I always loved the idea of living alone, but trying to afford rent in a two-bedroom in Chicago proved to be more than difficult. It was impossible. I finally gave up the idea that I could cover bills on my own and posted an ad on Craigslist.

That was two weeks ago. It's why, at the moment, as a light drizzle comes down from the gray sky above, there's a moving truck parked on the street and a boy about to move into my space.

I hadn't wanted a male roommate. I hadn't specifically written that I was looking for a woman, but I had it in mind. I accepted this guy, Jackson, because he was the first normal person that I interviewed after a slew of weirdos, and the first of the month is coming up. I was left without a choice, really.

So, now he's moving in.

"Are you sure you don't want help?" I ask, as he tracks water in the entryway. I've been telling myself for the last two hours that I need to wait until he's completely finished before cleaning, otherwise I'll just be following him around with a towel. He doesn't need to know about that side of me just yet. "It's so nasty out."

"Nah, I'm good," he says. "I'm almost done anyway. Just a couple more boxes."

It's only about the fifth time I've asked him, and I know I need to lay off. I just feel useless standing here in my comfy clothes and slippers, watching him sweat.

I mean, watching him sweat isn't all that bad. By anyone's standards, he's attractive. My eyes definitely caught on his biceps and the flex of his back more than once. But still, what use am I standing here and drooling over him?

I'm going to be living with this guy. I can't make things weird on the first day. That's why I want to help - to basically tell him that I can hold my own and I didn't ask him to move in for my own pleasure. But he's refusing to let me showcase that.

"I'll make some tea," I say, desperate to make myself useful.

I head to the kitchen and put the kettle on, carefully twining a tea bag around the handle of one mug, then another. I stand by the counter until the water boils, then pour it into the mugs and wait for him. Luckily, he doesn't take long.

"All in," he says, then sighs loudly. "Sorry. I must smell like a wet dog."

"You're fine."

"Thanks for all your help, by the way," he says - and if I'm not mistaken, he's being sarcastic. The little smirk on his face says it all.

"Hey… I offered!" I say, the pitch of my voice rising. "You said no, like five times! I asked you, and you said-"

"I'm just fucking with you," he says, his eyes softening. "Chill."

I glare at him and take my mug, going to sit at the breakfast bar in the spot I always choose. "Wow," I say.

"Really though," he says. "Thanks for letting me move in. You're really saving my ass."

"I should be thanking you," I say, taking a small sip of my steaming tea.

"Okay, I'm waiting…"

I raise my eyebrows and say, "You really think you're funny."

"I am quite funny," he says.

"Okay," I say with a snort. "But yeah. This city's a little more expensive than I bargained for. So, if not for you, I would be SOL."

"Shit outta luck, yep," he says. "I feel that."

We sit in silence for a minute and I look at his mug as he holds it between two hands. "It's gonna get cold," I say, nodding towards the tea.

"Oh…" he says, looking there too. "I guess I'm not really a tea guy. It just feels good to hold after being outside."

"You don't like tea?" I say, hopping up from the stool instantly. "You should've said something. What can I make you?"

"You don't have to make me anything," he says. "I'm not a guest, remember? This is my place now, too?"

I shake my head. "You just worked your butt off. What can I make you? Coffee?"

"Nah," he says.

"So you don't like tea, you don't like coffee, what do you like?"

For a moment, his face looks bashful. Like a little boy's. And I discover that he's not just hot, he's also adorable.

"Hot cocoa," he says. "But if you don't have any, it's cool."

I smile at him and say, "Of course I have some. I know how to make it from scratch. Just wait. This'll be the best thing you ever tasted."

…

As weeks go by, Jackson and I find a sort of routine with each other. Every Friday, we do a movie night, and we alternate who gets to pick. We've been living together for just over three months now, and it's Jackson's night. He picks Silent Hill.

"Jackson," I whine, letting my head fall back as I flop on the couch. "No horror."

