It was a quiet declaration, but I heard it nonetheless. His voice felt so close that I only had to close my eyes and imagine he was behind me, without the door between us.
“Want pancakes?”
I nodded before realizing he couldn’t see me. “Pancakes. Great. Sounds great.”
“Okay.”
When I heard the door close, I got up from the floor, turned on the water, and stepped into the shower, wincing at the unwelcome soreness between my legs. I closed my eyes, sighing at the delicious feel of warm water on my face.
I felt…different. Somehow I was more aware of my own body, of the places that I never thought were sensitive and that had never made me feel almost-desperate longing until last night. A picture of Caleb above me, green eyes intense as he watched my face, lips slightly parted as he touched my breasts…
I shook my head, reaching for the soap.
Caleb had been very considerate, sweet, and…thorough last night.
; And I…I hadn’t done anything but lie there.
A groan escaped my throat as I replayed everything I had—or had not—done last night.
Caleb had slept with a lot of girls before me.
The thought of him doing the things he had done to me to other girls made my heart hurt. Made me feel jealous. And insecure.
I knew the girls who came before me didn’t mean anything to him, that I was his first love, but he had shared his body with them. They had, I was sure, satisfied him because they knew how to please a guy, and I…didn’t.
Why didn’t I do anything to please him last night? I glared at his shampoo as I squeezed some into my palm and massaged my hair with it.
I hated being a cliché about this, but I couldn’t help thinking: How was it for him last night? Was he…satisfied? Did I please him?
I hated these thoughts.
What was I supposed to do? Ask him?
Hey, Caleb, did you have fun last night? Even though you did all the work?
Hey, Caleb. I know this is awkward, but…if you could rate last night, would that be excellent, good, average, or poor?
No. Just no.
I was driving myself nuts.
Even if I didn’t satisfy him, I was sure he wouldn’t admit it to me. He’d be worried about what I would think and feel.
What if I didn’t please him at all?
Would he…would he find someone else to satisfy those needs?
I almost pulled my hair out as I rinsed. I let those thoughts swirl in my head as I finished my shower. And was still thinking about them when I stepped out.
Maybe I could ask him to rate it on a scale of one to ten. Correction—zero to ten.
No? No.
How about grading it with stars?
Just shut up! Zip it. Put a sock in it.