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“Trust me.” I shake my head. “He’s a lot older than I am…”
“An older guy?” Laurie gasps, laughing loudly. “Oh my god, Quinn. You’re really letting loose and pushing past your comfort zone. I’m proud of you.”
I roll my eyes. Trust my best friend to encourage any sort of sordid behavior.
“Be realistic, Laurie.”
“Quinn, you’ve spent most of your life being ‘realistic’ when it comes to relationships. You never got a chance to have some fun since that asshole Liam tied you down so young. Don’t you think this is your shot to do that, finally?”
I consider her words, tempted to respond to the invitation with a yes.
“You know I’m right. Aren’t I?”
“You’re annoying.”
But she’s also right.
“Mwah, honey. You always know I give you the best advice…”
But now a different kind of worry consumes me. My nails dig into my palm, and I hold the phone closer to my face.
“There’s one other thing…”
“What? Another guy?” she teases.
“Shut up,” I say. “It’s that… well, it’s been a while since… you know…”
“Since you had sex?”
My face burns. “Yes.”
“So? It’s not like you’ve forgotten how it works. What’s the worry?”
“You’d understand my worry much better if you knew what he looks like. He’s always getting hit on by the girls here. It’s almost comical to watch. I feel like… he’s out of my league almost.”
Laurie snorts out a laugh. “He kissedyou. Pretty sure he wouldn’t do that if he wasn’t at least a little interested.”
“You’re right, but he probably has a ton more experience than I do. If something were to ever happen, how I do know I don’t end up being a total disappointment?”
Laurie hums. “I guess there’s only one way to find out—get wasted and climb under the sheets, just how god intended.”
I roll my eyes, realizing that Laurie is having way too much fun with this, and her advice is getting redundant.
“Thanks, Laur. I’ll make sure to write that down.”
“Trust me, Quinn. You’re overthinking things way too much—you’re in the prime of your youth. These are your best years, go ahead and enjoy them while you can.”
As I hang up the phone, I’m mulling over what my best friend has said to me. I still have not decided on a reply, and it’s been about half an hour since I got the invitation.
Taking a leap of faith, I decide to go with my gut and write down my answer.
When I open the door to take the letter to the lobby and ask someone to deliver it, I come face-to-face with who I assume is the courier.
“Ready to answer, madam?” He smiles at me politely.
“You were waiting all this time?” I ask, surprised.
“I had orders to not return until I received an answer.”