"It's my night," he says. "I didn't fight with you when you picked Beaches. And I didn't fight when you picked You've Got Mail, either."

"Okay, you loved both of those movies. So, quit lying."

"And maybe you'll love this one."

"I will not!" I say. "I hate horror, and I especially hate horror that has blood and guts and creatures and evil stuff!"

"You afraid those blood and guts and creatures and evil stuff will crawl into your room tonight and get ya?" he says.

"Maybe!"

"We can do a sleepover, if you're scared," he says. "Now, will you stop whining?"

I groan and say, "Fine."

The movie is disturbing. Unsettling, and it probably should be outlawed. There are creatures involved that should never see the light of day, let alone a TV screen, that I'm being forced to watch. And Jackson is loving every second of it.

"This has been my favorite movie since I was like, 12," he says during the climax, as I'm peeking through my fingers. "You gotta watch this part. Watch what the barbed wire does to the Cristabella lady."

I squint and try to miss it, but end up seeing a huge splatter of blood anyway. "Jackson!" I exclaim. "This is disgusting."

"It's badass!"

After the credits roll, I turn to him with a deadpan look on my face. "Never again," I say, but I'm only pretending to be annoyed and he's aware. "Your movie-picking privileges have been revoked."

"So, next week we're gonna watch Barney & Friends, the week after that we'll tune in for High School Musical, then maybe live a little and try out Finding Nemo?"

"Yes," I say, chin held high. "That's exactly what we'll do."

"No way. I'm making you watch The Exorcist next."

"No!" I squeal, then only get louder when he comes at me and tickles my waist. My whole body tenses up and I try my best to fend him off, but it doesn't work. It never does. This happens a lot.

"Those creatures are gonna getcha," he says, digging the pads of his fingers into my neck.

I'm laughing so hard that I can't breathe, and tears leak from the sides of my eyes. "Let - me - up," I wheeze, trying my best to fight back. He's not ticklish, though, and he loves to flaunt that.

When he goes for my armpits, it's all over. That's my worst spot, and he knows it. I lose all control of my limbs and start flailing all over, kicking and thrashing, until my foot comes into rough contact with Jackson's crotch and everything stops.

"Oh… shit," he squelches, doubling over.

"Oh, god," I say, sitting up and brushing hair out of my face. I had kicked him hard… really hard. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"You're good," he manages to say, still cupping himself. "Jesus Christ."

"I'm gonna get some ice!" I say, hurrying off the couch and towards the kitchen. I dig in the freezer for an ice pack, but we don't have one. And the freezer stopped making ice forever ago; we still haven't fixed that. The only thing left to take to him is a bag of frozen peas, which should work.

"I'm coming!" I say, then run back to the living room where he's still bent in half on the couch.

Acting on instinct alone, I swat his hand away from its protective stance and immediately go for his zipper - my goal is to put the peas right on what hurts. I don't realize what I'm doing until he says my name with shock laced into his voice.

"April!"

"Oh, god, sorry," I say, then thrust the bag of peas at him and turn my head away. "I was just trying to help, I didn't mean to… I didn't see anything, I-"

He lets out a long sigh once the peas get where they need to be. I dart my eyes over to get a quick glimpse to see the green of the bag sticking out from the undone zipper of his pants, successfully shielding anything underneath.

"Better?" I ask tentatively.

"Yeah," he says, leaning back with his thighs spread wide. My eyes linger for a moment too long, and I catch myself - luckily, before he does. "Probably infertile now, but yes. Better. The peas help."

"I'm sorry," I say.

He laughs and grins at me with those warm eyes. "My fault for tickling you, I guess," he says.

"Exactly," I say. "And I know you were kidding about the sleepover, but I'm gonna go get my bed ready. I feel really bad, and I know your bed sucks, so I wanna make it up to you."

"I totally wasn't kidding," he says, not breaking eye contact. "I'm down for a sleepover."

