Page 85 of End Game

He glances around us. Nobody is paying us any attention. “I’m not a prude.”

“Sex. Sex. Sex.”

He’s beet red now. Perspiration dots his temples. “Diana.”

“What?”

“Can we not?”

“Oh, so are you saying you don’t like sex?”

He swallows. “I do.”

“So why is it a secret? We both like having sex.”

He’s sweating in earnest now. I had no idea this topic would incite this kind of reaction in him. Why is he so repressed? He’s been able to talk about hooking up before. Hell, he told me about his first handjob. So why does this freak him out so much?

“I like sex,” he says quietly. “I wasn’t aware our friendship covered that boundary.”

“Well, why not? You’ve bought me tampons. I’ve felt your boner. We—”

“Diana.”

“What?”

“When did you—?” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to know.”

“We’ve slept in the same bed together,” I remind him. “You were grinding into me in your sleep and then you grabbed my boob. Then you started snoring.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, not meeting my eyes.

“I’m not complaining. It felt nice. You were asleep.”

“Still. It’s not right.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, if you say so.”

“I do.”

“So anyway,” I say loudly, a little more loudly than I intended, and his eyes go wide. “This weekend is out, so next weekend I’m going to go to a frat party and get drunk and find some guy to take me home,” I declare.

Sex is nothing more than a distraction, a pleasant way to spend my time. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It drives me out of my head, forces me to think about the here and now, and not what’s coming down the pipeline.

Barrett shoves a breadstick into his mouth.

“I’d go out to a bar or something this week, but I have a dietetics paper that is kicking my ass, and I don’t like to hook up during the week.”

“That’s a good rationale,” he says slowly. “Next weekend is Halloween. There will be tons of parties.”

I beam at him. “See? Teamwork makes the dream work. Team Let’s Get Diana Laid.”

He coughs. “I’m not on this team.”

“You’re not?”

“I’ll be the hulking bodyguard who beats up anyone who doesn’t treat you right,” he announces.

“I don’t need a bodyguard. I need a wingman.”