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I wait, giving her a chance to finish. “Of what, Peachy?”

She draws a breath, then looks me straight in the eye. “I've never had an orgasm.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I know it is unusual for a twenty-three year old, but not unheard of. And I don’t judge her for it.

Then I slowly and carefully ask “Not even when you're by yourself?”

“No.” She covers her face with one hand. “God, this is fucking embarrassing.”

“Hey.” I gently take her hand and lower it. “I'm glad you told me.”

She studies my face, probably checking whether I mean it.

I do.

“So,” I say, brushing my thumb over her waist, “is that something you'd like to change?”

15

QUINN

Independent Study

“So,” he asks casually, like we’re talking about the weather, “is that something you’d like to change?”

I stare at him.

Oh.

Oh.

He’s offering to give me an orgasm.

Heat rushes through me so fast my cheeks start burning, and suddenly even my clothes feel too warm.

I want to say yes. Obviously.

I also want to crawl under the couch and live there until I’m eighty.

Wyatt waits, though. He doesn’t tease me or turn that stupidly confident smile on me. He just watches me, giving me time to work through the fact that five minutes ago I was admitting something I’ve never told anyone, and now the hottest man I’ve ever met is apparently volunteering to fix the problem.

This is what people in relationships do, right?

They talk about sex. They tell each other what they want. They don’t spontaneously combust from embarrassment because the person they’re dating mentions the word orgasm.

At least, I assume they don’t.

I wouldn’t know.

I swallow and try to make myself say the words like a normal adult woman who is perfectly comfortable discussing her sex life.

“That…” My voice comes out embarrassingly quiet, and I clear my throat. “That would be nice.”

“Yeah?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Good.”