“You know what I love most about you?”

“What’s that?” I stretch out on the other end of the couch and put my feet up in his lap.

“How even after all these months, I’m still learning something new about you every day.”

I smile at the sentiment, knowing it’s true. And I love how it goes both ways. Just this morning I learned that he prefers peanut butter on his waffles in addition to maple syrup. And not the store bought syrup. It has to be real Canadian Maple Syrup because, as he says, “That shit is legit.”

“So what’d you learn about me today?”

He stretches his arm across the back of the couch and looks at me curiously. “Hmm, not sure. The day’s not over, though, so I’ve still got time to figure it out.”

I wiggle my toes in the air, a silent invitation for him to rub my feet, and he complies without hesitation. “Why don’t you just ask me something?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m an open book with you.”

“Well, this could take a while because I want to know everything about you.”

I roll my eyes at his ridiculousness. “I highly doubt you want to know everything. Most of my life has been boring and by the book.”

“What? It’s true. I love you, and since I didn’t get to spend the past twenty-seven years with you, the least you can do it tell me the highlights of what I’ve missed.” He rubs the pads of his thumbs in tiny circles along the arches of my feet. It feels glorious.

“Well, I’m not about to wax poetic about my awkward years with the permed bangs and braces, or how I was convinced as a child that if I stayed in the bathtub too long, I would shrink into nothing. So if there’s anything specific you’re curious about, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Jeff snorts. “You really thought that?”

“Yep, that and many other ridiculous things you’re never going to learn if you make fun of me!” I poke my toes into his belly.

“I would never.” He feigns defensiveness.

I laugh so hard my stomach starts to hurt. We both know better than that. I’m an easy target, and I’m okay with it. The jokes are just one of the many ways he shows that he loves me.

“Suuuuuuuure.”

The look on his face makes my heart melt. Actually, everything about him makes me melt. Jeff opens his mouth to speak but quickly snaps it shut. “I’m gonna go against my better judgment here, but I feel like it’s something I should know.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

He wets his lips and smirks at me knowingly. “I want to know about your first time?”

“My first time?” I cringe.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not naive. I know there were other guys before me.”

I feel my face flush crimson and heat rises to my cheeks. I really don’t want to get into details with him, but it would be nice to know more about his past, too. I wonder if he’ll let me get away with ambiguity here? I pull my legs back underneath me and instantly miss his touch.

“Mine was pretty lackluster,” I sigh, trying to downplay the whole ordeal. “I was nineteen and had been dating this guy for a while. He was in a fraternity, and there are only so many places you get an iota of privacy in a frat house. So we snuck into the sleeping dorm during a party.”

“Sleeping dorm? What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s a big room with bunk beds where everyone slept. At any rate, I lost my virginity in a freaking sleeping dorm. It was painful and lasted all of three minutes—if that! And to add insult to injury, one of the party’s designated drivers was in there trying to sleep before his shift started at the end of the party. Said, “Thanks for the show,” when we were done. It was the epitome of romance.” I laugh at how foolish I was.

“No way.”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “At the time, I thought it was love. But really, he was just looking for a quick fix.” When my gaze meets his, Jeff gives me a sad smile. “Stop that, I don’t want your pity. Besides, things have drastically improved since then. And you showed me what love actually is.” I wink at him so he knows I’m okay with how losing my v-card played out, even though I’m anything but okay with how it all went down. “So what about yourself? It’s only fair that you tell me about your first time now, too.”

“Um, I must have been fifteen or sixteen. I was at my girlfriend’s house, and her parents ran to the grocery store for hamburger buns which gave us about a thirty-minute window — at that age, I only needed a fraction of that. Even so, her bedroom was right above the garage, and I was finishing right as the garage door was opening. I think her dad knew what we were up to when I couldn’t look him in the eye. But looking back, I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing.”

“Does anyone ever really have a clue?”

“Of course I do. I’ve had over a decade of women … I mean, of practice,” he quickly corrects himself, “so I’d like to think I’ve improved my game over the course of a decade.”

