“So what did you do for Nat’s first time?” I ask awkwardly.

“Honestly? I just tried to make her comfortable.” Birdie shrugs. “She’s not into all that mushy shit, like flowers and candles and rose petals all over the bed. She didn’t want it to be a big deal.” Another shrug. “Some girls do want to make a big production outta it, though. So in your case, I think the first thing you need to do is figure out what kind of girl she is. Low-key or mega romantic.”

I think about Hannah and all the pressure she’s under to be “normal”—which is probably a million times worse than the pressure I’m feeling at the moment—and I immediately know the answer.

“Low-key, definitely. I think candles and rose petals would make her nervous.”

Birdie tips his head. “Then just go slow and make sure she’s comfortable. That’s the only advice I can give you.” He pauses. “And include lots of foreplay, dude. Chicks need that shit. Got it?”

I chuckle. “Yes, sir.”

“Any more questions? Because I stink to high heaven, and I desperately need a shower.”

“Naah, that’s it. Thanks, man.”

Birdie slaps me on the shoulder and rises to his feet. “Don’t stress too much about it, G. Sex is supposed to be fun, remember?” Then he winks and lumbers out of the weight room.

Don’t stress? Jeez, how can I not?

I groan out loud, grateful that nobody is around to hear the panicky sound.

Make her comfortable. Go slow. Lots of foreplay. Don’t stress.

Okay. I can do that.

Or at least I damn well hope I can.

24

Hannah

I almost throw up three times on the way over to Garrett’s, but I choke back the nerves because I’m driving Tracy’s car, and the last thing I want to do is pay to have my vomit scrubbed off her upholstery.

I honestly don’t remember a second of my five-hour shift at Della’s. Or my one-hour rehearsal with Cass earlier. Or how I got from one place to the other today. I’ve been on autopilot since I left Garrett’s bedroom earlier, every conscious thought focused on what I’m about to do tonight.

Did I mention I’m nervous?

I shouldn’t be, though. It’s just sex. It’s sex with a guy I’m attracted to, a guy I genuinely like and trust.

My hands shouldn’t be trembling this badly, and my heart shouldn’t be beating this fast. And yet intertwined with the nervousness is a sense of excitement. Anticipation. I’m even wearing matching bra and panties beneath my waitressing uniform. Yep, you know you’re about to have sex when you’re rocking black lace top and bottom, and your skin is silky smooth and ready to be touched.

Garrett’s roommates aren’t home when I walk into the house. Unless they’re holed up in their bedrooms, but I don’t think they are because there’s nothing but silence in the upstairs hallway as I head toward Garrett’s room.

I wonder if Garrett ordered them to disappear. Then I hope he didn’t, because…well, that’s like holding up a neon sign announcing that he and I are getting it on tonight.

“Hey,” he says when I walk in.

My heart simultaneously does a nervous somersault and an appreciative flip. I can tell he took the time to get ready because his hair is still slightly damp from the shower, and his face is completely clean-shaven. I glance at his black track pants and tight gray undershirt, then at my garish uniform. Thanks to the jittery state I’ve been in all day, I forgot to bring a change of clothes.

Then again, we probably won’t be wearing clothes for much longer.

“Hey.” I gulp. “So…how do you want to do this? Should I take my clothes off?” I pause as something occurs to me. “Don’t you dare ask me to do a striptease, because I’m nervous enough as it is and there’s no way I can dance even remotely sexy right now.”

Garrett bursts out laughing. “You have no idea how to set a mood, do you, Wellsy?”

I moan miserably. “I know. I’m just…nervous,” I reiterate. Taking a breath, I wipe my clammy palms on the front of my skirt. “Can we just get started? You’re standing there and looking at me, and it’s freaking me out.”

He approaches with a quiet chuckle, cupping my chin in his hands. “First, relax—there’s nothing to be nervous about. Second, I don’t expect, or particularly want, a striptease.” He winks. “At least not tonight. And third, we’re not starting anything right now.”

I battle a pang of disappointment. “We’re not?”

Garrett tosses me the same T-shirt I slept in last night. “Go change out of that Grease costume and put this on. I’ll get the next disc ready.” He wanders over to the TV and picks up the DVD case for Breaking Bad.

“You want to watch TV?” I say incredulously.

“Yup.”

My mouth opens. Then closes. But it stays closed, because I suddenly realize what he’s doing, and I whole-heartedly appreciate it.

He’s trying to put me at ease.

It’s working.

I duck into the bathroom to change, returning a moment later to join Garrett on the bed. He instantly puts his arm around me and pulls me closer, and his familiar masculine scent relaxes me.

“Ready?” he says lightly, holding up the remote.

I find myself smiling. “Yep.”

The episode fills the screen, and I lean my head against his shoulder as I focus on the TV. Like the other times we’ve watched this show together, neither of us say much aside from the occasional gasp from me or a prediction from him, but unlike those other times, I’m only half paying attention. Garrett rubs his palm over my shoulder in a light, teasing caress that makes it incredibly hard to concentrate on the TV.