…

Jackson and I have had one sleepover in my bed before. It took him until just a couple weeks ago to get a box spring and a bed frame for his mattress, and he was so tired after a long day of work that he didn't have the energy to get his mattress situated, so I offered mine. He was so tired that he knocked out right away and we both woke up on different sides of the bed, having not touched all night.

I'm not sure tonight will be so much like that.

He comes into my room wearing boxers and a gray t-shirt, getting comfortable near the wall like he owns the place while I brush my teeth. "Your bed is amazing," he says, lying back with his hands behind his head. "Let's trade."

"Yeah, right," I say, spitting my toothpaste out.

I turn the bathroom light off and crawl under the covers - and bump his leg with my foot in the process. "April," he says "Why in the world are you wearing socks?"

"I wear socks to bed," I say.

"Because you're clinically insane?"

"Because I get cold at night!" I say, burrowing deeper under the covers.

"Wearing socks to bed is against the law. It's a crime against humanity."

"This is my bed, last time I checked."

"Well, I'm the guest in your bed."

"Ugh, Jackson…"

"We can cuddle and I'll keep you warm," he says. "Just take the socks off, I'm begging."

"Fine," I say, moving a little cautiously. Once they're off and tossed onto the floor, I press my cold toes to his shins and inch closer - not sure how to proceed.

"Alright, come here," he says, wrapping me up in his arms. "Isn't this better than socks?" Then, he laughs.

"What?"

"Better than socks sounds like…" He pauses. "Never mind." He pets my hair away from my face and runs his fingers through it, all the way to the ends. "You smell good," he tells me.

"Thanks," I whisper. "I'm nice and warm."

"Good."

I twine an arm around his waist like it's the most natural thing in the world, cuddling with him. And the funny thing is that it does feel natural. Really natural. It comes easily.

"Is your… is it okay?" I ask.

"My dick?"

"Yeah."

"It's fine," he says.

I scoot closer, wrapping one leg around both of his. I nuzzle my head on his shoulder, making sure there's no space between our bodies at all, and while getting comfortable, my hand slips lower and I accidentally graze something I really didn't mean to touch. And it's hard.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he says, shifting his hips. "It's just… you're so close, you feel really good and you smell so good, and…" He sighs. "I can leave. I made it weird."

"No, you didn't," I say, trailing my fingertips below his belly button. I feel his muscles tense there because of it, and my groin tightens too. "I know you're fine now, at least. It still works."

He laughs deep in his throat. "That's true," he says. "You sure you're not grossed out?"

"No," I say, looking up at him through my eyelashes. In the dark, his eyes are shining. I have a feeling mine are, too. "Not at all."

Beneath my ear, his heartbeat speeds up. My pulse is hammering, too.

"Can I?" I whisper, hardly making any sound.

"Yeah," he says, and with his confirmation, I slip my hand underneath the waistband of his boxers and I'm met with warmth radiating from between his legs. He widens his thighs accordingly and I touch his penis - it's the first time I've touched any penis, ever - and start to stroke him. "Mm, April," he moans, grabbing my head with both hands so he can kiss me.

As he opens his mouth on mine, I pump him more confidently. I've never given a handjob before, but it's not rocket science. I can tell what makes him feel good.

His hips start to move in tandem with the rhythm I've found and it's driving me crazy. I open my mouth, sighing hot air over his lips, and grip a little harder.

"Fuck," he grunts, and his jaw goes slack. "Oh, fuck."

"Is this good?" I ask. "Is it okay?"

"It's perfect," he says, eyes rolling back. "God, it's amazing."

When he comes, it gets all over his boxers and my hand. Roughly, he pulls me up from where I was lying so my body rests overtop his, and wipes my hand down with his shirt before kissing me hard and fast.

His hands are all over me, and I like it. I really like it. When he firmly grasps my ass and squeezes tight, my hips jolt forward and I keep the movement going. It doesn't take long for him to get hard again because of the way I'm grinding against him.

