Chapter 8

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           Christianisrunninghishandsthroughhishairandpacingupanddownhisstudy.Twohands—that’sdoubleexasperation.Hisusualconcretecontrolseemstohaveslippedanotch.

           “Idon’tunderstandwhyyoudidn’ttellme,”hecastigatesme.

           “Thesubjectnevercameup.I’mnotinthehabitofrevealingmysexualstatustoeveryoneImeet.Imean,wehardlyknoweachother.”I’mstaringatmyhands.WhyamIfeelingguilty?Whyishesomad?Ipeekupathim.

           “Well,youknowalotmoreaboutmenow,”hesnaps,hismouthpressesintoahardline.“Iknewyouwereinexperienced,butavirgin!”Hesaysitlikeit’sareallydirtyword.“Hell,Ana,Ijustshowedyou…”hegroans.“MayGodforgiveme.Haveyoueverbeenkissed,apartfrombyme?”

           “OfcourseIhave.”Itrymybesttolookaffronted.Okay…maybetwice.

           “Andaniceyoungmanhasn’tsweptyouoffyourfeet?Ijustdon’tunderstand.You’retwenty-one,nearlytwenty-two.You’rebeautiful.”Herunshishandthroughhishairagain.

           Beautiful.Iflushwithpleasure.ChristianGreythinksI’mbeautiful.Iknotmyfingerstogether,staringatthemhard,tryingtoconcealmygoofygrin.Perhapshe’sfarsighted.Mysubconscioushasrearedhersomnambulanthead.WherewasshewhenIneededher?

           “Andyou’reseriouslydiscussingwhatIwanttodo,whenyouhavenoexperience.”Hisbrowsknittogether.“Howhaveyouavoidedsex?Tellme,please.”

           Ishrug.

           “Noone’sreally,youknow…”Comeuptoscratch,onlyyou.Andyouturnouttobesomekindofmonster.