5
Nick stood in my room, just like last time, but now it felt different. Maybe it was because of the daylight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, meaning there was nowhere to hide. Or maybe it was because now I knew Nick wouldn’t teach me about slumber—but fucking instead.
“So, uh.” I sat on the edge of the bed, then realised that was suggestive and jumped up like my pants were on fire. “What do we do now?”
“Strip,” Nick said, sharp enough to make me flinch.
“W-what?”
He gazed at me, knowing I hadn’t misheard him.
Jesus. Yesterday, I’d been so nonchalant, all ‘it’s purely academic’, but now that I was standing in front of Nick with his cheekbones and hazel eyes, it felt a lot different. I grabbed the hem of my shirt, my fingers close to trembling.
“I’m kidding,” he said.
“W-what?” I said for the second time in thirty seconds.
“Lesson one: when you’re about to have sex with someone, don’t order them to strip as soon as they’re in your bedroom.”
“I don’t know. It was kind of hot in a bossy sort of way.”
Nick faltered for a second before reassuming his confident posture and walking over to the bed. He sat on the edge and looked at me. “Before we start, we should set some boundaries. You said you’d prefer we don’t touch?”
“I said we don’t have to touch, I wasn’t sure whether it’d bother you.”
“It won’t.”
“Right. It won’t bother me either. Most touches, that is. Everywhere should be fine except for…”
I looked down, then back up again to see Nick’s eyes on my pants. “Got it,” he said. “What do you do before sex?”
“Well,” I started, sitting beside him, extremely aware of how close we were. “Usually we watch a movie on my laptop or funny videos on our phones, or we just talk.”
“Okay.” He peeled back my blankets and slid into my bed. I stared at him until he patted the spot beside him. I slotted myself next to him.
“Let’s pretend that we’ve been talking or watching a movie. Then we start with some light touches. How do you touch me?”
“To be honest, I don’t. I just wait for Sophie—or you, in this case—to touch me first.”
“What if I like guys who initiate?”
“Well, um…” Crap, why was he putting me on the spot? I reached out, blindly, and my hand landed on his chest.
Nick stared at me. “So you go straight for the tits?”
I snatched my hand away. “No! I mean, I don’t know. I have no idea what I’m doing.” I covered my face with my hands. This was excruciating. Why had I thought this would be a good idea?
Because the opportunity to be taught by an expert fell into my lap.
Because if you’re bad at something, the only thing you can do is try to improve.
Because once I’m good at sex, I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. Once I’m the perfect boyfriend, no one will leave.
Nick’s fingers brushed the back of my hand, and I shivered.
“That was nice, wasn’t it?” he asked. “Soft touches are good to start with. Try with me.”
Hesitantly, I touched his fingers, and his knuckles, and his wrist. He didn’t smile, and his eyes didn’t glaze over with lust, but he didn’t laugh at me either, so I assumed I was doing an adequate job.
I slid my hand up his forearm, then over the strong form of his bicep. With my other hand, I touched the base of his neck. His skin was warm.
After a few more minutes of lingering touches, he said, “This would be a good time to kiss.”
His voice, suddenly loud in the otherwise quiet room, tore me out of the moment. I blinked rapidly to clear the fog from my mind.
“Do I kiss you now?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “Not if it makes you uncomfortable.”
I didn’t want to kiss him, but not because I found the prospect disturbing. I just didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of him, and besides, how was I supposed to kiss when he hadn’t given me any tips yet?
“Can you just tell me how to be a good kisser?”
He crooked a finger, indicating I should move closer. I did, my heart hammering in my chest. He wasn’t going to actually press his lips to mine, was he? I asked him to tell me, not demonstrate—
“See how my head is this way? Angle your head like this.” He adjusted my jaw so it was tilting slightly. “That way, our faces won’t collide.”
I wanted to nod but didn’t dare, in case the action made my skin brush against his. He was very close.
“After a few moments, you can part your lips to deepen the kiss.”
