Tyler leads me up a staircase. My heart is racing. My crotch is throbbing. When we reach the middle of the stairs, a new song begins blaring from below in the living room. Pitbull’s “Come & Go”—a song about Pitbull’s self-proclaimed talent for bringing women to climax.

“Hey, they’re playing my song,” Tyler says playfully.

“God, I hope so,” I mutter. “Fingers crossed.”

“No need to cross a thing, pretty girl,” Tyler says. “Fingers, legs, or otherwise. I guarantee you’ll get off harder with me than ever before.”

I snort. “Well, if I get off once it’ll be…” I abruptly smash my lips together. What the fuckity am I doing? Now is not the time to nervously reveal your secrets, Zooey! But it’s too late. Tyler abruptly stops ascending the staircase, his body language making it clear he’s understood my meaning.

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” he asks.

I release Tyler’s hand, feeling self-conscious, but remain silent.

“Don’t be embarrassed about it,” he says soothingly. “You’ve obviously been with nothing but idiots and selfish bastards.” He smiles, takes my hand, and begins leading me up the stairs again. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you cross the finish line quicker than Usain Bolt.”

Relief floods me. “Oh, thank you,” I say lamely, like he’s offered to change my flat tire.

“In fact, I’ll make sure you cross it more than once.”

I’m absolutely giddy. “Well, twice would be a nice bonus. But do it once and you’ll rock my world. I’ve been dying to finally know what it feels like.”

Tyler stops walking again. We’re now at the end of a hallway, standing outside a closed door. “Wait. You’ve never had an orgasm, ever? I thought you meant you haven’t had one with a guy.”

Crap. What the heck have I done? Not once when I’ve fantasized about finding a hot stranger to pop my cherry did I imagine myself having this conversation with him beforehand. Stupid, stupid, Zooey! “I haven’t had one at all,” I admit, my face bursting into flames.

“But…” All of a sudden, complete understanding visibly washes over Tyler’s handsome features. “You’re a virgin?”

There’s a burst of female laughter on the staircase behind us, followed by a low male voice.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else, please?” I snap.

Tyler grabs my hand and leads me through a nearby door. “You’re a virgin?” he repeats as he shuts the door behind us.

I smash my lips together, pissed at myself. I’ve always instinctively known revealing my virginal status before doing the deed with a stranger would lead to nothing good. Performance anxiety for the guy, perhaps? Or maybe my designated cherry-popper would turn out to be a virgin-fetishist who’d be a bit too excited to go where no man has gone before? I glance around the room, feeling like a trapped animal. My panicked eyes flicker across the posters on Tyler’s walls. Muhammad Ali. Usain Bolt. Some football player in a Broncos uniform. A poster of “The Four Greatest Michaels of All Time.”

“Zooey?” Tyler says, drawing my anxious gaze away from the posters and back to him. “I’m not judging you. I’m trying to understand the situation so I don’t mess this up for you. It’s kind of a big deal.”

I smash my lips together even tighter.

“You’re a virgin?” he asks a third time.

I exhale. “Yes.”

Tyler runs his hand through his hair. “But…are you a ‘Catholic Virgin’? You know, you’ve done everything there is to do besides actual intercourse?”

My cheeks feel hot. “No. I’ve done nothing but kissing and basic making out.”

Tyler looks positively blown away. “No one’s ever gone down on you?”

My chest feels tight. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about this. You’ll notice I’m not asking you about your sexual experience.”

“I wouldn’t normally ask, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing for you. No do-overs.” He furrows his brow. “I can’t believe you were going to let me have sex with you without bothering to mention you’re a virgin.”

“What difference does it make? Just do whatever you were planning to do before you found out. I’m sure it’ll be fantabulous for us both.”

He scowls. “Zooey, letting some random, drunk-ass dude at a party take your virginity, without even bothering to tell him the situation, wouldn’t have been ‘fantabulous’ for you. You’re lucky you got me, but you were playing Russian roulette. What were you thinking?”

