Page 5 of Sex Positive

“Ouch. Anotherswingand a miss.”

Thatvoice, the familiar drawling baritone, sets her immediately on edge. Heat crawls up her neck, marking the imminent arrival of the unattractive splotchy flush that appears whenever she’s flustered. Steeling herself, she picks up the abandoned condoms and lets out a slow breath before facing the body attached to the voice she’s been trying to ignore for the better part of an hour.

Wesley Quinn leans back in his chair, feet propped on the table, his broad, six-foot-something frame a picture of effortless arrogance. His blond hair falls across his forehead, disheveled in a way she knows is on purpose, the corners of his mouth quirked up in that insufferable smirk. His sharp eyes glint with amusement as he sips from his water bottle and takes her in.

“Almost had one there,” he quips.

Charlie stomps over to the table and smacks his shoes. “Feetoff. And I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

Wes complies, but not before he crunches his now-empty water bottle and tosses it in a nearby trash can. Charlie’s tempted to retrieve it and throw it at his head.

“You know…” He picks up one of the disturbingly realistic silicone penises Charlie borrowed from the human anatomy department. Wes’s fingers dance along the shaft, complete with veins and ridges. “If you had a bit more to draw people in, you might actually make an impact.”

Charlie’s irritation flares, provoked as usual by his sense of superiority and his general existence. She grabs the penis from his hand and returns it to the table before busying herself with straightening the pamphlets on birth control, the boxes of condoms, and the spermicide samples.

“Like what?” She gestures to the tiny, pathetic table. “Enlightenme.”

“Toys.” His mouth curves into a devilish grin. “Something thatvibrates.”

Shaking her head and ignoring her rapidly deepening flush, she grits her teeth and turns her back to him, away, scanning the lobby once more. She doesn’t bother explaining that she’s been trying for years to increase the budget for the Sexual Health Outreach Program—a paltry description at best—in order to engage more students in educational discussions about safe sex. Each request, however, is promptly struck down by the Office of Student Affairs, citing budget cuts and students’ ability to visit the Harris Student Health Clinic if they desire more information.

Another prime example of how everything to do with sex ed is slowly being dismantled, to the detriment of people’s health and bodily autonomy.

“Do you know anyone who uses this?”

When Charlie glances over her shoulder, Wes is holding up a brightly colored spermicide sample.

“Yes,” she lies. She snatches it from his hand, feeling how warm his skin is when his fingers brush hers. She can’t look at him without thinking of the lie she told the night before. “Some people with vaginas prefer nonhormonal options, and it’s eighty-seven percent effective at preventing unwanted pregnancies. I believe in comprehensive protection.” She readjusts the full box of condoms so she has something to do with her hands. “Safe sex is enjoyable sex.”

“Seems messy.”

She lifts her gaze. “As opposed to the alternative? And semen in general?”

He winks. “Keep going, Rogers. I love when you talk about semen. It’s alarmingly attractive.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Charlie tries holding on to the modicum of patience reserved specifically for him, striving to maintain her control.

Smoothing the front of her lime-green T-shirt displaying the Peer Health Advocacy Group logo, she asks, “Why are you even here if you’re just going to be a nuisance?”

He leans back in his chair again, floating two legs off the floor, and crosses his arms over his chest. She steadfastly ignores his bulging biceps, the way his muscles flex under his form-fitting light-blue T-shirt.

“We’re required to volunteer at two events a semester.” He gestures to the table. “One down. One to go.”

Another group of students stroll past, and when Charlie approaches them, condoms in hand, they avert their eyes and hurry away before she can say a word.

Walking back to the table, she doesn’t look at Wes, embarrassed and unable to bear his smug face. A throb pulses in her temple, and she rubs a finger over her eyebrow. “Why did you even join the Peer Advocacy Group?” Dropping the condoms in the box, she slumps against the table.

“Looks good on law school applications,” Wes replies.

Charlie scoffs. “Right. As if you need any assistance getting into whatever law school you want, unlike the rest of us. Daddy Quinn can simply pay your way in.”

While Wesley Quinn enjoys a certain level of notoriety across campus as an enthusiastic playboy, his family is well known outside the Archwood University community for different reasons. His father, Gabriel Quinn, a multi-hyphenate business and real estate mogul, launched his own media company in the early nineties before becoming a prominent high-profile celebrity lawyer whose name frequently appears next to the divorce announcements of famous couples.

Wes’s mother, of course, is popular New York senator Rebecca Belvedere-Quinn, best known for championing women’s issues and filibustering for nineteen hours several years ago in order to prevent a bill that would drastically cut benefits for low-income families from moving through the Senate. She routinely speaks out on various news networks against the president’s draconian policies.

Unsurprisingly, Wes is considered Archwood’s golden boy, a fact Charlie didn’t yet know when she met him three years ago, when she believed him to be her friend.

He stares at her with an arched brow, his expression stony. “Would you rather I say I’m here because I’m desperate to spend time with your charming personality?”