Page 22 of Sex Positive

She stands on her toes, reaching for it. “Then you should have asked! Give it back!”

Holding it above his head, he grins down at her. “It looks like a sex list—”

She jumps, but her fingers barely scrape his wrist, her chest bumping his. “It’s not asexlist. It’s an experiment!”

“Asexexperiment.”

Charlie lets out a frustrated growl and stops her insane jumping. As she glares up at him, her chest heaves, her breathing ragged. Panic coils in her limbs.

“Please, Quinn,” she whispers, her throat constricting at the idea of him discovering its true nature. Her hands tremble, and she clenches them into fists. “It’sprivate.”

A pressure begins behind her eyes, a sharp sting pricking the corners. Swallowing around a painful lump in her throat, Charlie resigns herself once more to mortification at the hands of Wesley Quinn.

God, this was the biggest fucking mistake. Bigger than believing he was ever her friend. Bigger than agreeing to go to that party freshman year—

“Charlie.”

The soft brush of fingertips lifts her chin, a spark against her skin. Her lips part at the warmth she hasn’t felt in years, and she lets out a shuddering breath before meeting his gaze.

His eyes are gentle, knowing, familiar, all traces of teasing gone. “You can tell me.”

She presses her lips together, blinking rapidly. “You’ll laugh.”

He doesn’t look away. “I won’t.”

There was a time when she wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him, when she felt so secure in his presence, when confessing her secrets was easy.

That time is gone.

However, now, with his eyes so intense on hers, warmth flares in her chest at a memory of him listening to her like everything she said mattered. She hates how her body still remembers the thrill from when he looked at her like this on a regular basis.

Charlie decides to pretend. Pretend he never broke her heart. Pretend they are still Charlie and Wes and he cares about what she has to say. Pretend he won’t think her naïve or sheltered.

“It started as an experiment of sorts,” she begins. “To figure out what I like in a partner.”

She doesn’t say it’s because of him. Because of what she overheard in that dark, humid hallway and the shame she’s spent years trying to shake.

“The results so far have been inconclusive,” she explains. “I know—” She pauses, her cheeks heating. “I know whatIlike, but it hasn’t quite manifested in the way I want with another person.”

She perches on her kitchen barstools, and he takes the one beside her a moment later. Her journal rests between them. Charlie traces the edge of the cover with her finger, gazing at pink cover. She feels Wes’s eyes on her.

When he makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat, she finally looks up. He studies her, his chin resting in his palm. It’s easy to pretend he never broke her heart when he looks at her like that.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin,” he says.

Her body zips with electricity at his words. “Iknowthat.” She waves a hand through the air. “Virginity is a social construct designed by the patriarchy to shame people into thinking they shouldn’t pursue their desires, that they need to remainpure, that their sexuality is something to suppress or hide. It’s the twenty-first century, and we live in a country desperate to keep women down, full of government officials who believe abstinence-only sex education is actually effective.”

She huffs out a frustrated breath and stands, pacing beside the counter, the words pouring out of her as she confides in the one person who used to be theonlyperson she confided in.

“Peopledeservesex education that is inclusive and intersectional andengaging. And don’t even get me started onconsent. That’s the wholepointof sex ed.”

She presses her palms against the countertop. “I want to do this for myself. I can only learn so much from reading. I thought”—she touches her journal, stumbling over her words—“a practical experiment would be helpful. I just want to feel…normal.”

Her cheeks burn, and when Wes chuckles, she glares at him. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not.” He flashes a familiar affectionate smile. “I love when you go off on your soapbox tangents. But you’re not normal.”

Her chest constricts. “Wow,thanks—”