As his penis stiffens between my legs, it feels good. It feels good even with the layers of fabric between us, because it gives me something to rub against. I lose control of myself and my physical body takes over; I can't help but pant into his mouth as I shove my hips against his and use the bulge in his pants to hit that light-up spot inside me.

I whimper as he gropes my chest, and start moving my hips harder, faster, until everything comes unwound. I have an orgasm - a good one, too - and let my body twitch and jerk on top of him. It's a while before I'm able to catch my breath.

I just came in my pants, dry-humping Jackson… but I am definitely not dry anymore and neither is he.

I let my forehead fall to rest on his collarbone and he slips his hands under my shirt to trace my spine. "I think I have a new favorite sound," he whispers, his lips moving against my ear. "Making you come."

…

The next morning, I wake up before Jackson does. I'm not used to having another person in my bed - I've never slept with a boy, literally or figuratively. I don't know if last night counts or if it doesn't. I'm actually not sure of anything right now, except that my room is way too hot with two bodies in it, and I'm wrapped up so tight in Jackson's arms that I'm not sure how I'll get out of bed.

I have to, though. I need a shower. He made me come last night and my underwear feels wrong - dirty. I touched his penis last night… his semen was all over my hands and I liked it. Who am I?! What kind of crazy do I have to be to do this with my roommate? My roommate, who was on his way to becoming my closest friend. We probably just ruined that for good.

It was a mistake. I don't know how it happened, and I'm sure it's not what he wanted. I've never told anyone that I'm a virgin, he doesn't know, and I don't plan on airing it out. That would be embarrassing. Getting a handjob from a virgin, at age 25? I cringe at the thought. He'd probably think I'm ridiculous.

I try my best to slither out of bed without waking him, but that's easier said than done with the limbs he has wrapped around me. I lift his arm away from my chest - one hand had been planted directly over my left breast - and untangle our legs. He doesn't wake up until I get to my feet, and even then, the process is slow.

"April?" he says, voice bleary and eyes closed. He extends his arms, searching for me, and adjusts his head on the pillow. "Where're you going?"

It's a Saturday. I don't have to go anywhere, and he knows that. So, all I can say is, "The bathroom."

"Mmm, okay," he murmurs, pulling my pink comforter higher to snuggle into it. "Come back to bed when you're done."

"Sure," I say, even though I plan on doing anything but that.

He doesn't know what he wants. He's not even awake, and last night our brains were clouded with hormones. He's an attractive guy, and I'm a human who gets sexual urges. I'm just like everyone else, I just…don't know how to act on them. Well, I mean, apparently I do. But normally, I don't. Last night was a freak accident. Not a sweet moment that should end with sweet morning cuddles. He'll realize that once he gets out of that sleepy state.

That adorable, soft, sleepy state.

Stop. Stop. I have to get my mind away from him, because it's only going to get my hopes up, and that can't happen. Things will be easier if I keep my expectations low, in the place they've always been when it comes to boys. Men, I guess. Jackson is definitely a man.

To clear my head, I do something I've never done before. I head out on a run. Being that I've never done more than yoga or casual bicycling in my life, when I get back to the house, I'm covered in sweat and probably close to developing asthma, but at least the physical pain is all I can think about.

That is, until I spot Jackson in the kitchen, pouring hot water from the kettle into one of my mugs.

"Hey," he says. "Made you some tea. Were you running?"

"You don't like tea," I wheeze, hands on my head as I try and breathe.

"I know," he says with a smile. "That's why I made it for you. Were you running?" A repeat question, more concerned this time.

"Yeah," I pant.

"I didn't know you ran," he says.

"I don't," I say, fanning myself.

"Well, here," he says, pushing the mug towards me. "It shouldn't be too hot. Just how you like, with a spoonful of sugar and a drop of honey."