Okay, now I’m not only feeling embarrassed but pissed, too. “So I’m getting slut-shamed by a guy wearing a God’s Gift to Womankind T-shirt? Is that what’s happening here?”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “The word ‘slut’ isn’t even in my vocabulary. I’m just thrown for a loop. We practically fucked each other down there on the dance floor and now I find out…” He sighs. “Look, this isn’t about me, okay? I just don’t want to fuck this up for you. The first time’s a big deal. You’ll remember it forever.”

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal. In fact, that’s my whole point. I’ve decided not to buy into all the pressure and hype about losing my virginity. I’ve decided it’s not a big deal.”

Tyler scoffs. “I don’t think you get to decide that. Whether you like it or not, this is going to be a lifelong memory for you. Not to mention, if I’m being honest, I’m worried you’re going to get weirdly attached to me afterwards. Turn into a Stage Five Clinger. Slash my tires. Light up my phone.”

“I thought this wasn’t about you.”

“Yeah, well, I guess it is. It takes two to tango, after all.”

I roll my eyes. “I won’t get ‘weirdly attached’ to you, Tyler. After you relieve me of my virginity, I promise I’ll never want to see you again.”

Tyler looks utterly unconvinced.

I cross my arms over my chest. “You were perfectly willing to screw me a minute ago when you thought I had lots of experience. So what’s the difference?”

He rolls his entire head, not just his eyes. “You really don’t know what you don’t know. Your first time, the guy needs to be extra gentle. He needs to talk you through it and make sure you’re okay every step of the way. He shouldn’t be some drunk-ass guy at a party who has no idea it’s your first time. For God’s sake, Zooey, at the very least, find yourself some nice guy who’ll buy you a fucking cheeseburger beforehand and then be sober enough to drive you safely home afterwards. Jesus.”

I clench my jaw. “Was your first time some sort of beautiful, poignant experience preceded by cheeseburgers?” I ask caustically.

“Yeah, it was, actually,” he replies. “It was beautiful and poignant and poetic.”

I feel myself blush. “Oh.”

Tyler snorts. “Just kidding. It was completely meaningless. My best friend’s stepsister’s cousin. I don’t even remember her name.” He snorts again. “But that’s why I know for a fact you don’t want to do it that way. I’m a dude and, afterwards, even I felt a little bit like I should have waited and done things differently for my first time. I can’t even imagine how I would have felt if I’d been a girl and done it that same way.”

I put my hands on my hips. “If you’d been a girl? Do you have any idea how sexist a comment that was?”

“Sexist? How the hell am I being sexist? All I want to do is fuck you right now—that’s all I want to do. And yet, despite how badly I want to do that, I’m respecting you enough to protect you from doing something you’ll more than likely regret. How the fuck is that sexist?”

“Because your ‘respect’ and ‘protection’ are completely paternalistic.”

“Paternalistic?”

“It means—”

“I know what it means. I might be a football player, but I’m not a dumb jock.”

“I don’t think you’re dumb, Tyler, but you’re obviously stupid about this. You wouldn’t give this same advice to a guy. And you know why? Because guys are studs if they lose their virginity to a hot stranger at a party. Just look at all the movies about that very thing. Superbad. Risky Business. American Pie. I could go on and on. And nobody ever says, ‘Oh dear, that nice young man really should have waited to make sure his first time was with someone who’d buy him a freaking cheeseburger beforehand!’”

Tyler makes a face like he’s utterly annoyed.

I pull a rolling chair out from a small desk in the corner, kick off my heels, and plop myself down. “Look, Mr. God’s Gift, here’s the thing. I didn’t come to this party dressed like this to get lectured by some football player in a douchey shirt about the sanctity of my virginity or to debate society’s double standards about male and female sexuality. I came out tonight to find a guy exactly like you to have sex with and, in the process, hopefully get to have my first orgasm. It’s as simple as that.”

“A guy like me?”

I motion to his shirt. “A guy who’s clearly not boyfriend material.”

“Why am I not boyfriend material?”

“Are you joking? Tyler, you said so yourself!”

He moves to the foot of his bed and sits. “No, what I said was I’m not looking for a relationship. That doesn’t mean I don’t consider myself boyfriend material. What I said reflects my relationship status by choice. What you said is an assault on my very character.”

