‘Third date?’ Freya says, waggling her perfectly threaded eyebrows at me. We’re in her room again, lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard. She’s bought one of those lamps that looks like a film spotlight. She buys something beautiful for her room every payday. The last thing I bought for mine was a condensation trap.

‘Yes.’

I still feel sick with nerves, but I’m assuming that’s normal. People talk about having butterflies like it’s a good thing. I would like them all to die.

Freya wolf whistles, clicks her teeth, rolls her eyes. ‘Is he on a promise?’

‘God,’ I say. ‘No.’

‘Does he know that?’

‘Is that really a thing?’ I ask her, before drinking some more of the beer Freya insisted on for Dutch courage. ‘Like people expect sex when you get to a certain date, rather than it just happening, you know, naturally?’

She reaches over and cups my cheek with her hand. ‘Oh, my sweet summer child.’

‘Shut up. It just makes no sense to me. Like, are we going to get the bill and then be like “Welp, guess it’s time to go and have some sex now!”?’

‘I mean… maybe? But it’s more likely that he’ll just be expecting that’s how the evening will end. He’ll have shaved his balls—’

I pull a face.

‘And bought a multi-pack of condoms and made sure his roommates aren’t home, all that.’

‘God.’

‘Are you, you know?’ She whistles again and gestures at my crotch. ‘All sorted? Down there?’

‘God. I think so? I mean, I’ve done my bikini line.’ Just the thought of Dan being anywhere near my bikini line is making my ears go hot, and not in a good way.

‘Just your bikini line? You’re still full bush?’ Freya nods. ‘Retro.’

‘That’s still OK, isn’t it? I mean, it’s not, like, down my legs or anything. It’s neat.’

‘Hey,’ Freya says. ‘You do you. I think some men expect, like, a Brazilian still. Or the full Hollywood. ’Cos they’re all off their tits on porn. It’s more flexible in my circles. I’ve gone French – landing strip. But I’m going to grow it back ’cos it’s itchy as fuck.’

‘I don’t want that,’ I say. Just the thought of it is making me want to scratch.

‘S’fine. I mean, if he judges you on your pubes you don’t want him anyway, right?’

I nod, remembering how I had my one and only waxing done after Anthony commented on the state of my bikini line.

‘And you know you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to?’

‘God. Of course.’

‘I mean, I know you. I don’t want you to feel pressured.’

‘You’re the one making me feel pressured with all this third date bollocks.’

‘Sorry.’ She looks genuinely contrite. For once. ‘I just don’t want you to be surprised.’

‘And you really think he’ll be expecting it?’

‘I think he’ll be expecting things to move on a bit, yeah. At least.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Indeed.’

---

Following the conversation with Freya, I put a bit more effort into getting ready for our date that I have previous dates. The thought of potentially taking my clothes off in front of Dan makes me feel sick with nerves. But that’s normal, right? Having sex with a new person for the first time is nerve-wracking.

My first time with Anthony was my first time with anyone and it was unsurprisingly disappointing. I’d been incredibly nervous and so had too much to drink and don’t actually remember much about it except very clearly thinking ‘Is this it?’ I wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about. Things improved over the next couple of months, but it still never actually got good. Not for me, anyway. He always seemed to enjoy it.

But whether I’m going to sleep with Dan or not tonight, a bit of preparation is definitely required. I exfoliate, shave and moisturise. I think about fake tan, but I’m rubbish at it and if we do end up having sex there’s no way we’ll be doing it with the lights on, so I think I can stay my usual pale self.

I wonder if I should be the one to buy condoms. Equality and everything. But then that would suggest (to who? I don’t know) that I’m planning to have sex and I am definitely not planning to have sex. If we both get swept away and end up having sex then I’m sure… Yeah, I’d better buy some condoms on the way.

I put on my favourite (and only) set of matching underwear. It’s not particularly sexy, but it’s nice and new-ish. I think about stockings and heels and roll my eyes at myself. I’ve never worn stockings in my life. I don’t even own any. I could nip to Tesco and buy some hold-ups, but why? I’ve got this image in my mind of what preparing to have sex is meant to look like and I don’t exactly know where I’ve got it from. Films, books, TV? A combination?

The thing about the romantic comedies I love is that they often skim over the sex scenes. The older ones literally fade to black (if they get anywhere near a hint of sex in the first place) and even the more recent ones are pretty coy. Meg Ryan’s fake orgasm is about as explicit as it gets and she’s fully dressed in a cafe.

Romance novels are often more detailed (sometimes a lot more) but I find it hard to picture it when I’m reading and I really can’t imagine myself actually doing most of it. And almost everyone in the novels I read have more experience than me.

I wear a mid-length black dress that I love. It’s comfy, but also clingy so I hope it’s sexy. I’m pulling on my Converse when I realise I don’t know what kind of restaurant we’re going to. It might be too fancy for Converse, so I yank them off and put my black loafers on instead – they’ve got a bright pink sole. I love them, but they hurt like hell after about half an hour so I don’t wear them much. Hopefully I’ll be sitting down for most of the evening. Or lying down. No. Don’t think about that.

I shower my hair in salt spray, fill in my eyebrows, slick on bright pink lipstick and I’m ready to go.

I wonder if I can sneak out without anyone seeing me, but when I get downstairs, I find Freya, Adam and Celine in the kitchen. Adam and Celine are sitting at the table and Freya’s standing in front of the oven. The windows are steamed up and something’s bubbling on the stove; it smells of garlic and bacon. Am I missing carbonara? I love carbonara.

Freya wolf whistles at me. ‘Get it, Bea.’

I shake my head, laughing. ‘Oh shut up.’

‘You look gorgeous,’ Celine says. ‘Love those shoes.’

‘Yeah?’ I look down at my dress and my shoes that are already slightly pinching, but it’ll be fine once I’m on the Tube.

‘I would,’ Adam says and Celine smacks his arm. She’s got her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and she looks sweaty and wan. She still hasn’t told Adam she’s pregnant. She came to my room the other night and watched half of Crazy, Stupid, Love with me and she was so feeble that she hardly even took the piss, so I’ve no idea how he hasn’t worked it out. Clueless.

‘Don’t forget what we talked about,’ Freya says, raising one eyebrow at me.

‘Ohhhh,’ Celine says. ‘Is tonight the night? Is that why you look so…?’

‘So what?’ I say. ‘How do I look?’

‘Hot,’ Freya says.

Celine nods. ‘That’s what I meant. Sexy.’

‘Oh god,’ I say. ‘Really?’

Is Dan going to think so too? Is he going to think it means I’m ready to have sex?

‘You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to!’ Freya says again, obviously reading my mind. Or seeing the panic on my face.

‘I know,’ I say. ‘Don’t worry. I’m twenty-five years old. I’m not going to have sex just because—’ I don’t get to finish the sentence because at that moment, Henry walks in and stops dead in the doorway, staring at me.

He doesn’t look away and my face starts to heat up. Why isn’t he looking away?

‘You look…’ he starts to say.

‘Doesn’t she look hot?!’ Freya interrupts him.

He shakes his head but as if he’s trying to clear it rather than because he disagrees.

‘You look great,’ he says, still looking at me.

I can’t seem to look away either. His cheeks have gone pink and I dread to think how much I’m blushing, but I’m still just standing there, staring at him and he’s just standing there, staring at me. My stomach flutters with nerves. Or—

‘What time are you meeting him?’ Adam says.

For a second, I can’t even think who he means and then I say, ‘Oh! Shit. Yeah, I’ve got to go.’

I don’t want to go.

‘I’ll see you all later,’ I say.

And then I leave.