“Maybe we should sit down,” I suggest, my eyes wandering down to those shoes that I’m pretty sure she borrowed from Shiloh.

The other roommate, I had pegged as a pain in the ass that first night. Now, I could easily throttle both her and that boyfriend of hers. But that would be laying the blame on someone else.

This mess right here is my own damn fault.

“I don’t need to sit down,” Prynne says, her entire body tense. Usually, when her cheeks are this red, I find it appealing, even when it’s with irritation at something I’ve said.

“You’re one strong breeze away from teetering over in those damn heels, Prynne. Let’s sit.”

I lead the way to the couch before she can argue. After a moment of stubbornness, she finally sees reason and follows me, making sure to maintain a nice distance between us as she settles onto the couch. She’s just as rigid sitting down as she was standing up, her back perfectly straight, fists clenched into the cushion, jaw hard as she stares at me.

“I get why you must be upset, what with everything that your roommate and her boyfriend said and all,” I begin. “Like I told you, it isn’t the way I wanted you to find out about this.”

“What exactly is this?”

“It’s an online talk show, a podcast really, where people can call in. It’s called Sex on the Line. Mr. XO is the name I go by. It’s just a show where I discuss relationships and sex and—

“Virgins,” she quietly interrupts, her eyes narrowing as they give me an accusatory glare.

I concede that point with a nod. “Yes, my last show did discuss virginity.”

“Oh my God,” Prynne moans, her body practically melting into a puddle as she falls back into the couch and looks up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe this. How could you talk about that, about something so private, so personal!”

“It wasn’t some spectator thing, aired to make fun of people. The whole idea is for everyone, myself included, to learn from others. The show, in general, is meant to be sex positive. No judging. No criticizing. No teasing. Just a chance for people to talk about their experiences. I’ve never talked about you specifically, Prynne. Everything is anonymous.” I think back to Thursday night, wracking my brain to remember exactly how personal I got. “Even when it comes to talking about myself, I try to keep it at least a little ambiguous.”

“But still easy enough for Caryn and Eric to find out,” she spits their names out with bitter resentment, which I can perfectly understand.

That’s the part that has plucked out a tiny little thread in my brain, something that needs to be picked at later, pulled to see just how deeply this thing could unravel. It isn’t just that those two idiots could spill the beans about who Mr. XO really is, it’s how many other people have already picked up on it just from my voice alone. A voice which I’m fully aware of is quite memorable.

“Do I draw from real life?” I say, falling back into the moment. “Of course, but I never use names or go into detail on my own life. This? What happened tonight is a fluke.”

“Do you have any idea what a living hell she’s going to make my life now?” Prynne asks, looking at me with resignation in her eyes. “It was bad enough before. Now there will be no end to her snide little remarks.”

“Like I said, the whole point of the show is to help people. Help them realize that they aren’t alone in these things, to help them be more comfortable with who they are. So what if you’re a virgin? Maybe you should actually listen to the show before you get too upset.”

“Oh, trust me, I plan to,” she says, getting mad again.

“Good,” I say. “I think you’ll find out that it isn’t nearly as bad as you think.”

“So why didn’t you tell me in the first place? Wait a second,” she sits back up and stares at me with wide eyes. “You don’t even write romance, do you? You lied that first day we met, didn’t you?”

I stare at her a moment, then exhale a sigh that may have had an unfortunate little laugh attached to it. Fuck my brain.

“It isn’t funny!” she snaps, the anger rising to her cheeks again.

“No, it isn’t,” I say, putting on a straight face again. “And no, I don’t write romance but did I not help you out that night?”

“This just makes me wonder what else you’re lying about.”

It takes a moment for me to register what she’s referring to and now I feel my own anger starting to boil to the surface. “Wait a second, Prynne. That’s not fair. I was perfectly open and honest with you about that.”

“So this, this Mr. XO was too personal and private to share that first night, but you were more than willing to spill what happened with that girl at Princeton. Or at least your version of it.”