“Oh, come on, Tyler. You can’t wear a shirt like that and then get offended when I say you’re not boyfriend material.”

He still looks offended. “I’d make an amazing boyfriend if I wanted to be one. Which I don’t at the present time. But if I did, I’d be amazing and any girl would be lucky to have me. I’m loyal. Faithful. Thoughtful. Funny. Great in bed. Not sure what makes a guy ‘boyfriend material’ if not all that.”

“Um, gee, the desire to have a girlfriend?”

He scoffs.

“Surely, other guys on the team have girlfriends,” I say.

“Other guys on the team aren’t me. They haven’t devoted the past nine years of their lives to going top ten in the draft. They aren’t entering the draft at the end of their junior year because they’re already one of the hottest commodities in the country.” He clenches his jaw. “They’re not so close to the Promised Land they can taste it.”

Tyler’s intensity silences me for a long moment. My heart is thudding in my ears. Damn, he’s a sexy dude. Finally, I venture, “Dimitri said the quarterback had a girlfriend until recently. Is he not trying to go top ten in the draft?”

Tyler shakes his head. “Jake’s not entering the draft until next year,” he says. “And when he does, he’ll be lucky if he goes in the second round. He’s perfect for our offensive scheme, but he’s a system quarterback, not a true pro prospect. But, regardless, Jake’s just a different species of human than me. Actually, I’m not even sure Jake’s human. He’s got ice in his veins, that guy, both on and off the field. Nothing affects him.”

“And you?”

“I’m the anti-Jake. Everything affects me. I’m passionate. If I had a girlfriend, I’d worry about her. If someone were to act like an asshole to her, I’d be ready to rip the guy’s head off. If my girlfriend and I had a fight before a game, then I’d play like shit that day. And I can’t risk any of that.”

I stare at him for a moment, my crotch suddenly tingling. Is it weird everything he just said turned me on? “Okay, Tyler, fine. I’m willing to concede you’d be boyfriend material if that’s what you wanted to be.”

“Thank you.”

“But I won’t back down from saying your shirt gives the exact opposite impression.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s part of my reason for wearing the shirt.” He taps his temple and winks.

“Wow. So you’re saying the douchey shirt is some sort of secret code? Like, it wards off girls looking for a boyfriend?”

“Something like that.”

“And here I thought you thought your shirt was nothing but a simple statement of fact.”

“Oh, I do. Definitely. Plus—bonus points—it’s funny as hell.”

“How can your shirt be a simple statement of fact and funny as hell at the same time? You’re either serious or joking. It can’t be both.”

Tyler smiles. “Sure it can.”

“I don’t see how.”

“If you saw an elephant wearing a T-shirt with the word elephant stamped across it, you’d think that’s pretty damned funny, right?”

I can’t help smiling. Ah, so he’s more clever than I gave him credit for. “That depends.”

“Aw, come on,” he says, flashing me a snarky look. “Don’t argue with me for the sake of arguing.”

“I’m not. An elephant in an elephant T-shirt might be funny and it might not.”

“Tell me one scenario where an elephant wearing an elephant T-shirt wouldn’t be fucking hilarious.”

I slide my legs underneath me in the chair, taking care not to flash Tyler my undies as I do. I say, “Well, if the elephant was harmed or humiliated while being stuffed into his elephant T-shirt, that wouldn’t be funny. Animal cruelty is never a laughing matter, Tyler Caldwell.”

Tyler chuckles. “The elephant wasn’t harmed or humiliated.”

“How can you be sure? Elephants are highly intelligent creatures. It’s well known they experience complex emotions.”

“I know because he’s a cartoon elephant.”

Again, I can’t resist smiling broadly. “Ah, so our elephant is like Babar, is he?”

“Babar? Who’s that?”

“You don’t know Babar?”

Tyler shakes his head. He’s got an adorable, crooked grin on his face. “Is he a cartoon elephant?”

I’m aghast. “How do you not know Babar? Did you grow up under a rock?”

“Lots of different rocks. We moved around a lot when I was a kid.”

“Military?”

“Football. My dad played in the NFL for nine seasons. But he wasn’t a superstar, so he never had job security. A season here. A season there. We moved every time he got picked up by a new team.”

