Page 16 of Practice Makes Perfect (Pine Barren University #2)

nine

EM

“And then—I swear to God, Em—she pulls out her phone and starts showing me pictures of her ex.”

“Maybe she’s just not over him?” I suggest, licking cream cheese from my thumb.

“You think?” Louis’s voice rises in mock surprise. “I’m surprised the monologue about how Adam was her soulmate didn’t tip me off.”

I snort. “Please tell me you didn’t sit through much of that.”

“Twenty-three minutes. I timed it.” Louis takes an aggressive bite of his pork roll, egg, and cheese bagel—a Pine Barren specialty that will have the weekend lines stretching out the door in another hour or so. “Maybe I should follow McCaffrey’s example.”

“Who?”

“He’s on my soccer team, and because of him, half the team is taking some vow of celibacy this semester.” He dabs a napkin at the corner of his mouth with surprising delicacy for someone who moments ago was eating like a rabid wolf. “He might be onto something.”

I add another packet of sugar to my coffee. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Louis arches an eyebrow. “Celibacy seems to be working well enough for you.”

Perfect opening. I’ve been waiting for this.

“Actually…” I stir my coffee. “I’m not exactly celibate anymore.”

Louis freezes mid-chew, his bagel halfway to his mouth. “But none of?—”

“The dating apps were a bust,” I explain. “You screened too aggressively, and found nobody suitable. After that, Lea and my attempts to find me suitable nerdy candidates failed miserably. So I went back to the well with the one guy who I know likes me…”

“So, what then?” Louis crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re sleeping with this guy?”

“I mean, technically…” My voice trails off, knowing what I’m about to say will shock him. “He’s going to coach me on how to have sex…”

Coffee sprays across the table as Louis chokes, coughing violently. I slap his back while keeping one eye on my bagel to ensure it remains free of his germs, especially because who knows where his mouth has been and who he’s exchanged bodily fluids with.

“Excuse me?” he finally sputters. “Did you just say you hired a… sex coach?”

I nod. “Lincoln Garcia.”

Louis’s eyes widen to a comical size. “Hockey dude? The campus man whore?”

“That’s the one.”

“Non. Pas possible.” Louis switches to French, a habit from childhood whenever a conversation requires privacy or contains gossip. “Tu plaisantes.”

“Je ne plaisante pas,” I reply, also in French. “We have an arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?” Back to English, his voice pitched low.

“He’s teaching me. About… you know.”

“Sex,” Louis supplies helpfully, fully recovered from his choking spell.

“Volume, Louis,” I hiss.

“There’s literally no one here.” Louis gestures at the empty tables around us. “So what, you two are just… practicing? Like hockey drills but horizontal?”

A laugh escapes me. “It’s not like that. Well, not yet anyway. We’re starting slow.”

Louis’s brow furrows. “I’m confused. When you said you wanted to start dating, I thought you meant—you know—dating. How does this arrangement with Linc Garcia, of all people, help you re-enter the dating world? It seems like fishing for sharks when you just want to dip a line…”

My laughter fades. “When I talked about my concerns, I wasn’t worried about dating itself. I can talk to guys fine. It’s what comes after that freaks me out.”

“The sex part.”

“Yes, Captain Obvious. I don’t want to spend dates worried about where things might lead or how a guy might react when he realizes I have zero experience.”

Louis’s expression softens. “Em, look at me.”

I reluctantly meet his eyes.

“You know, it’s not a race, Em.” He sighs. “My point is, anyone worth dating would respect that and be patient.”

“That’s a nice theory, but we both know it’s not always that simple.” I lower my voice further. “I need experience, confidence. And Linc is…” I trail off.

“Hot?” Louis supplies, his lips quirking. “Captain of the hockey team? The guy with more notches on his bedpost than goals on the ice?”

“Experienced,” I correct, ignoring his jab. “And he agreed to take things at my pace.”

Louis leans back, studying me with the intensity that always makes me feel like he’s scanning my brain. “You like him.”

I open my mouth to deny it, then close it again.

The truth is more complicated than I want to admit.

There’s something about Linc’s green eyes and the way he listened when I panicked that night—something beyond his reputation that draws me in.

But admitting that to Louis would only strengthen his argument.

“The arrangement is practical,” I say instead. “The… other stuff is irrelevant.”

“Mmhmm. As practical as that blush spreading down your neck?”

I throw a balled-up napkin at him.

Louis takes another bite of his bagel, chewing thoughtfully. “And what happens when feelings get involved? Because they will, Em. You think you can just compartmentalize this?”

“We established ground rules,” I say, trying to sound businesslike. “This is a mutually beneficial arrangement with clearly defined boundaries. It’s educational, not romantic.”

Louis just sips his coffee, giving me that look—the one that’s somehow both pitying and smug, a superpower he’s perfected over our twenty-plus years of friendship.

“Right. And I’m sure your ‘professor’ is perfectly qualified, given he’s practically pursuing his PhD in campus hookups.