“What counts as a few moments?” I asked.
“You’ll know it. It’s instinctive.”
“That’s not very helpful,” I said.
“I don’t want to tell you something prescriptive,” he said. “If I say seven seconds, then you’ll be distracted with counting instead of kissing. Every particle of your being has to be focused on the kiss.”
Maybe that’s why my kissing was so bad. With Sophie, my mind often wandered. I’d think things like: what am I going to have for dinner tonight? And: have I emptied the rubbish bin yet?
“So, then what?” I asked.
“You can start caressing me.” He reached out for my hand and placed it on his waist. Even with the layer of a jumper and the shirt underneath it, it felt intimate. Too intimate.
“Run your hand up and down,” he said, and I obeyed. His waist was very slim.
“Then,” he said, “I might do something like this.” He reached for my hand and dragged it to his chest. Instinctively, I squeezed.
“Sorry,” I blurted. “That was automatic—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t mind.”
He didn’t push my hand away from his pec, but instead, moved my hand so the pads of my fingers brushed against something small and pebbled.
“And then,” he said, voice as calm as ever, “when I do this, it means I want you to take your clothes off.” He played with the hem of my shirt.
I startled backwards, and for a moment, I was weightless, flying… then I landed on the floor with a thud. Ow. Carpet was harder than it looked.
Above me, Nick’s face appeared out from over the edge of the bed. “You okay?”
I tried to rearrange myself into a casual pose, which was a bit difficult since I was currently sprawled like a starfish. “Oh, yeah, fine. I was just…” There was a long, painful silence, during which I lost all my mental faculties.
“I think,” Nick said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, “this is a good place to end today’s session.”
“Right. Okay. Sure.”
He looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
“How long are you going to stay on the floor?”
I quickly scrambled up to my feet, then smoothed my hands over my wrinkled clothing. “Would you like a drink?” It was the first thing I could think to say.
“Sure.” He stood up, and I glanced at his pants. He wasn’t hard, which was a relief, but also sort of an insult. Then again, I couldn’t take it personally because I wasn’t aroused either.
“What would you like?” I asked as I led him back to the main room. “Water, tea… the offer to make you a smoothie still stands. We bought a blender just last month.”
“When you said a drink, I thought you meant beer.”
“Right. Of course.” Nick had probably found the lesson excruciating and needed alcohol immediately. I opened the fridge. “It doesn’t look like we have any beer.” I started opening cupboards at random and found a dusty wine bottle. Dad and my stepmum Lisa must’ve left it behind when they helped us move in.
“How about this?” I asked. “It’s… white wine, I think?” I tried to decipher the cursive writing on the label. It was French, or maybe Italian.
“Looks expensive,” Nick said.
“Don’t worry about it.” I rushed around the room, worried that if I remained still for too long, the awkwardness would consume me. “Sit down here,” I said, pulling out one of the chairs to the dining table. I brought out a pair of glass cups—we didn’t own wine glasses—and set them on the table.
“We shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach,” I said. “Do you want something to eat? Pasta? Pasta goes well with wine, I think.”
“You don’t have to cook for me,” he said.
“Oh, I won’t. We’ve already made a bunch, so I’ll just pop it in the microwave. Just sit there. I’ll have it done in a few minutes.” Without waiting for a response, I set about reheating the pasta.
Five minutes later, I brought two warm bowls of spaghetti bolognese over to the dining table. I glanced at Nick to see if he felt as awkward as I did, but he’d already drank half of his wine and was starting on the food.
“This is pretty good.” He sounded genuinely surprised.
“My sister made it.”
We spent the next ten minutes eating. I was dragging a soggy basil leaf around my bowl with my fork when Nick broke the silence.
“It’s okay if you’ve decided this is a terrible idea.”
I jerked my eyes to meet his. “I haven’t decided that. Do you think this is a terrible idea?”
