Page 81 of Sex Positive

He glances at her. “Ask what?”

“Why I take birth control if I’m not having sex.”

He shrugs. “First of all, it’s not my business.” He finishes with the spring rolls and crosses the kitchen to toss the package in the trash. “And second of all, after years of listening to you rhapsodize about contraception, I’m well aware that birth control is not just for preventing pregnancy.”

She stares. When he looks at her, he rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “Don’t look so surprised. Idolisten to what you saysometimes.”

A contented warmth billows in her stomach and flows through her entire body. She wants to rip off his clothes and jump him right there.

“I have something called endometriosis.” She pauses, but he says nothing, leaning back against the counter and raising his brows expectantly. “It results in debilitating periods. I used to miss one or two days of school a month in high school because I couldn’t move. The pain was so bad, sometimes I’d throw up.” She presses her lips together, remembering it so clearly even now: lying curled in the fetal position, no amount of ibuprofen or heating pads providing relief. “I never knew it wasn’t normal until Sy recommended I go to the clinic freshman year.”

She didn’t know because her sex education classes hadn’t covered menstrual problems like PCOS or endometriosis. How many months of pain could she have avoided if she’d known her diagnosis sooner? How many days of her life would she have back?

“There’s still not enough information or research about it, and there are so many people with uteruses who don’t have access to birth control or who don’t even know that taking it can help.” She pauses and looks away, feeling like a broken record. “That’s another reason why the clinic is so important.”

“It is,” Wes agrees.

The oven beeps to indicate it’s preheated, breaking the thoughtful quiet. Wes slides the baking sheet into the oven and sets the timer. Through the window in the living room, the early winter darkness is setting in, but inside Charlie’s apartment there’s a glow of quiet contentment. The candle she lit early that morning still burns, filling the room with the scent of vanilla and coconut, mixing with the sweet aroma of the cookies.

Wes pulls the prosecco from the fridge, and with alarming dexterity, he removes the foil and the cage before uncorking the bottle with apop.

He holds it up with a wide grin. “I say it’s time we celebrate.”

She pulls two regular wine glasses from the cupboard, and Wes pours them each a healthy glass brimming with gold liquid and bubbles.

He clinks his glass against hers. “Happy New Year, Rogers.”

They take a sip, the prosecco sweet and effervescent on her tongue.

“It’s not the new year yet,” she replies.

He rolls his eyes. “Close enough.”

He crosses the room and settles on the sofa. Charlie follows, observing while he makes himself comfortable on the couch, sprawled across the cushions like he belongs there, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to spend a relaxed evening with her.

Or does he have other expectations? Like a jolt with electricity, she thinks,It’s New Year’s Eve. People kiss at midnight.

Right?

Willthey? Does she want that?

She doesn’t even need to contemplate her answer.

Why is hehere? She doesn’t buy for a second that he just doesn’t want her to be alone. Why not spend New Year’s Eve with his friends? Surely he has more important places to be, like a bumping nightclub or a sexy cocktail bar for rich people with low lights and sophisticated, important patrons.

Instead he’s lounging on her couch, sipping fifteen-dollar prosecco and flipping through the streaming options on her TV.

Either oblivious to her puzzled assessment of him or completely unbothered by it, he grins when she perches on the opposite end of the couch—the couch, she realizes with a swoop of her stomach that’s becoming all too familiar, where they completed the first experiment together.

Is he thinking about that?

Of course not. Because it didn’t mean anything.

“What are we thinking, Rogers? Bad reality TV or a movie?”

What isshethinking? So many things. Mostly how she wishes she weren’t affected by his mouth and fingers and general presence.

She tempers her racing thoughts, her burning emotions, and tries to relax against the couch cushions. “Bad reality TV sounds perfect.”