” The truth is, I’d already felt that dangerous flutter when Linc texted me this morning.

Acknowledging it to Louis would make it too real.

I prop my chin on my hand. “See, that’s exactly why this makes sense. The guy knows what he’s doing, so why fumble around with some awkward nerd?”

“Because the awkward nerd might actually care about you as a person?”

“Linc cares,” I protest, immediately annoyed at how defensive I sound.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “How would you know? You’ve had, what, a few conversations with him?”

“Three,” I correct, then wince at how that doesn’t help my case. “And I ran out on him mid-hookup, which would have sent most guys running for the hills, but he was actually concerned about my feelings.”

“Noble,” Louis deadpans. “They should give him a medal.”

I glare across the table. “You could at least try to be supportive.”

“I am being supportive. I’m supporting your emotional well-being by pointing out the massive, glaring flaws in this plan.”

“Your objection is noted.” I tear my bagel into increasingly smaller pieces.

Louis scrutinizes me, the morning sunlight highlighting the tiny lines of concern between his eyebrows. “You’ve thought this through? Really?”

“Yes. I even made a spreadsheet.”

His lips twitch despite his obvious disapproval. “Of course you did.”

“Look,” I begin, leaning forward, “I appreciate your concern. But this is something I need to do for myself. I can’t keep living in fear of intimacy.”

Louis’s expression softens slightly at the mention of my high school trauma. “I just worry you’ll end up more hurt than before.”

“I know the risks.”

“Says the girl who cried for three days after watching a documentary about penguins.”

“That was different. Those penguins had a beautiful love story.”

“And you’re so sure there’s zero potential for that here?”

I give an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a crush, Louis. Not love. Crushes are superficial—they’re based on attraction and fantasy, not real connection.”

“If you say so.” Louis doesn’t look convinced. “But as someone who actually knows Linc?—”

“Barely,” I interrupt.

“—I feel obligated to remind you that guys don’t get nicknames like ‘Bed Chem’ for being sensitive, long-term relationship material.”

I twist my napkin between my fingers. “You’re assuming I want sensitive, long-term relationship material.”

“Don’t you? Eventually?”

My stomach knots uncomfortably. “Not right now,” I admit, which isn’t entirely a lie. “Right now I want to get over this fear. I want to be normal.”

Louis’s gaze sharpens. “You are normal, Em. Taking your time doesn’t make you abnormal.”

“I’m twenty-one and I’ve never?—”

“So what?” Louis cuts me off. “Your timeline is your own.”

I sigh, suddenly tired of the conversation. “Can you just trust that I know what I’m doing?”

He considers this, then sighs. “Fine. I’ll back off. But promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“If things get complicated—emotionally, I mean—you’ll tell me. Don’t suffer alone if this goes sideways.”

“It won’t,” I insist with more confidence than I feel. “But yes, I promise.”

Louis nods, apparently satisfied, and changes the subject to his latest soccer practice.

I let the conversation flow naturally away from my sex life—or lack thereof—and try to ignore the tiny voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like Louis, whispering doubts about my ability to keep feelings out of this.

Because the truth is, I’m not as certain as I pretend to be.

There’s something about Linc that makes my stomach flutter in a way that feels dangerous—something beyond the physical attraction I’m willing to admit to.

When he kissed my cheek the other night, it sparked more emotion than I’d experienced in years.

I try to rationalize it as mere excitement—the thrill of finally facing my fears. Anything deeper would complicate my already chaotic life.

Besides, this arrangement is perfect precisely because we’re attracted to each other.

The spark is already there, which means the physical part should be enjoyable rather than awkward.

And since we’ve established clear boundaries—no actual dating, no romantic expectations—there’s no pressure to be anything more than what we are: two people helping each other out.

He gets sex. I get sex education.

Clean. Simple. Perfect.

My phone buzzes with a text and I smile when I see Linc’s name on the screen:

Monday, 8pm. Wear something comfortable. I’ll bring the Slurpees. Don’t eat beforehand.

I read the message three times, heat creeping up my neck at the implications of “don’t eat beforehand.” When I glance up, Louis is watching me with a knowing expression.

“That him?” he says.

I nod, unable to hide my smile.

“And how exactly are you going to keep feelings out of it when you’re grinning like you just won the lottery over a text message?”

“Shut up,” I mutter, tucking my phone away.

Louis’s expression turns serious. “Just remember: I know what heartbreak looks like on you, and I’d rather not see it again.”

I want to fire back with something clever and dismissive, but the genuine concern in his eyes stops me. Instead, I just shrug, the way I used to when my parents asked if I was “really OK” after the Derek disaster.

“It’s just sex, Louis,” I say softly. “Not a relationship.”

Louis shakes his head, then sighs. “For your sake, I hope you’re right.”

I hope I am too. But as my phone buzzes with another text from Linc:

I’m looking forward to seeing you.

My pulse quickens in a way that feels distinctly heart-involved. But that’s just nerves, I tell myself—nothing more.

Right?