Page 23 of Sex Positive

“You’re exceptional.”

She freezes, her pulse stuttering.

Wes leans forward on his elbows and continues like he didn’t just shake the walls she’s built around her heart to keep him out. “So, what have your findings been so far?”

She eyes him skeptically, but he appears to be genuinely interested.

Charlie tugs the journal toward her and opens it. Flipping past her observations on her pleasure—he isnotreadingthat—she scans a page, worrying her bottom lip.

After only a moment’s hesitation, she offers it to him.

“Start here.”

She doesn’t watch him as he scans her words, knowing she’ll overthink any expression he makes.

Until he laughs.

“‘Colin,’” he reads. “‘Smells like feet.’” He grins with delighted amusement. “Are you serious?”

“Be nice,” she says. “He was fine.”

Colin, a perfectlyfineboy from her dorm sophomore year. They got lunch a few times, but the lack of a spark was evident.

“If he smelled like feet, he was notfine,” Wes continues. “Also…” He peers closer at the page. “‘Toowet’? What doesthatmean?”

Charlie shifts in her seat, but he scrutinizes her until she throws her hands in the air.

“He used too much tongue!” She gestures to her mouth. “He had a lot of…secretions.”

Wes laughs so hard he almost falls off his chair.

She smacks his arm. “Stop. It’s not funny!” But now she’s grinning, his laughter infectious, warmth blooming across her skin.

“But the feet!” he gasps.

Charlie palms her face. “When he took his shoes off, the room smelled so bad, I had to keep the windows open for three days.” She peers at him through her fingers. “It wasJanuary.”

His gasping laughter fills her apartment, and when he slips off the stool, he clutches the edge of the counter to keep from completely falling over.

“Oh mygod.” He shakes his head, flipping to the next page. “Adam VanderMeer?” He arches a brow. “Pretty sure he has chronic halitosis.”

“It was treated!” she cries. The only thing she remembers about Adam—a classmate from her Health and Policy class junior year—was the metal rod of his futon digging into her back while he made a valiant attempt to finger her until she made an excuse about a missed assignment and fled the scene. She spent the rest of the semester avoiding one-on-one time with him.

“What do you prefer, halitosis or rotten feet?”

She throws a pen at his face. He dodges it with a laugh, and it skitters across her apartment floor, disappearing under the couch.

A feeling of cognitive dissonance washes over her as she laughs with him. On the one hand, she doesn’t trust him not to disappoint her again. On the other hand, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to share this closely guarded part of herself with this person who used to be so important in her life.

By the time he closes the journal and replaces it on the counter, her nerves are gone.

“Nash Hudson is useless,” he says. “His inability to listen to what you wanted is unsurprising but also abhorrent.”

She opens her mouth to agree, but Wes continues.

“By the way, you still haven’t explained why you told himweslept together.”

Charlie shoots him a glare.