Chapter 6

SIX

Claudia

It’s been a long day, but a fun one. I don’t make friends easily, but I can say I feel like I’ve made a few today. Especially a certain Swedish hockey player who has been sweet, interesting, and extremely attentive. I don’t understand his interest in me, but Hana made me promise to give it—and him—a chance. So that’s how I’m on a blanket on the sand next to him watching the fireworks.

It’s cooler now that it’s dark and there’s a breeze from the ocean that makes it almost chilly.

“You cold?” Anders asks, putting an arm around me and pulling me into his side.

This is nice.

Too nice.

“A little,” I say, leaning into it.

I’m a hypocrite.

And a fraud.

I have zero game with men and have no intention of letting things go any further with Anders, and yet I’m sitting here letting him put his arm around me. After spending most of the day hanging out with him. Talking. Laughing. Splashing in the water.

I should have nipped it in the bud before anything happened.

But attention from a gorgeous professional hockey player is a little hard to resist.

Okay, impossible to resist.

Nothing like this has ever happened to me before—and I’m willing to bet it never will again—so you can’t blame a girl for wanting to enjoy it.

Is this considered leading a guy on?

Am I some kind of prick tease?

I don’t really understand how all of that works since my one and only experience with a boyfriend and sex ended in an embarrassing and painful disaster.

Sex is one thousand percent off the table.

Yet I’m sitting here nestled up to him, watching the fireworks and probably letting him think he might get lucky tonight.

“Do you know how to surf?” he asks, startling me.

“What?” I glance at him. “Surf? No. I’m the opposite of athletic.”

“Well, Scarlett and Tawny own a surf shop up in Cocoa Beach. It’s not too far from here. And they’re doing free surfing lessons on Monday. It’s basically another beach party, except with surf lessons thrown in, and less hockey players.”

I chuckle. “I thought Sloane mentioned something about that earlier today, but I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Would you like to go? With me?” He looks almost nervous. Shy.

How is that even possible?

What is there for him to be nervous about?

“This is supposed to be a girls’ week,” I say slowly. “Hana and I have plans to do a lot of different things and I don’t want to be that friend who dumps her girlfriend for a guy.”

“It’s one afternoon,” he says softly, his eyes searching mine. “Just four or five hours to give us a chance to see if we like each other. See if maybe we might want to see each other again.”

If we like each other?

That seems ludicrous even to me.

More about seeing if he likes me .

“I live in Philadelphia,” I say, opting for honestly. “I’m leaving in a week and then we might not see each other ever again.”

“Exactly. That’s why we should go out on a date, to see if it might be worth making the effort. It’s hard to meet people of the opposite sex you want to spend quality time with.”

“It’s hard for me to meet people like that. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that’s not true for you.”

“But you’d be wrong.” He shakes his head, and his eyes are suddenly shrouded. “I know it seems like being a professional athlete makes it easy to hook up. And that’s just it—it is. But that’s all it is. Hook ups. Sex. Maybe this will make me sound like a jerk, but I can get that anywhere. What’s much harder to find is someone I like talking to. Someone I can bring around my family who won’t embarrass me by talking about how much I make or hitting on my friends, just in case she gets a better offer. Or worse, women who go around poking holes in condoms to give her the best chance of getting wifed up.”

My eyes widen. “Has that…happened to you? Any of those things?”

“All of those things. So yes, it’s harder than you think to meet someone different. Special. I don’t know if that’s you, but how else will we find out?”

And just like that, I’m going to say yes.

I’m going to go out with him.

However, I need to be honest with him.

He opened up to me, so it’s only fair that I warn him.

“I’d like to spend time with you,” I say quietly. “But there’s something you should know.”

“Tell me.” Even in the darkness, I can see the genuine concern in his eyes, like he really cares about what I’m about to tell him.

“I don’t…” Ugh. This is harder than I thought it would be.

“You don’t…?”

“I’m not very sexual.” That’s probably an oversimplification, but without getting into a long, detailed story, I don’t know how else to say it.

“I’m not sure what that means.” He looks more curious than upset or disappointed.

“It’s hard to explain. And it’s a long story.”

“We have time.”

“I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, and our only sexual encounter was… well, the kindest word I can think of is horrible.”

“Wait… you’ve only had sex one time?” He sounds like he can’t quite believe it, and I stiffen.

“Like I said, I’m not very sexual, so if that’s a deal breaker for you, I understand.” I start to get up, but he tightens his arm around my waist, tugging me back down.

“No. That’s not what I meant. Please don’t leave.” He takes his hand and gently lifts my chin with two fingers. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened. So I can understand. I don’t know how your old boyfriend handled things, but adults handle them with communication.”

“It’s embarrassing,” I admit. “And we barely know each other.”

“Again, this is how we get to know each other.”

“And if we decide we don’t want to date, or that you’re not interested in putting up with my quirks, then you’ll know something really embarrassing about me.”

“And what? You think I’ll immediately go tell the guys on the team this story about the night a woman I only went out with once lost her virginity? A woman who happens to be like a little sister to one of my teammates? That’s not who I am, Claudia. Truly. No matter what happens, I would never disrespect any woman that way.”

I pull my lower lip through my teeth.

Am I ready to talk about that disaster of a night?

To admit how inadequate I was to my only boyfriend?

The only person who knows that story is Hana, and while she’s sympathetic, she also thinks I should get over it. It’s been five years, after all. She’s not wrong. But she didn’t live it either.

“Can we walk?” I ask finally. “I’m not comfortable talking about it here, with so many people around.”

“Of course.” He’s instantly on his feet, holding out a hand to help me up.

But once I’m up he doesn’t let go, and he laces his fingers through mine as we walk toward the shore.

Ironically, I like it.

How long has it been since I’ve held hands with a guy?

Five years.

I know almost exactly how long it’s been.

“Who was he?” Anders asks once we’re walking along the damp sand that lines the shoreline. “Tell me his name.”

I sigh. It’s been a long time since I’ve said it out loud. “Seth.”

“Seth what?”

“Crandall.”

“Seth Crandall. Well, fuck Seth Crandall.”

I laugh.

This guy gets me.

I don’t know how or why, but he does.

“Tell me what Seth Crandall did to make you hate sex.”

Embarrassment and discomfiture gnaw their way through my gut, but Anders’ strong hand around mine somehow gives me strength to start the story.

“We met sophomore year at MIT. We?—”

“You went to MIT?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I didn’t realize...that’s pretty impressive.”

“Thank you. I don’t usually tell people.”

“Well, I’m glad you told me, but let’s get back to Seth Crandall.”

“We met sophomore year. He was also a computer science major. He was nerdy, like me, and really smart, so we had a lot in common. We started dating. After a couple of months, things started to get physical. I was still a virgin, so I made him wait, and he was patient at first, but he got more and more antsy, and I finally gave in.”

“You’re not supposed to give in ,” he murmurs. “It’s supposed to be fun and exciting, something you look forward to.”

“Well, I was looking forward to getting it over with.”

“And then?”

“And then…” I stare out at the water, watching the waves crash onto shore.

Why is this so hard?

I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I was young and inexperienced.

I had no idea my hymen was industrial strength.

No idea how much it would hurt.

No way to foresee the pain and humiliation.

“Was it that bad?” he asks softly.

“So bad.” I try to pull my hand out of his, but he squeezes tightly.

“Don’t pull away. I’m right here with you. We all have embarrassing stories from our pasts. I’ll tell you mine someday.”

I nod and take a deep breath. “I’m one of the lucky few women who was born with an extra-thick hymen.”