“A decade of women?” I snort. As much as I love this adorable, ridiculous man, you’d think after his decade of women he’d know where to find the clitoris in a drunken stupor. Sober? He’s completely fine. But with that much ‘practice’ as he calls it, you’d think he’d know where it is based on muscle memory to really pack a punch after happy hour. It’s not like it’s a magic bean that is hidden in a different place on every different chick that has graced his mattress. It’s in the same general vicinity regardless of whether or not you’re sober. It’s really not that hard if you pay attention.

“What? You don’t believe me? Between exes and hook ups, there have been at least a half-dozen women every year.”

I quickly run the numbers in my head.

“More than sixty women?” I give him a pointed look and fold my arms over my chest. I never felt inadequate with my number until now. “That’s just wrong.”

Jeff stretches his arms out wide in defeat and shrugs. “Yeah ... give or take, I guess it’s around sixty. I don’t know what to tell you. None of them mattered because they weren’t you.” He leans over and kisses the tip of my nose.

“It’s a good thing I love you.” I narrow my eyes at him playfully.

Jeff settles back in his seat. “Sooo … tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You know my number ... loosely … what’s yours?”

I really don’t want to get into this with him today. It’s enough that he already knows how miserable my first time was. And there’s absolutely nothing romantic about sharing old bedroom war stories with your boyfriend about past lovers.

“In my defense, I never actually asked you how many women you slept with before me.” My stomach turns at the thought of his decades of women, but I try not to let it get to me. Because, like he said, none of them mattered because they weren’t me.

“I know, it’s just that we should be able to tell each other everything. We should want to tell each other everything. You weren’t a part of my past, but you’re my future. Point blank, you’re it for me. I want you to know everything in my life that happened before the day we met.”

I really shouldn’t complain because that sentiment is incredibly sweet. But I could do without some of the gritty, intimate details.

Jeff cocks one exaggerated eyebrow up at me like he’s a cartoon or something. “Well?”

My secret hangs in the balance between us. And I don’t want there to be any secrets between us. I take a deep breath and steel myself. “Two.”

“There were only two guys before me?”

I swallow hard, and my pride goes right down with it. “No … two … total. Including you.”

His eyes go wide, and my insides do a funny little flip flop. “Two?” he asks, like he didn’t hear me correctly the first time I told him. The tone of his voice makes me feel inadequate. Inexperienced. And suddenly unworthy because I wasn’t a leg spreading trollop in my college years.

I nod, hold up two fingers, and whisper, “Two.”

“Whoa.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I don’t think the number would bother me so much if it had been anybody other than Leo who was my first. I was naive and, admittedly, feeling desperate to lose the proverbial v-card. We only slept together a few times before our relationship went to shit—if you could even call it a relationship. Relationship implies that more than one person was involved. And looking back, I was the only one making any effort.

“It’s not something I really talk about.” I’ve done a damn good job skirting around the Leo conversation since we started dating, and I’m hoping he’ll just let this go because, really, I don’t want to get into the nitty gritty details.

Jeff wraps his arm around me, pulling my body closer to his. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Henley. I just, I don’t know. With your moves, I thought it would’ve been significantly more, that’s all.”

I snort at the mere insinuation of having moves in the sack, though the compliment feels a little good. However, I am anything but seasoned.

“So …how do I compare with Mr. Three Minute Wonder Pants?” he asks with a wink. “I mean, should I track him down to thank him for setting the bar so low?”

I swat his shoulder with the back of my hand. “Shut up, you! There is no comparison.”

And it's true. Being with Jeff quickly showed me how sex is so much more awesome when there's emotion involved. It's like comparing a Tootsie Roll to a glorious gourmet five tier chocolate cake, when you really, really, really love chocolate and want your tombstone to one day read “Here lies Henley. Death by Chocolate with an orgasmic smile on her face.”

Jeff laughs lightly and kisses my cheek. “I love you, woman.”

“I know. I love me, too.”