Firefighter's Virgin

“It’s okay,” Caroline said. “I mean, I wish you had told me before, but I’m glad you’re telling me now.”

“I thought it had actually meant something!”

“Was it good?”

Before I could answer, our waitress reappeared with our drinks, which I gladly took a long gulp from.

“Yeah, it was really good,” I said. “It was better than I ever imagined it would be.”

“How many times did you do it?”

How many times had it been? I’d sort of lost count. Her eyes widened. “You’ve had sex with him so many times already that you’ve lost track? Geez, I’ll say it must be good.”

“Yeah, it’s good because he’s obviously so experienced with it because he apparently fucks every secretary he brings in there! I can’t believe I let this be my first time. What was the point in waiting so long if this is how it was going to be?”

Caroline was shaking her head, though. “No,” she said. “Don’t feel bad about it. The sex was really good, right? That’s really what matters. Remember my first time? With Sam Hutton? It lasted all of three seconds, after it took him about five minutes to finally get it in.”

We both laughed, which felt good.

“I know, you’re right,” I said. “But I just feel played or something. Not that he was really making me any promises, but . . . I really liked him. Like, a lot. And I felt like there was this connection between us—” I stopped, clapping my hand over my mouth.

“What?” Caroline said. She twisted around. “Don’t tell me he’s here.”

“No, no, he’s not. It’s what I just said. Or was starting to say.”

“Liking him a lot?”

“Yeah, and having this connection. I basically sounded like Noah. That’s all shit that Noah has said to me before, and I thought he sounded crazy. That he’s obviously imagining all this stuff, because there’s no connection there. And that’s exactly what I’m doing with Ian!”

It was really rather disconcerting to realize this. But I felt so burned by this thing with Ian because I thought that there was something special between us—that’s what my feelings had been telling me, anyway. Really, though, how did that make me any better than Noah?

“Well,” Caroline said, squinting, “It’s a little different. Not that I’m encouraging you and Ian or anything, but you guys did sleep together. There’s no doubt in my mind that he finds you attractive and enjoyed being with you. Whereas you never slept with Noah.”

It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was close enough. Close enough to make me realize how unreliable feelings could be.

“Do you think you’re going to talk to him about it?” Caroline asked.

I shook my head. “No. I don’t want to talk about it. Really, I’d just like to forget the whole thing.”

“Isn’t that going to be kind of hard if you’re still working for him? Or are you going to quit?”

“I’ve got to keep working there for now. It was hard enough to get this job as it was, and I don’t want to quit until I at least have something else lined up. So maybe I’ll start looking. I don’t know,” I said, putting my elbows on the table and leaning my face into my hands. Maybe I was being a little dramatic, but I just felt so confused by everything. It probably would be impossible for me to find another apartment I could afford, unless I got roommates. What if I just saved up a bunch of money and then moved? Have a fresh start. A new life. There’d be no Noah, no Ian, no hair salon that unjustly fired me. It would be a clean slate, and hopefully things would go better there than they had here.

I could just imagine what my mother would say about all of this.

Chapter Nineteen

Ian

Annie lived near Fenway in a three-bedroom apartment with a couple roommates who I hoped would not be home when I got there. The place seemed quiet enough when Annie met me; she came to the door wearing a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, which was surprising. I had expected her to be in her usual tight top and short skirt, but she seemed subdued, or maybe tired.

“Hey,” she said. “Thanks for coming to see me.”

“Sure,” I said. I was about to add Let’s get this over as quickly as possible, but stopped myself at the last minute. “What is it that you wanted to talk about?”

“Come on in,” she said, motioning for me to follow her down the short hallway to the common area, where there were some futons, a flat screen TV, a coffee table with a bong on it. “Don’t worry, I’m not smoking,” she said when she saw me eyeing the thing. “I stopped as soon as I found out.”

“So you probably were smoking then when you were pregnant; you just didn’t realize it yet.”