I don’t understand. A blush spreads across me. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No, Rain. The fact you have to ask is making me think something. You don’t want me to think this. Why are you so tight?”
In that moment he’s looking at me suspiciously and I know he knows. “Kent.”
He grabs my chin and forces my eyes to meet his. “Are you a virgin?”
I try and look away but he won’t let me. “I’ve never had actual sex. But we kind of did something close, right?”
He drops my chin and closes his eyes. He releases my body. I immediately start to sink. His eyes snap open. Fury resides in them. “Are you fucking with me? You’re a virgin?”
I nod hesitantly. “I don’t understand why you’re mad.”
“Look at me and look at you. Why wouldn’t that make me mad? We hooked up. Twice!” he roars, making me flinch. “I was about to have sex with you. With a virgin!”
My orgasm still has me, and I’m still drunk, and his anger is so unexpected. I bite back tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I shrug, wringing my hands together on top of the water. “Where are my panties?”
“Forget about your panties. Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”
“It was none of your business!”
“Is it my business now?”
I’m trying so hard not to cry. The separation between my moods is messing with my head. A second ago I never felt anything better, and now I’ve never felt anything worse than having Kent berate me after making me fall apart. “I’m drunk.”
“Oh, what the fuck!” He lifts himself out of the water, gathers his clothes, and then leaves me alone in the pool area.
I refuse to feel bad for being responsible. Being a virgin isn’t a bad thing. It’s the complete opposite. It’s doing what was right for me and Kent Nicholson will not make me feel bad for it.
I do, however, feel bad for my panties. They’re floating at the other end of the pool. I swim over and grab them, holding them in front of me to cover as much of myself with the ripped pink lace as possible as I walk to my clothes. I put my shorts on, followed by my shirt, and grab my shoes on my way out.
I walk, my wet hair dripping down my back, around the complex to the apartment. Kent’s in the shower when I stumble in. Steam seeps under the door and drifts into the hall. I imagine him naked and what’s left of my panties reminds me we left things so unfinished. A rush of the overwhelming desire I felt for him makes my knees week.
Now I feel bad.
Kent doesn’t do nice. He held back in the bathroom for me. He didn’t pity me. He was trying to save me from the couch. All of his efforts ended up with me in the pool and his hand between my legs anyway.
I close my bedroom door and lock it, grabbing a towel off the floor to dry my hair. But the action is difficult and I’m suddenly so tired. I’m still shitfaced. I fall onto my bed and curl up soaking wet in the cocoon of my blankets, having a brief flash of Kent’s eyes as I fell apart. He’d looked like he was falling apart with me.
When I wake up, I smile for some reason. Stretching, I mewl contentedly into my sheets, which alerts me to the fact that I’m still in my work clothes and my hair is damp. My bed is soaked. My pink lace panties are on the floor in shreds.
I wasn’t dreaming. I hooked up with Kent in the swimming pool.
I cover my face with my hands and groan. Way to go you, horny hag.
My skin is on fire. I am nothing but embarrassment and contrition, stinking of whiskey and chlorine. I’m filthy. I roll out of bed and grab a clean towel. When I poke my head out into the hall Kent’s bedroom door is closed. So is James’s. I tiptoe into the bathroom and hope I don’t wake Kent up.
Now that I’m sober I can think more clearly. All too clearly. I’m disgusted with myself. I notice as I get into the shower the bathroom has been cleaned of Kent’s debacle the other night. I take my apricot soap and squeeze it all over my body, as if washing him off