Codi
I kick my heels off with a complete lack of grace, flicking them in opposite directions across my apartment. Dumping my clutch on the entry table, I pace the living area. My entire body bounces with nervous energy, my thumbnail caught anxiously between my teeth.
“OhmyGod. OhmyGod. OhmyGod,” I chant, marching back and forth.
“Camryn?” I pause my incessant movement, yelling into the empty space of our apartment. “Ryn?” I repeat, moving toward her bedroom.
I make the most hideously, desperate whine of a sound, emulating a cry when I find her room empty.
“Crap.”
Turning fast on my heel, I move quickly toward my clutch, throwing the contents in search of my cell. In my rush, I drop it. Twice.
“Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.”
He hasn’t contacted me and even though I shouldn’t expect more, disappointment leaks through my body.
He’d know by now I bailed. Ran from the club in haste. God, it wasn’t the plan. Touching him had felt good. That’s not even the right word. Incredible. Unreal. Amazing.
Parker Shay isn’t a man you bring to his knees. But stroking him in a darkened corner of his club. I felt almost powerful. The rough sounds scratching from his throat. God, I clench my thighs together, every nerve ending in my sex sending fire through my veins. I’ve never felt more turned on in my life. It’s without question the first time I’ve ever wanted anything more from a man. Sexually, anyway. I felt ready. I felt energized by my need, by my want.
I had every intention of following him into his office.
Until I didn’t.
The closer I got to the bathroom, I realized what was about to happen.
Parker was taking me somewhere private.
To fuck me.
I was about to lose my virginity.
In a nightclub.
Parker completely unaware of my virginal state.
It felt wrong. I couldn’t catch him off guard like that. I didn’t feel right. But after what we had just done, I couldn’t bring myself to blindside him in the middle of his workplace. Because as little as I know of him, this conversation will be tumultuous. I’m certain of it.
Camryn was right. I should’ve been upfront from the beginning. I could’ve screwed any chance of he and I exploring this relationship further.
I’m an idiot.
Granted, I didn’t know I’d want to go that far with him. But, still, my dishonesty is why I’m in this mess.
CODI: Funny story. I have this friend that’s bailed on the guy she’s seeing, twice now, at some REALLY imperative moments. Without explanation. Any insight on whether you think this guy will give her ANOTHER shot? Asking for said friend……
My thumb dances over the send arrow before I find the balls to hit it. The text reads delivered and I an overwhelming sense of panic overcomes me. That was stupid. Immature. I just completely devalued what we just shared.
My text goes from delivered to read, but nothing else. No response. No three little dots indicating an imminent reply.
He’s mad.
Understandably.
Trudging through my apartment, I feel deflated by my own behavior. I’m disappointed in how childish I’m acting. I feel like a stupid little girl. Not a twenty-five-year-old woman.
Dropping my cell on my bed, I amble into my bathroom, stripping my clothes as I go, leaving them strewn across my carpet. I adjust the spray of water in my shower, waiting for it to run hot enough to almost hurt.
I feel almost regretful washing the dried remnants of his orgasm from my hand, bitter that that single moment of touching him, may be the only opportunity I had. I want more. Severely.
I wash quickly, a wall of cool air hitting me forcefully as I step from the blistering steam of the shower. A fine sheen of sweat covers my reddened skin, the freshness of the air sliding me in a mugginess as I wrap my body in the thick material of my towel.
Padding back into my room, I run my towel over my skin, drying the excess dampness from my body before discarding it on the ground and climbing into bed.
Reaching for my cell, hopeful anticipation crawls over me, but deflates immediately, the blank screen taunting me.
Falling backward, I groan loudly, unlocking the screen, my read message still open, still unanswered.
CODI: I’m so sorry.
He reads the text as quickly as it’s sent, offering me hope that he’s sitting in his open messages, wanting to reach out. I count five thick drawn in breaths, the heavy inhale of air deafening in the wide space of my bedroom. I choke on my fifth breath, the three dots dancing in succession as he types.
The thumbs-up emoji. That’s it. An emoji. Who even thumbs-up nowadays? It’s detached. Sarcastic. And a whole lot hurtful.
I begin typing another apology. Then delete it. I ask to see him again but delete that before I send it.
CODI: I’ve never had sex before.
CODI: I ran so I didn’t blindside you.
It seemed the only way to respond. With honesty. I could’ve begged for him to see me in person, talk it out. But there’d be no guarantee he’d agree to it. Maybe it’s less awkward this way, if he never wants to see me again, maybe I’ve saved myself the humiliation of him telling me that in person.
PARKER: Rephrase. Wanna make sure I’m not misinterpreting.
Not unexpected. My virginity is shocking. I’m on the fast-track to thirty and I’m untouched. I understand Parker’s need for reassurance.
CODI: I’m a virgin.
I wait, staring at my cell for over an hour, without a response from Parker.
Nothing.
Not even an indication he considered replying.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been holding out the slightest sliver of hope. I’d been enjoying getting to know him. He’s stoic and morose. But behind the walls he seems to so heavily reinforce, I saw something more. Someone altruistic. Someone loving, if only in his specific way. It was there. I wanted more of it.
I consider texting him again. Apologizing, but for what? For not having lost my virginity before now? For not having met a man that set my skin on fire like he does? No. I won’t apologize for that. Sure, I kept information from him that I probably should’ve been more upfront with, but I’ve said sorry for that.
If Parker Shay is no longer interested in me because my hymen is still intact, well, I have to believe I’m better off without him. I’m not scared of it, and nor should he. He’s one of the scariest looking men I’ve ever met, yet he’s intimated by a small membrane.
As I toss and turn in my bed, I convince myself it was better this way. Imagine the conversation in person, you know, considering this one went so damn well. Good God, how humiliating. Would he have just stared at me in silence until I left? At least I would’ve seen his face though, been able to read even a little into his inner thoughts. Now all I have is a thumbs-up emoji and a demand for a paraphrased sentence.