve been keeping her stocked for just such an opportunity.”
Jen nods. “Okay. Lube?”
“Trust me, we won’t need lube. When I tell you I’m soaked, I might as well have been hosed down by a fire truck. And I’m not looking for technical advice, I need emotional advice. I need support. How do I get through this?”
Angel says, “Just open your legs, honey. He’ll do the rest.”
I prop my elbows on the table, drop my head into my hands, and sigh. “You three have less nurturing instinct between you than the average quokka.”
“What’s a quokka?” asks Jen.
“A cute little furry marsupial that throws its baby at predators so it can escape.”
Chelsea laughs. “Yeah, that does sound like us.”
Jen leans over and rests her hand on my shoulder. “Listen, just relax. You must’ve felt a connection, right?”
I lift my head and look at her, then nod.
“So rely on the connection. You don’t even have to talk.” She pauses. “Unless he wants butt sex and you don’t. You should probably talk about that.”
“Discuss butt sex. Great. Thanks for the wonderful advice.”
“Well, we don’t want him ramming it into any hole you don’t want him to ram it into, do we?”
“I cannot believe you said that with a straight face.” I stand, pick up my handbag, and look at my friends, trying to think of some meaningful parting words in the event my strangled corpse is found naked in a hallway in the morning.
I don’t believe Cole’s dangerous, but in case I’m wrong, I want them to remember me fondly.
“If I die tonight—”
Chelsea sits bolt upright and interrupts me. “Ooh! If you die, I want your black leather jacket with the fringe.”
Jen gasps, sitting forward. “And I want that cute green Fendi handbag! The white Prada one too.”
I exhale heavily and turn to Angel. “Let me guess. The vintage Valentino dress I found at the thrift store?”
She grins. “Red is my best color. Makes my boobs look big.”
“Thank heavens birth control was invented. If your DNA ever gets into the gene pool, humanity is doomed.”
“Don’t be such a sourpuss. You’re about to get laid.”
“Yet not one of you seems concerned for my physical or emotional well-being.”
Chelsea scoffs. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, girl, you’re the baddest bitch out there. Chet just messed with your head and made you forget it.”
After a beat, I say, “Thank you for not calling him the twatwaffle.”
Her smile is blinding. “It’s more fun hearing you say it. Now run along, princess, you’ve got some cock to gobble. Call me later if you want me to pick you up. Or bring ice for your chapped and swollen vagina.” She laughs. “Kitty’s gonna get hammered by a hound dog tonight!”
There’s no appropriate response to that, so I simply turn and walk away, shaking my head.