I force myself to go steely. I don't know why he's acting like this, so nice and kind. Last night didn't mean anything to him - I know it didn't. And even if it did, it wouldn't once he knew the truth about me and what I've been hiding. If I told him I'm a virgin, I just know he'd burst out laughing and probably tell all his friends. And I've met his friends. They'd laugh, too.

"Not really thirsty," I say, turning around to head upstairs.

I feel his confusion from behind me without having to look. "Okay…" he says. "Hey. Wait. Are we gonna talk about…?"

I stop in my tracks, but I still don't look back. I don't know if I can.

"Last night?" he finishes.

"What about it?" I say, shoulders stiffening. I don't want to talk about it. I want to forget about it. Why doesn't he?

"Uh…" he says. "Just in general, I guess?"

"It was nothing," I say, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Don't worry about it. I need to get in the shower."

…

Two nights later, I'm in my room watching Netflix when I hear the front door open and a female voice in the entryway, the lilt of her tone joining the low timbre of Jackson's. I can't hear what they're saying at first, but their voices get closer as they head up the stairs and, presumably, into his room.

"Super nice place," she says. "You live alone?"

"Yeah," he says.

Instantly, my cheeks flame red. Not with embarrassment, with anger. Why would he say that?

"My room's right here," he says. "Make yourself comfortable."

I don't recognize this voice as one that belongs to any of his female friends. I've never heard her in my life, but soon I become familiar with her moans and cries of ecstasy - in my opinion, that are overdone for dramatic effect. It can't feel that good.

Can it?

Gritting my teeth, I press my pillow against the sides of my head to try and block out the mix of their voices together. It's like I'm in the room with them, it's so loud. The pillow does nothing, and my headphones don't even touch it. I have to get away from this.

I throw open my door and stomp through the hallway, then down the stairs - heading to the living room as loudly as I can. They might have run me out of my own room, but they won't run me out of my house. I plop down on the couch, arms crossed, and stare ahead at nothing. I don't even turn the TV on. I just wait, steaming mad, for something to happen.

And, before long, it does. Jackson leads the way down the stairs with a certain swagger and a smug smile on his face, and the girl and I lock eyes.

"I thought you said you lived alone," she says, addressing Jackson while still looking at me.

He doesn't give her a clear answer. He just chuckles and says, "Yeah. I'll call you." Then, he ushers her out the front door and closes it behind her.

I stare daggers into him as he adjusts his pants and heads past the couch. "Real classy," I spit.

"Huh?" he says, playing dumb. All I do is roll my eyes. "Oh. Sorry if you heard any of that."

"Try all of it," I say.

He laughs again and repeats, "Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Nah, you're right," he says, shrugging. "I'm not."

JACKSON

I don't see myself as an expert on women or anything, but damn. April is so fucking hard to figure out.

It's been a month since we did whatever the hell we did. I could've sworn it was waiting to happen - you could cut the tension between us with a knife - but after things went down, she pretended it was nothing. And I know it wasn't nothing. It couldn't have been.

I would never, ever say this out loud, but I think a little part of me fell in love with her when I made her come that night. It was a side of her I've never seen - not just the sexual side, even though that was amazing - the vulnerable side. All her walls came down and I got to see just… her. And I loved that.

Apparently, though, she didn't.

It was a low blow, bringing that Tinder hookup over. I know that. I lashed out and it was stupid. I couldn't help but feel a little bit vindicated at how mad it got her, though.

Things have cooled down since then. Not in a good way, but not in a bad way, either. I don't know if we'll be able to find the way back to how we were as friends because, for a while now, we've been acting like cordial roommates instead of the buddies we had grown to be. I miss her.

When I get back from my 10-mile bike ride, the sun is barely up. When I walk in the front door, I'm met with an insistent beeping sound from the alarm system that I always forget to disarm before I leave, and now it's yelling at me. I don't know the code, either. I wrote it down somewhere, but there's no chance of finding that - especially not with all this damn beeping.