“It’s not not a terrible idea.” At my expression, he softened. “I just mean… this is possibly the awkwardest dinner I’ve ever sat through.”
“You don’t look like you feel awkward,” I pointed out. He was relaxed in his chair, the almost empty glass hanging loosely from one hand.
“Well, you’re sitting there like I have you at gunpoint.”
I straightened up in indignation before immediately realising I’d been hunched over my bowl like an animal who was afraid their food would be taken away at any moment.
“The issue,” Nick started, in a careful sort of tone that was probably the closest I’d ever hear him get to kind, “is that you’re not comfortable enough around me. So instead of this arrangement being educational, it’s just going to be excruciating for both of us.”
I took a moment to let that sink in. “I see what you’re saying,” I said eventually. “I need a teacher I can trust.”
“Exactly.”
“Someone I can relax around.”
“That’s right.”
“Someone I’m close to.”
“Yes,” he said with audible relief. “And I hope you find that—”
“Therefore,” I said, “we need to get to know each other better.”
“What?” It was one of the few times he betrayed actual emotion. “No, that’s—no. That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh.” I drooped. “What did you mean?”
He looked at me for a long time. A very long time. Long enough for me to start wondering whether I had something stuck in my teeth.
Suddenly, his posture shattered. He hung his head, rubbing his nose with one hand, muttering. “Fine. Fine. Only because you’re so…” He glanced at me, squeezed his eyes shut, and firmed his jaw like he’d decided something. “Alright. But let’s not jump into telling each other our favourite colours just yet. Let’s try hanging out a few more times and hope that our bodies become naturally familiar with each other.”
“Gotcha,” I said. Basically, he was suggesting we trick our bodies into being okay with intimacy despite knowing nothing about each other. Admittedly, it was a pretty good plan because, after I became amazing at sex, it would be the end of our acquaintance. Unless we became friends. Which I wouldn’t mind. I was always open to new friends, even if Nick was a bit mean.
But maybe I didn’t want to be friends with him at all. Maybe I just wanted to be him—with those cheekbones and easy grace and the firm chest which responded so quickly to touch.
Nick stood up, taking his bowl and cutlery to the sink.
“You can just leave it in the dishwasher,” I said, carrying my own dirty dishes to the kitchen. I opened the dishwasher, pulled out the rack, and dumped the stuff in there. Nick copied me, then closed the door, making all the dishes clink and jingle.
“You have to push the rack in first,” I said, hastily pushing him aside and closing it properly. “Don’t you know how to use a dishwasher?”
Nick scowled, and the sudden vicious expression made me want to instinctively step back. But then, a second later, the look had melted away, and he was running a hand through his hair.
“My dishwasher at home is different.” He coughed quietly. “It’s been a long day for me. I should get going.”
I nodded. “Thank you for your time,” I said and walked him to the door.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and do you know what all students need?” I asked as soon as Nick picked up my phone call.
“Hayden,” Nick said, his voice deeper and more gravelly than usual. “Why the hell are you calling me at an ungodly hour in the morning?”
“It’s eleven.”
“On a Saturday. That’s equivalent to calling someone at 4 am on a weekday.”
“Are you sure that’s an actual rule? Because I’ve never heard it before.”
He sighed. “What do you want?”
“Answer my question. Do you know what all students need?”
“What.” His voice was flat.
“Homework!” I said.
“Jesus,” he said.
“No, not Jesus. Homework .” I enunciated the word clearly.
He let out a long exhale. “I still wonder whether you’re playing some elaborate prank on me.” There were a few background rustles as he moved. “Alright, you want homework? Go watch kissing tutorials on YouTube. In fact, go read a bunch of academic articles about seduction. Learn as much as you can in time for our next session, alright?”
“Alright,” I said. “Thank you, Nick!”
“Bye.” He hung up.
I set my phone down, humming as I turned on my computer. I was fairly confident in my research skills. Lygon University had access to several academic journal databases, and I was a whiz at using the right combination of keywords to yield the results I wanted. Master of Seduction, here I come.