“What position did he play?”

“You know football?”

“I was raised on it. My dad played for the University of Nebraska.”

“Ah, a Cornhusker. What position?”

“Center.”

“Did he go pro?”

“He tried, but he never made it onto a roster. Too small. What was your dad’s position?”

“Defensive tackle.”

“Which teams?”

Tyler tells me a long string of team names, ending with the Dallas Cowboys.

“Your dad must be thrilled you’re following in his footsteps. Did he want you to be a defensive tackle, too?”

“No, he wanted me to be a quarterback, actually. I tried when I was younger, but it turns out my throwing arm is a cannon with zero accuracy. But, hey, consolation prize, the free safety is known as the ‘quarterback of the defense.’”

“Why is that?”

“I make the coverage call and communicate it to the linebackers and other DBs. I disguise the look. Check the defense and make sure everyone adjusts and gets into position.” Tyler taps his temple. “I use my brain as much as my body out there, sweetheart. That’s why I love the position so much.”

My skin is buzzing. Tyler comes alive when he talks about football, and it’s incredibly sexy.

“Hey, you want a water?” Tyler asks.

“Sure. Thanks.”

He gets up and grabs two bottles from a mini-fridge in the corner, hands one to me, and then leans on the edge of his desk a foot away from me, twisting the cap on his bottle. “So tell me about this Babar dude,” Tyler says, his blue eyes blazing. “He’s a cartoon elephant in a T-shirt?”

“No, he’s a cartoon elephant in a snazzy green suit and a yellow crown.”

“Then it sounds like the better choice for our cartoon elephant’s doppelgänger would be Winnie the Pooh.”

I make a face like that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. “Why on earth would our cartoon elephant’s doppelgänger be a cartoon bear?”

“Because Winnie the Pooh wears a T-shirt, not a snazzy green suit and a crown.”

I make a buzzing sound. “Thanks for playing, but Pooh wears a polo shirt.”

“No. Pooh wears a red T-shirt. I’ve seen it a million times.”

“Pooh’s shirt has a collar on it. That makes it a polo shirt.”

“Jesus God, I’ve brought a madwoman into my bedroom. Please don’t hurt me.” He pulls out his phone. “Prepare to be schooled, Zooey… What’s your last name?”

“Cartwright.”

“Prepare to be schooled, Zooey Cartwright. I’m one hundred percent—” He gasps. “Holy shit! Winnie the Pooh wears a red polo shirt!”

“I guess I should have warned you. I only argue when I’m sure I’m right.”

Tyler looks at his phone again. “I’m deeply traumatized.”

“That’s nothing. If you really want to be traumatized, then consider this: Why the hell isn’t Pooh wearing pants? He’s a bear who lives in a house and sleeps in a bed. He drinks tea out of a cup. And yet he wears no pants with his polo shirt? I mean, is Pooh fully anthropomorphized or not? Because, if he is, then he’s a ‘public lewdness’ charge waiting to happen.”

Tyler throws his head back and laughs heartily…and the sound of his full-throated laughter sends pangs of regret shooting through my chest. Damn it. He’s so freaking adorable. And witty. And hot. He’s so much more than I thought he’d be when I first laid eyes on him. Why’d I have to throw myself at him, dressed like this? Why couldn’t I have met him on campus while looking and acting like myself? Why couldn’t we have struck up a conversation in the book store—the same way Dimitri and Clarissa did? If only I could rewind time and—

Wait.

What on earth is my crazy brain thinking? Wishing I’d met Tyler under different circumstances is a pointless exercise because Tyler doesn’t want a girlfriend. And I most certainly don’t want a boyfriend. To the contrary, now that I’m finally out from under my father’s protective thumb, I’m determined to have nothing but fun, fun, fun throughout my entire freshman year.

Tyler wipes his eyes from laughing. “Wow. Thanks for fucking up Winnie the Pooh for me.”

“Misery loves company.”

Tyler flashes me a smile that sends butterflies shooting into my stomach. “Okay. That was a nice deflection, but it’s time for you to give me your final answer.” He puts his water bottle down and crosses his muscled arms over his chest. “Time’s up, Zooey.”