"April," I call, resisting the urge to type in random numbers. If I get it wrong three times, the system calls the cops automatically. We definitely do not need that mess. "April!"

No movement from upstairs. That girl sleeps like the dead. I'm gonna have to go get her.

I trudge up the stairs and knock on her door softly - still nothing. I knock a little harder, and I don't even hear her bed move. It's creaky, too, so I'd know. I'm gonna have to go in.

I push open the door slowly and see her laid out on her stomach, one knee bent up towards her face with the sheets tangled around her feet. She's only in underwear and a big t-shirt, and I have to actively try and keep my eyes off her ass.

"April," I say, and her deep breathing stays the same. I touch her between the shoulder blades and say her name one more time. "April."

She doesn't startle awake. Instead, she takes a slow inhale and blinks her eyes open like the lids each weigh a thousand pounds. "What're you doing?" she asks in her scratchy, sleepy morning voice.

"The alarm is going off," I say. "I need the code."

She closes her eyes and takes another long breath. "I don't remember it," she says. Then, she sits up and swings her legs off the bed, getting up to walk over to her desk. I can't help but watch her - the shirt is big and it covers her ass when she stands up, but not when she bends over to look inside her desk drawer. I chew my lower lip and soak in the visual, but dart my eyes away as soon as she turns around. "Here," she says, handing me a sticky note with numbers on it.

I crumple it in my fist and hold tight, willing the blood in my body to any other place than where it's headed. "Thanks," I say, and hightail it out of her room.

…

A couple weekends later, a few of my friends are over and we're drinking in the living room with April and her friend, Steph. The two groups don't really mingle until my buddy Mark says, "We should play truth or dare."

"What are we, 12?" I say.

"Come on, it'll be fun," Lexie says, leaning back against the chair that Mark is sitting on. "April, Steph, you in?"

"Huh?" April says, looking towards Lexie while holding a mostly-empty glass of wine.

"Truth or dare," Lexie repeats. "Are you guys in?"

"Hell yeah, we are," Steph says with a grin.

The game passes innocently at first. I get dared to give myself a titty twister, Lexie gets dared to drink half a bottle of hot sauce, Mark tells the truth on how many times he repeated his senior year of high school, Steph tells the truth on how old she was when she had her first kiss.

Surprisingly, when it's April's turn, she picks dare.

"Alright…" Mark says slyly. "I dare you to make out with Avery. Tongue included. And we wanna see."

April freezes and avoids my eyes. It's clear she's uncomfortable, so I say, "Dude, that's fucked up. She doesn't-"

"No, I'll do it," she says, squaring her shoulders before crawling over to where I sit. Oh god, don't crawl. It's too fucking sexy to see her like that, and I do not need to be ridiculed until the end of time about getting a boner in front of these guys.

"You sure?" I ask.

"Are you?"

"I mean, yeah," I say.

Things start off tentative. At first, all she does is peck my lips - but is instantly hounded by Mark and Lexie to get more into it. When she comes back for more, everything goes fuzzy because all I can think about is how good she tastes and how great her body feels and how crazy I am for her.

She holds my head with both hands and gets closer, straddling my hips with one knee on either side. When she places her weight on my thighs, I lean back cockily against the couch and grab her waist tight, digging my thumbs into the points of her hip bones.

I silently beg her not to grind on me like last time. It was too fucking hot and I can't handle it right here.

I keep one hand on her waist and use the other to thread my fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head to make sure she stays close. I hear her take a sharp inhale through her nose as I bite her bottom lip, and if I'm not mistaken, she presses her weight more firmly down against my crotch. I start to grow and harden beneath her - I can't help it, and there's no stopping it now.

I tug on her hair lightly and she whimpers, digging her fingernails into the sides of my neck. When I suck on her lip and move my mouth to the corner of her jaw, then the spot behind her ear, she's practically panting. I feel her pulse all over, and I have a fucking boner. She smells so good. I don't even know what the smell is, it's just so fucking good.

