"So, you're a virgin?" he asks, making me spew and sputter my coffee all over the table.
Several people stop what they're doing to turn their attention to me. I can't believe he just asked that.
I expect him to laugh, but an amused grin plays on his lips as he studies me, watching me intently, waiting on me to answer. I don't have to answer that. It's far too personal.
"No," I manage to blurt out while coughing, drawing a little more unwanted attention my way.
His amusement never falters. His gaze burns through me, as if he expects me to elaborate. Boundaries. These damn people need boundaries.
"So no boyfriend, but you're not a virgin?" he prods, seeming to delight in this terribly awkward conversation.
I take a calm, steadying breath. I'm eighteen - almost nineteen. I can have a mature conversation about this, even if it is incredibly inappropriate. I'm not giving this jerk another excuse to look down on me.
"I had a boyfriend, but we broke up."
Simple, explanatory, but not graphically detailed. See? Mature.
I don't have to tell him that all three times we had sex were terrible. Personally, I learned sex is highly overrated. I see no point in reliving the worst six minutes of my life... total. I don't get the appeal. Maybe I'm broken, but I think people are weird for loving it. It's more exciting to do everything leading up to sex. The actual finale is less than climatic. It's a letdown.
"Why'd you break up?"
I really don't like this conversation. Too many memories are attached to the questions he's asking.
"Because things didn't work out. That's why most people break up." I'm hoping my clipped tone is enough to halt his inquiry. No such luck. The gleam in his eyes lets me know it's not over.
"So you left him after he took your virginity?"
"No, I left him after he took my best friend's virginity."
That snarky comment flies out of my mouth before I can stop it. I almost want to look around for the filter that had to have fallen off my usually tight lips.
"Oh," he mouths, letting his amusement fall from his eyes. "Sorry."
I shrug, trying not to act as though I care. "It happens. It's not like you knew, so don't apologize for that. If you feel a need to be remorseful, then apologize for keeping me up so many nights when I had a test the next day."
His eyebrows shoot up and he strangles on his coffee for no real apparent reason. What'd I miss?
A rumbling laughter falls through his lips when he finally manages to free his lungs of the intrusive liquid, and he brings his arm out from behind me while shaking his head.
"What?" I ask, confused.
"Just how exactly did I keep you up, Raya?" he asks, seeming teasing, but I don't know why.
Yep. I'm stupid. I get books, but I'm slow when it comes to jokes. My cheeks flare up with heat, and I shake my head when I finally find the meaning behind his mockery.
"Not what I meant. I meant your parties kept me up."
"You've never been to a party," he says, shifting from humorous to serious. "Why?"
"Well, I wasn't invited for one, but also because I'm on scholarship. I'm not here to play. I'm here to change my life."
"You lived next door. An invite wasn't necessary, and I like to believe you can do both. Partying in moderation is good for the clogged mind. I drink, I play, and then I work just as hard. I think tomorrow will be damn good for you."
I dread it with everything in me.
"What're your plans for tonight?" he asks while tilting his coffee to his lips, drawing my attention to the silver again. Is that a... tongue ring? Mr. Ritzy has a tongue ring? No. Surely not.
Look away, Raya. Look. Away.