It Sounded Better in My Head - Nina Kenwood Page 0,70

you’re on Tinder,’ I say, in my most I-am-very-relaxed-about-this-information-and-it-doesn’t-scare-me-at-all voice.

‘I’m not, actually.’

He throws his phone on the bed. ‘Go ahead and check.’

I’ve made him surrender his phone for me to look through like a police officer. This doesn’t seem ideal. I nudge the phone back to him.

‘I’m not looking at your phone.’

‘Then you’ll have to trust me.’ The scariest words in the world.

Now I’ve opened the floodgates and I know he has had sex with six different people, all I can think is: You have to ask him about diseases, you have to ask him about diseases. If I’m not mature enough to ask, I’m not mature enough for sex (that’s the mantra we learned at school).

‘Have you ever had an STI check?’ I say. There, I did it. And probably no one ever actually asks this question, and I can see why, because the moment after asking is terrible.

‘Yes. Once.’

‘And?’

‘It was fine. Nothing. Negative.’

‘How many people have you slept with since then?’ Maybe there is some secret way to have this conversation and still keep the mood light and flirty, but my approach definitely leans more towards a cross-examination. Maybe I should be massaging his shoulders or something. No, I think that would be weirder.

‘Two.’

‘Did you use protection?’

‘Yes.’

‘Every time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay.’

So he might have something, he might not. I don’t really know what to do with this information. They never gave us an explanation of what to do with the answer, especially if the answer was like this one. Or if they did, I can’t remember. Should I ask for paperwork? Make him go back to the doctor? That sounds like something a teacher would suggest and no one would ever do in real life. I’ve had the HPV vaccine, so that’s something, at least.

‘Are you running out of questions?’ He looks hopeful.

‘I will probably never run out of questions,’ I say. He should at least know this about me.

‘Can I ask a question?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why do we need to have sex today?’

‘You don’t want to?’

‘I’m worried that you don’t actually want to.’

‘It’s my idea. Of course I want to.’

‘We could wait and just let things happen. You know, decide in the moment.’

‘That’s how people get pregnant.’

The idea of treating sex as something that might just happen is not an idea I can get on board with. It would be like getting in a car and just driving aimlessly. I always like to know where I’m going. I need to know before I start something where I’m going to stop.

‘I mean, be prepared, obviously, but see how we feel. Maybe we have sex today. Maybe we do something else. Maybe we do it next week, or the week after, or at some unspecified date in the future.’

I don’t know how to tell if he’s being a good guy, or patronising, or if he doesn’t want to have sex with me at all (which wouldn’t be surprising after all my questions). I want to say, I am perfectly capable of knowing when I want to have sex, thank you very much.

‘Okay. Well, I have these,’ I say instead. I take the packet of condoms out of the drawer and sit them on the bedside table with a flourish. Usually it’s covered in books, tissues, earrings and mugs with a little bit of cold tea in the bottom, but I’ve cleared everything else away, which was a mistake, because now the condoms are alone, and I may as well have installed a blinking neon light that says SEX, SEX, SEX.

The box itself is still wrapped in plastic, and I’m worried we’ll have to spend too long trying to unwrap it in the throes of passion. (To be honest, I don’t even know what the word ‘throes’ means but I guess it means we’ll be thrashing around in pleasure. ‘Thrashing’ might be a worse word than ‘throes’.) Maybe I should get some scissors. I’m not even sure when exactly the condom-putting-on moment is supposed to occur, or how fast it happens, if you can take your time or if you need to be rushing.

I think I’m visibly sweating now. I need a tissue to pat down my forehead.

Alex sits back down on the bed.

‘How many people have you slept with?’ he asks. The question I was hoping we could skim past.

‘Um, not many.’ I know I just demanded a lot of answers from him, and it’s very hypocritical, but I’d really rather remain a bit mysterious on this topic. I’m certain he suspects I’m a virgin,