"Okay, Jesus, you can stop," Lexie says, a laughing tone in her voice.

April and I break apart from each other, both of us stunned. Her lips are red and puffy, which makes me prouder than I care to admit. Her face is flushed and she's breathing heavy - apparently, feeling everything that I am.

"You guys done that before?" Mark asks, but neither of us answer. "You seem pretty damn practiced."

April doesn't move to get off me. I love that she doesn't, but I'm surprised too. I thought she'd be heading for the hills as soon as it was over.

"April," Lexie says. "Truth or dare."

I don't bother piping up and saying that she just went - why are they making her go again? I can't speak. All I can do is stare at April's mouth. Those lips, her tongue, the wine sweetness of her breath. Oh, fuck.

"Truth," April breathes, staring at my mouth too.

"How many guys have you slept with?" Lexie asks.

April's body goes rigid. Her eyes lift from my lips and meet mine, and there's a flightiness in them that wasn't there before. They're darting all over my face, alarmed and on edge, and her chin quivers too.

"I…" she begins, then clears her throat. "None."

"None?!" Mark jeers. "You're telling me a virgin just made out with Avery like that?"

I'm about to tell him off, but April moves too fast. She gets up from the floor and blusters away, heading up the stairs before anyone has a say in the matter.

"I didn't mean anything by it!" Mark calls, then looks at me. "Dude, did you know?"

"No," I say, eyes on the stairs. "And that was shitty." I get up, too, planning on following her. "I think you guys should go. I need to talk to her."

I get them all out the door and spend some time cleaning up the living room so April can have her space. She doesn't like to be cooled down directly after something happens, so I wait at least an hour before heading up the stairs myself.

When I get to her room, I knock on the door gently. "Hey," I say. "Can I come in?"

"I don't know."

I lean on the door and rest my head against it, too. "You don't know if I'm allowed to, or you don't know if I can? 'Cause I might be pretty dense, but I finally learned how to open a door last week."

I hear her snort with laughter, which is what I was aiming for.

"Okay," she says. "It's unlocked."

I walk in her room to find it pretty dark. The only light comes from the strand that twines around her headboard, which makes the whole place warm and yellow. She's buried under the covers with only her head sticking out, and moves the blanket so she can see me.

"You okay?" I ask.

The blanket moves in a way that lets me know she shrugged.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I asked them to go. Mark should never have asked you that. It's... private."

She sighs and says, "It's not even that. I mean, it is private. But…" She closes her eyes for a moment. "I didn't want you to know."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Why me?"

"Because…" she says. "We did what we did and I didn't tell you. You don't wanna be with a virgin. It's embarrassing."

I think for a moment, wondering how to say what I feel without coming off too strong or sounding like a Hallmark card. I'm actually not sure there's a way.

I gesture towards the blanket and ask, "Can I get in?"

She understands without me having to explain and throws the blanket back. I crawl under it with her, feeling the heat from her body instantly, and feel safe once she lets the blanket fall back down to cover us. We're in our own little corner of the world.

"I don't care that you're a virgin," I say. "And I wouldn't have cared then. I cared that…" I blink hard and frown a little, trying to organize my thoughts. "I cared that you pushed me away without explaining why. That hurt."

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't know what else to do."

"I get that," I say, then tuck her hair behind her ear. "And I get that it's complicated. Just… I really like you, okay? I care about you. Your… state of virginity, or whatever, could never change that."

She smiles - small at first, then bigger. She has to pinch her lips together to keep it from getting away from her.

"I really like you, too," she says, biting her lower lip, still trying to contain that smile.

I kiss her - once, twice, three times on the lips. She lingers on the last one, eyes fluttering open as I pull away.

"Virgin or not, I don't care," I say. "I just wanna be with you."