CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
LINA
“ I s this a horrible idea?” I ask Eden and Kara as they rummage through my underwear drawer. “If it is, someone needs to tell me now. ”
They’re far too preoccupied to answer me.
“What about these?” Eden asks.
“We’re trying to make her look hot, not like she’s in a porno,” Kara replies.
Eden holds up the red lace thong of mine. “It’s not that bad.”
Kara snatches it from her hand, throwing it back in the drawer. “That’s practically anniversary lingerie, Eden. We’re trying to make her look effortless. ”
It was anniversary lingerie. Gage bought it for me and wanted me to wear it for him. I wasn’t going to say that out loud, though. Not when they were picking out the underwear I would be wearing to Grant’s apartment.
“Listen to the Victoria’s Secret Angel,” Meredith advises as she enters the room, taking a seat in my desk chair.
I sit on the edge of my bed, my heart doing somersaults inside my chest. “I’m serious, you guys. This is either going to be the best decision of my life or the one that finally breaks me.”
My first semester back at Yale, I spent the entire time desperately trying to get myself back to normal life—where my mom didn’t die and my shitty boyfriend didn’t cheat on me.
I’m not going to pretend that having an orgasm is going to magically put my life back on track, but maybe it will give me the final push I need to separate myself from that dreadful day.
The one where I was mourning my mom, and even then, I wasn’t enough for him. So much so, he had to go and fuck my best friend.
Kara finally settles on a pair. They’re black and simple, with just the right amount of sheer. “These,” she declares, tossing them my way. “Hot, but not trying too hard.”
Eden nods approvingly, then turns to me. “Okay, now that the underwear crisis is resolved”—she looks toward me—“are you sure about this?”
I nod strongly, forgetting all the doubts I had before. “Yup.”
“Great! Get dressed!”
Kara tosses me a bra next, black lace to match the panties, and I catch it midair like we’ve rehearsed this before.
Eden flops back on the bed dramatically. “I hope you realize we’re all living vicariously through you right now.”
“Great,” I mutter, dropping my pants and changing into the thong. “So no pressure or anything.”
“I’m pretty sure Eden’s already lived it.” Kara laughs and then throws me the matching bra: a subtle black lace one.
It makes me pause in the middle of pulling my shirt over my head.
If I’m recalling correctly—which I know I am—Meredith said, “We all know Eden already jumped on that one,” during our conversation about Grant giving girls orgasms.
“You’ve seriously hooked up with Grant?” I ask, still holding the hem of my sweatshirt.
“I wouldn’t say hooked up . It was one momentary lapse of judgement.”
“Fingers, mouth, or dick?” Meredith asks. Callous as ever.
All Eden does is flutter her fingers with a sly smile. She may be a sugarplum fairy descendant, but she's a full-breed Californian when it comes to talking about sex.
I laugh, taking my sweatshirt off the rest of the way and pulling on the bra Kara had handed me. “Great. Just great.”
“Hey, at least you know it’ll be good. A guy getting a girl off with his fingers is like him being able to fold a fitted sheet,” Meredith remarks.
I know Grant has a history, and it would be pure torture if I were to mull over every hookup he’s ever had. But that doesn’t stop the tinge of sickness I feel knowing it was with my best friend.
Rolling my eyes, I head toward the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. “Does this look alright?”
It’s not like Grant hasn’t seen me in my underwear before—practically everyone did the night of Halloween. Hell, I think he saw me in even less than that the same night.
This feels different. Like I need to be better prepared.
“Of course.” Eden nods.
Kara flops back on my bed, ruffling the duvet. “You look hot.” Meredith hums in agreement.
“Okay.” I give myself one last glance in the mirror before turning to head out of the room. “I’m going to go over there.”
“He is home, right?” Eden asks, almost as though she’s trying to save me from going over there and embarrassing myself.
Meredith holds up her phone. “He’s home, and Braxton’s coming over here after he grabs dinner. You’re in the clear.”
“Perfect. Thanks, guys.”
Eden hands me the bag I usually take over there when I spend the night. “It’s going to be great! Have so much fun!”
“We’ll see.”
I’m trying to be more excited than nervous, but this situation is quite unconventional within itself—asking your friend to give you an orgasm like it’s a favor.
Still, I walk out my front door and down the hall toward his like it’s just another day. This is routine, after all.
I text him when I’m outside.
ME
I’m here.
GRANT
Door’s open.
Of course it is.
I wonder what it feels like to be a man, never afraid of leaving your door unlocked.
“Hey,” I call as I walk through the entryway. I don’t sound as confident as I’d like.
Grant steps into the doorway of the kitchen. “Hey. Are you staying the night?”
I hold up my bag. I don’t have to ask if that’s okay, because I know it is.
“Want to eat?” he asks, directing me into the kitchen.
Our apartments are set up almost identically. Grant’s is a bit bigger because he has a corner unit, making room for a breakfast nook. I take a seat at the island barstool after tossing my bag into his room like I would in my own apartment.
“What are you making?”
“Nothing special; just pizza.” He opens the oven, pulling the pan out and setting it on the stovetop.
In all honesty, the guys’ apartment always looks a lot cleaner than ours does. Not because our apartment is dirty, but because we live in organized chaos.
There’s always something strewn about—half-read books on the coffee table, mugs with lipstick stains on the rim, a forgotten throw blanket draped over a chair. Our fridge is covered in pink sticky notes and passive-aggressive reminders scribbled in Sharpie.
It’s the kind of place where it always smells like vanilla and girl shampoo, where someone’s playlist is always softly buzzing from a speaker tucked behind a plant, and where everything feels lived in . Chaotic, sure, but it’s ours.
Grant’s, in comparison, feels too neat. Their barstools are aligned. Their counter is clear. It smells like detergent with an undertone of cologne. It feels pristine but also boring in comparison.
“Yeah, why not?”
My mouth waters not only at the smell of pizza but also at the way Grant’s forearm flexes when he pushes the pizza cutter across the pan in one fluid motion.
He plates two pieces for me and four for himself before sliding the plate across the countertop.
“So,” I say, picking up the first piece and pausing to take a bite. “There’s a reason I came over here tonight.”
Grant quirks a brow, sliding the pizza cutter back onto the stovetop.
“Yeah?” he says, voice casual, but there’s a spark of interest in his eyes now.
I nod, my fingers tracing the edge of my plate like it might steady me. “Mhm.”
He leans in slightly, resting his elbows on the counter between us. “To sleep, I presume?” he teases, his tone light but careful, like he’s giving me an out if I want one.
I shake my head, a small, nervous smile tugging at my lips. “Not quite,” I murmur, meeting his gaze fully now.
The smirk he gives me is slow, sure, and devastating. He straightens up, his hands bracing on either side of the counter, like he’s grounding himself before saying something that matters.
“No?” he asks softly. “Then what are you here for?”
It feels awfully similar to our time in Martha’s Vineyard. The tension is heating the air between us, making both of our chests rise and fall quicker.
“I want to take you up on your offer.”