“Deep down you know that I’m not ...”
Break Up #6
The One That Didn’t Pay $72.99
Hayden
Back Then
Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): Hey. You busy?
Me: Yes. Do not call me.
Me: Aren’t you on a date with your newest boyfriend right now?
Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): He’s in the restroom. I need to ask you something important.
Me: I just said that I was busy, Penelope. (Happy Birthday, btw.)
Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): Do you think it’s weird that I’ve never had an orgasm when any of my past boyfriends have gone down on me? Like, their mouths feel good against my lips down there, but it’s never the OMG earth shattering thing that I’ve heard people talk about. (Thank you! Sweet 18!)
Me: Stop texting me. Now.
Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): All of them have fingered me while they’re doing it and I do like that, but…Is there something I’m not doing? How do I get an orgasm the next time?
Me: Reread my last message. I’m turning my phone off.
Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): Why? You said I could ask you for advice.
Me: About dating and breakups. Not sex.
Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): Who else can I ask then?
I set my phone down and sigh.
You changed her name in your phone for a reason. Do not answer this. Ever.
Tonight marks the umpteenth night in a row that she’s taken my “I’ll give you breakup advice whenever you want” offer a little too seriously.
At first, I honestly didn’t mind, but that was until she started giving me a history lesson about all of her breakups; the studies were never-ending for someone who was only seventeen.
Well, eighteen.
To her credit, she moved on fast after each one—dumping any guy at the first sign of disrespect. She also made it perfectly clear what she was looking for in the early stages, so any guy who stuck around after hearing her delusional outlook on love had to like her.
Not only that, but her relationships had to be balanced on a training, travel, and performance schedule that was getting stretched thinner by the day. Since she’s placed first in every competition this year—The Grand Prix, Cup of China, and the Four Continents Championship, all while maintaining her number one ranking in the world, she’s all but guaranteed to be selected for a spot on the Olympic team.
Why do I know this shit?
I tap my screen and scroll through our previous thread of messages, zeroing in on the one she sent me last night.
Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): Is it too much to ask for a guy who wants me and only me? A guy who’s in this for the long-haul? I know I’m young, but my parents got married at 18 and they were always happy…I want that for myself. You think that’s possible?
It’s not, but I’d told her yes anyway.
Without thinking, I tap her name and hit call.
“Yeah, Hayden?” she answers on the first ring.
“Okay, look,” I say. “Do you know where your clit is?”
“Yes.”
“Good. After your date tonight, point it out to your boyfriend and tell him to kiss it slowly and use his tongue to focus on it.”
“Wait. I thought you previously said that I shouldn’t get intimate with a guy until date five. This is only date three, and I want to make sure I’m prepared by then.”
I roll my eyes. “In that case, use two fingers and touch it yourself until you feel it swelling, until it feels like you can’t take any more.”
“I’ve tried that before, but I always pull back…I don’t think I ever go long enough. How long should it take?”
“Penelope.” I can’t believe she’s not letting this go. “Tell you what. Buy a vibrator online and read the instructions. Or worse, if you’re that damn anxious, go to CVS or Walgreens for an electric toothbrush. Take off the bristles, buy the padded attachment, and press that against your clit the next time you’re horny. Don’t move it until your pussy is super wet and throbbing in utter pleasure. You’ll know when you’re coming, clear?”
“Clear.”
“Can I hang up now, and act like this conversation never happened?”
“After one last thing,” she says. “How long should I wait for him to come back from the bathroom before going to check on him?”
“Depends. How long has he been in there?”
“Fifteen minutes.” A paper ruffles in the background. “He handled the check and then he—Holy fucking shit.”
“What?”
“He wrote ‘Sorry. It’s Me, Not You. I Owe You’ on the receipt!” She sucks in a breath. “This dinner cost seventy-three dollars and he—” She pauses again. “I’m looking at him now.”
“He’s returning to the table to pay it?”
“No, he’s outside getting into his car.” She sighs. “Should I ask the manager if I can wash dishes to pay for this?”