Sex Says(101)

I didn’t even need to look at the actual column to know what it said anymore. It was memorized. Ingrained. And like a Ferris wheel, it circled inside of my brain, just like the ride, one constant loop without pause. At this point, I honestly didn’t think I knew a single one of my own columns as well as I knew this one.

But I wasn’t sure how I felt about any of it—his column, his words, and the real meaning behind all of it.

Because intimacy and love—they’re powerful enough to curve that line into a circle.

Love. He’d actually used the word love.

Did he really love me?

Conflicted, my heart was split straight down the middle—one side wanting Reed, while the other, out of fear and uncertainty, had built up a wall.

Even as prideful and stubborn as I was, I couldn’t deny that Reed had hurt me. He’d made me feel inconsequential, and I wasn’t sure I could handle a repeat of the emotional toll and agony insignificance delivered.

There was absolutely nothing worse than having the person you love make you feel like you didn’t matter. It was heartbreak in a nutshell, and personally, I wasn’t a fan of nuts.

Where do Reed and I go from here?

He’d said we’re dating, and I’d said I needed time.

But all I’d learned from the last seventy-two-ish hours was that I had no remedy for the pain that was days without Reed’s presence enlightening my world. It might have been pathetic, and I might have been in denial, but I couldn’t stop it. I missed him, and life didn’t feel right without our deep conversations and playful fights and the way laughter was always infinite and overflowing. Hell, life felt more right when we were fighting and I hated him than it did without him at all.

Nothing filled his void.

Still, like any self-respecting woman, I wasn’t sure which was worse—the void or the pain his yo-yo tendencies could inflict.

I glanced at the clock on the stove again. 12:25 p.m. Uh-oh. Unless I moved like a son of a bitch, time wouldn’t be on my side. I made a beeline for my bedroom and threw on jean shorts and a T-shirt, tossed my hair into a messy ponytail, grabbed my skates, and headed for the door.

Just like I’d told Reed, I planned to use our time apart shrewdly and for the betterment of myself.

And I hadn’t delayed my start—even if I hadn’t decided precisely how long our time apart would be.




Like a fucking pro, my skates slid across the shiny wooden floor in effortless movements. If I hadn’t been surrounded by the rest of my classmates, I probably would’ve fist-pumped…patted myself on the back…something, but I had a rep to protect, so I settled on smiling to myself and continuing my fluid rhythm around the rink.

I’d come a long way from falling on my ass outside of Gus’s.

“Lola, honey, your form is looking so much better this week.”

“Thanks, Miss Misty,” I called proudly over my shoulder as I finished up lap number two of our warm-up.

“Two more laps and then we’ll play a really fun game!” Miss Misty shouted with cupped hands around her mouth.

The other girls in the class cheered.

Well, besides one. Fucking Lauren. She always had an opinion about something.

“Oh! Can we play the same game we played last week?” Lauren asked as she gracefully skidded to a stop beside our instructor.

“We’re actually going to play a different game, sweetie,” Miss Misty responded with a soft smile.

“But…but…I loved the one we played last week!” Lauren whined. “It was so much fun.”

“I promise you’ll have fun.” She gave one of Lauren’s pigtails a playful tug, and I self-consciously reached up to twist one of my own around my finger. “Now, go finish your last two laps so we can get the rest of the lesson started.”

Lauren put a hand to her hip. “But I already did four laps, Miss Misty.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Lauren was such a brownnoser, and if I was being honest, I had a feeling this wasn’t her first rodeo with roller-skating lessons. No seven-year-old should be that good on wheels without some sort of professional training.



I guess I should probably explain here, huh?

Since I’m determined to get really, really good on roller skates, I decided to take some lessons. And, well, the only lessons available in the San Francisco area are for a bit of a younger crowd.

Okay. Fine. I’m in a roller skating class with seven-year-olds.

And it should be noted that little Lauren is the biggest suck-up in the bunch.

She’s also a real fucking mean girl, Regina George style, but that’s another story for a different day.



“Okay, class.” Miss Misty clapped her hands like a cheerleader. “Everyone skate to the center, and take your spots at the circle so we can stretch out! We want hap-hap-happy muscles!”