Elena leaned over my shoulder to peer at my laptop screen. “What are you watching?”
I scrolled down to reveal the YouTube title: How to kiss to drive your partner WILD. The instructor, a blonde woman, was telling the camera how to incorporate the tongue when kissing.
Atticus looked over my other shoulder, also watching the screen. “Fascinating,” he said after a moment.
I paused the video and turned to face my sister’s best friend. Atticus had silvery blond hair and was noticeably good-looking, but he hadn’t always been that way. In high school, he’d been heavier, always wore loose clothing, and had longer hair, his fringe falling into his eyes.
It was only last year when that all changed. I’d been living at home, in Year 12, when Elena called me and told me in a perplexed tone that Atticus wanted to change his appearance. The decision came apparently out of nowhere.
Elena had no idea what a makeover entailed, and neither did I. Until I thought of Lisa.
That Easter break, Elena and Atticus came back to our hometown. When Atticus visited our home, Lisa wasn’t just happy to help—she flounced around the room like an ecstatic fairy godmother. She drove us to a nearby shopping mall, where we went to a hairdresser, then spent several hours in a department store while Lisa picked out clothes and encouraged Atticus to try them on. He was handsome, she insisted, and while Atticus politely accepted the compliments, I could tell he didn’t really believe it.
I was still not sure what prompted his sudden desire to change his appearance. If Elena knew the reason, she hadn’t told me.
“Atticus,” I said now, “do you have any advice about how to be a good kisser?”
“Hey,” Elena said. “Why haven’t you asked me for advice?”
I spared her a glance. “You go out of your way to speak to as few people as possible. I doubt you’re going around kissing people.”
“Fair,” Elena conceded.
“I don’t have any advice,” Atticus answered. “Should I?”
“No. I’m just trying to research the topic.”
He perked up. “Oh, are you taking Human Sexuality? I’ve heard Professor Zhang is fantastic—apparently she completed her research at Cambridge.”
“No,” I said. “I’m just researching it for my own edification.”
“Oh,” Atticus said. There was a long silence, and I saw that, from a certain point of view, the fact I was watching kissing videos with scholastic seriousness was kind of weird.
But Elena and Atticus didn’t act like I was weird.
“Good luck,” Atticus said with complete sincerity. Elena patted my shoulder like she was proud of me. Then the pair of them floated into the kitchen, where they started up espresso machine.
I plugged in my headphones to drown out the noise and finished the video. As the credits were rolling—damn, I didn’t know so many people were involved in producing a kissing tutorial—I realised I hadn’t taken anything in.
I picked up my phone.
Hayden: Did you know that despite Lygon Uni’s high ranking, it’s actually not that useful in terms of technical skill?
Hayden: For example, the engineering degrees aren’t as practical compared to courses from other universities. I don’t take engineering, but I’ve heard they place a heavy emphasis on theory rather than application.
Nick’s response came a few seconds later.
Nick: What are you talking about?
Nick: I don’t study engineering.
Nick: My major’s Actuarial Studies.
Hayden: The point I’m trying to make is theory isn’t really useful.
Nick: So you’re saying you want to kiss me.
My stomach flipped, and I rapidly typed a response.
Hayden: I’m just saying that I’ve done all the research I can do.
Nick: You definitely want to kiss me.
I started to type I don’t want to kiss you , but I knew that would be about as convincing as declaring, “I swear I’m not a serial killer.”
I must’ve taken too long to reply because my phone buzzed with another message from Nick.
Nick: I’m teasing. Don’t go having some crisis on me.
Hayden: I wasn’t having a crisis.
Hayden: I was watching another YouTube video about French kissing.
Nick: You’re so weird.
Hayden: You’re the one who told me to watch videos!
Nick: I’m kidding. You’re not weird at all.
Nick: I can meet you on Tuesday at 4 at Professors Lane.
Hayden: Okay see you then.