Her gaze drops to her lap, sending her thick lashes spreading across her cheeks. “It’s all right. Let’s just forget about it.”
“I don’t want to forget about it. Clearly, this is something that’s bothering you. But you shouldn’t be stressed, Libs. You’re a beautiful, sweet, funny person who’s lethal with a crochet hook. The right guy is going to see that.”
“No, Jus, he isn’t,” she says, shaking her head. “I am the worst at boy-girl stuff. Ask Laura. I’m completely hopeless. Half the time I’m too shy to say anything to a man I like, and the other half I say something completely insane.”
“You were doing fine with Tanner.” Irritation flashes through me again as I remember how close Tanner’s face was to Libby’s.
“No, I wasn’t. I was second and third guessing myself, and probably on the verge of saying something crazy. And then Tanner would have realized that I was a weirdo and run away as fast as his big, muscly legs could carry him.” She pushes on before I can remark that Nowicki is actually one of the smaller guys on the offensive line. “And I didn’t even like him. I mean, he seemed nice, but there was no spark, you know. No sizzle. You should see how ridiculous I am when I’m actually attracted to someone. I’m a hot mess. I mean, usually, anyway…”
She shakes her head hard, sending her silky hair skimming over her shoulders, making me wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. How have I been her friend for so long without finding out if her hair feels like silk? Friends should know those things about each other, right? Maybe?
“Whatever.” She claims her wine from the bar and takes a big gulp, her throat working as she swallows. “Like I said, let’s just forget it. I shouldn’t have asked, but I trust you, and you’ve dated so many different kinds of women that I thought you would be able to help. Even someone like me.”
“Someone like you,” I repeat, the words making me sad. And a little angry. I don’t like hearing people talk shit about my friends. Not even if it’s them doing the shit-talking. “What’s that even mean, Libs?”
“Someone who’s socially awkward,” she mumbles, studying her fingers as they skim up and down the stem of her glass. “I know I have a few nice things going for me, but I have no idea what I’m doing, Jus. Even if I manage to bluff my way through a first date, I have no idea how to act during the second one. And I’m even more clueless about all the other stuff.” She bites her lip as she spins the glass in a slow circle. “And men my age don’t want to deal with a woman whose knowledge of how to rock a guy’s world plateaued her junior year of college in the back of Brett Baxter’s station wagon.”
I frown. “Didn’t Brett end up becoming a priest?”
She nods sadly, her soft brown eyes shifting back to meet mine, sending that strange, God-Libby-is-a-beautiful-woman sensation rushing through me again. “Yes, he did. That’s how good I am at the other stuff. So good that men can be with me and easily decide to give up sex forever.”
My lips curve. “It was a holy calling, Libs.”
“For. Ev. Ver.” She hits each syllable hard enough to make me wince.
“Okay, I get it.” I know I’m going to regret my next words, but hell, this is Libby, my friend, and a good person who deserves to be happy. And if she believes a little sex ed is all she needs to get her headed down the road to happily ever after, who am I to deny her? Sure, it’s going to be awkward to give her tips on how to rock a guy’s world, but good friends are worth stepping out of your comfort zone for.
And at least I can be sure that this weird awareness of her will fade come tomorrow morning, once I get the alcohol and fresh-breakup-angst out of my system. I’ve known Libby for over a decade and never felt anything but platonic affection for her. There’s no reason for that to change now, just because she decided to wear a tank top.
That’s not a tank top, it’s an invitation to sin, and you know it.
Ignoring the voice in my head, and the fact that my cock has been semi-hard for the past half hour for reasons I would rather not think about, I take Libby’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
She looks up, eyes wide. “Do what?”
“I’ll teach you about flirting and whatever else you want to know,” I say, before adding in a firm, no-nonsense tone. “But there will be rules. The first being that you never tell Laura. The second that you never tell Laura. And the third that you never—”