The Perfect First (Fulton U, #1)(10)

“Would you like a water?” I held one out to him.

He eyed me like I was offering him an illicit substance, but then reached out. His fingers brushed against the backs of mine and shooting sparks of excitement rushed through me. Pulling the bottle out of my grasp, he cracked it open and took a gulp.

My cheeks heated and I glanced down at my cards, flipping the ones at the front to the back.

“I have a notecard with some information for you to fill out.”

Sliding it across the table, I held out a pen for him. He took it from me, careful that our fingers didn’t touch this time. I’d have been lying if I’d said I didn’t want another touch, just to test whether or not that first one had been something more than static electricity. He filled out the biographical data on the card and handed it back to me.

I scanned it. He was twenty-one. Had a birthday coming up just after the New Year. Good height-to-weight ratio. Grabbing my pen, I scanned over the questions I’d prepared for my meetings.

“Let’s get started.” Just rip the Band-Aid off. Clearing my throat, I tapped the cards on the table. A few heads turned in our direction at the sharp, rapping sound. “When were you last tested for sexually transmitted diseases?”

Setting the bottle down on the table, he stared at me like I was an equation he was suddenly interested in figuring out. And then it was gone. “At the beginning of the season. Clean bill of health.” He looked over his shoulder, the boredom back, leaking from every pore. Wow. I’d thought guys were all over this whole sex thing, but he looked like he was sitting in the waiting room of a dentist’s office.

“When did you last have sexual intercourse?”

His head snapped back to me, eyes bugged out. “What?” I had his full attention now.

“Sex? When did you last have sex?” I tapped my pen against the notecard.

He sputtered and stared back at me. His eyes narrowed and he rested his elbows on the table.

I scooted my neatly lain out cards back toward me, away from him.

“No comment.”

“Given the circumstances, it’s an appropriate question.”

The muscles in his neck tightened and his lips crumpled together. “Fine, at the beginning of the season.”

“What season?” I looked up from my pen. That was an odd way to put it. “Like, the beginning of fall?”

“Like football season.”

The pieces fit together—the body, the looks from other people around the coffee house. “You play football.” That made sense, and he seemed like the perfect all-American person for the job.

“Yes, I play football.”

“When did the season start?”

He shook his head like he was trying to clear away a fog and stared back at me like I’d started speaking a different language. “September.”

“And…” I ran my hand along the back of my neck. “How long would you say it lasted?”

His eyebrows dipped. “It didn’t last. It was a one-night thing. I don’t do relationships.”

Of course not. He was playing the field. Sowing his oats. Banging his way through as many co-eds as possible. Experienced. Excellent.

I cleared my throat. “No, I didn’t mean how long did you date the woman. I meant, how long was the sex?”

The steady drumming on the table stopped. “Are you serious?”

I licked my Sahara-dry lips. “It’s a reasonable question. How long did it last?”

“I didn’t exactly set a timer, but let’s just say we both got our reward.”

“Interesting.” I made another note on the card.

“These are the types of questions I’m going to be asked for the draft?” He took the lid off the bottled water.

The draft? Pushing ahead, I went to the next line one my card and cringed a bit. “Okay, this might seem a little invasive.” I cleared my throat again. “But how big is your penis? Length is fine. I don’t need to know the circumference, you know—the girth.”

A fine spray of water from his mouth washed over me. “What the hell kind of question is that? I know you’re trying to throw me off my game, but holy shit, lady.”





4





Reece





I’d heard the expression ‘swallowed my tongue’ and thought it wasn’t possible, but mine just about jumped out of my throat when the words “How big is your penis?” came out of her mouth. The water burned in my lungs as I coughed, slamming my hand against the table. Her bottles of water rattled and the spoon in her mug clinked against the edge. Her follow-up comment about not needing to know the girth sent me gasping for air.

“I’m sure this is not the usual way you go about having sex, but I thought given the ad, you’d want to give me some idea of what sex with you might be like.”

The evil burn trying to suffocate my lungs evaporated in an instant as her words registered in my brain. “You think I’m here for some kind of sex ad? What sex ad? Who puts out an ad for sex?” Those were only the first three questions I could force out of my burning lungs from the mountain of inquiries piling up in my mind.

Seph looked like the head librarian at a library convention. The crown braid, button-down shirt, and blazer didn’t exactly scream, I’m looking to get so much strange I need to put out an ad.