That one stings. Far more than anything else.

“What I told you was the truth, exactly as it happened.” My voice is deceptively cool and calm now, like fire when it’s so full of internal heat it turns an icy shade of blue.

“I really only have your word on that,” she says, almost in a whisper.

“And now you don’t trust my word anymore?”

“I—I don’t know.” She says it so hesitantly, I wonder if it’s just spite talking, or if that’s how she really feels. “After all, it wasn’t your word that told me all about Mr. XO. I had to hear it from the last person on earth I wanted to hear it from.”

“I told you I was going to tell you tonight. In person.”

“You had plenty of opportunity to tell me before tonight.”

“And what about you, Prynne. Since we’re discussing secret personalities. You weren’t exactly quick to reveal every detail of your life.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Exactly.” I almost want to laugh at the irony. We’re attacking each other with accusations that mirror one another.

“You know why I couldn’t tell you about myself right away.”

“Yes, Prynne,” I say leaning in and giving her a direct look. “I do.”

She leans back a bit and stares wide-eyed at me. Her lips are set tighter than ever but I see the reluctant realization of her own hypocrisy in her eyes. Eyes that aren’t even her real color.

“Exactly,” I confirm, a little too satisfied with myself. “So before you start calling me a liar, or judging me for keeping this to myself until I was ready, at the very least listen to the damn podcast.”

“Maybe I will,” She says, her mouth beginning to tremble with frustration. “In fact, I think you should go so that I can.”

I stare at her a moment longer, wondering if this is it. Is it over, just like that?

“Now,” she insists, her willpower coming back as she sits up straighter.

My only response is to nod once, firmly, then stand up and walk out the door. I close it behind me, saving her the trouble of slamming it in my face. On the porch, I stand there looking just beyond the car I’ve once again ordered for the night, that’s still idling in the street.

This was supposed to be a night of revelations, something that would bring Prynne and me closer to one another. It seems I got more than I bargained for.

I think about what else was supposed to happen tonight. I actually made reservations at the Sexton, the bigger Premier Room this time since last time was so much fun. There will be a bottle of champagne on ice. Plenty of condoms in my wallet. Every detail covered.

This week’s Sex on the Line should have warned me that nothing goes according to plan. I start down the stairs to the car, chuckling as I imagine what my own confession would sound like if I were to call into the show.

“The Sexton Hotel,” I say to the driver as he opens the door for me. “I’m skipping dinner.”

I’ll order room service once I get there. Get drunk on the champagne while I blast AC/DC or Megadeth. Who knows? Maybe another girl-next-door will come knocking, insisting that I turn it down.

I feel the disgust with myself immediately. If I can’t even weather one tiny little storm without at least trying to fight my way through it back to Prynne, before I consider packing up and moving on to sunnier shores, then maybe I don’t deserve her after all.

“Actually, I’m going back home instead,” I say to the driver.

“Yes, sir,” he replies with a nod up at the rearview mirror.

I settle back into the car and stare at the window trying to relax. Hopefully, Prynne is actually listening to the show and sees that it isn’t nearly as terrible as she thinks it is. At least I hope so.

My phone rings in my pocket. I fumble in my hurry to pull it out, thinking it’s her. The caller ID on the screen immediately pops that balloon of optimism.

Dad.

Of course he would call tonight, of all nights, and at just the right moment. Lemon juice, meet wound. Any other day, I’d send it to voicemail. Tonight I’m feeling deservedly masochistic. I hit the button to take the call.

“Rhys?” he says, sounding surprised that I actually picked up.

“Unless this is the phone of some other Rhys Connors,” I say in a weary tone.

“I’m glad you picked up. Meghan is willing to talk. We’re in the works to set up a meeting so we can hash this thing out. There’s just one little snag.”

That has me sitting straight up in my seat, everything else about tonight, even Prynne, gets shoved firmly to the back burner.

“As it turns out, she’ll only agree to meet with you and you alone.”