by Kayt Miller
“Virginity is a problem?”
“Uh, yeah.” Duh.
“You talk about it like it’s a disease.”
“It is, Dr. Kellogg! I’m almost twenty-two. How many twenty-two year old virgins do you think are left out there? I’ll tell you: one. Well, two. I interviewed a woman who’s in the same boat as me.”
“So, after your survey and interviews, are you still…?”
“God. Yes! Like I said before, the three finalists? None of them were as they seemed. I think they just told me things that sounded good. Heck, I even changed my appearance for those idiots: hair, clothes, make-up, etcetera, just to appeal to the types of women they liked.”
“You changed your appearance for them?”
“Well, they each had a type of girl they liked. One of them liked a free-spirited person, the other one like a more Goth or Punk type, and the third one,” I roll my eyes before mention Mr. Political Science, “was the biggest liar of all. He liked blondes. I’ll just leave it at that.”
“Okay, so let me see if I understand. You’re a virgin.”
I nod.
“You created a survey and research study to find the perfect person to help you, um, alleviate that… issue.”
I’d like to giggle at how uncomfortable Dr. Kellogg seems but I remain quiet. I nod. He continues.
“But, what you found is that none of the men you interviewed and subsequently chose for your, um, challenge were truthful when responding to your questions about their preferences for a partner or about sex?”
I blink a few times “Well, I found one person, a guy, who was truthful.”
“But, he wasn’t one of the three final choices?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I look at Dr. Kellogg like he had three heads. “I don’t know.”
“Did you find the other three more attractive, physically?”
“No.” None of the three finalists could hold a candle to Baker’s looks.
“Then why?”
Why is he asking me that? It doesn’t matter. It has nothing to do with my research. “I don’t know.”
“Let me ask you this way. Do you think you liked the other three better because you knew they were full of shit?”
I choke out a laugh when he asks that. I didn’t expect my professor to say ‘shit’. “Maybe.”
“What happened during the interview with the honest guy that made you shy away from him?”
Sitting back in my chair I close my eyes, thinking back to my interview with Baker. “Well, it didn’t seem like he was interested in answering my questions until…”
“Until?”
“Until I asked him about kissing.”
“Kissing?”
“Yeah, when I asked him why he listed ‘kissing’ as the most important trait of a potential mate, he started to be more engaged.”
“How so?”
“Oh, um, he just described how it felt to kiss someone for the first time and that, um, if the person couldn’t kiss, he wasn’t going to sleep with them. Stuff like that.” I’m blushing so profusely now I can tell Dr. Kellogg is on to me.
“Did he kiss you?”
I nod as the sweat takes a stand on my forehead. “Yeah, he kissed me.” I pause but quickly add, “For science.”
Dr. Kellogg does his best to stifle the chuckle, but it doesn’t work. After that he says, “And?”
“He was right.”
“About what?”
“The kiss. You know. The physiology and psychology of the kiss.”
“Ah ha!” he says with his hand raised, finger pointing upward. “Now, that’s a cool topic.”
“A cool topic?”
“Yes! At first I was pondering this notion about virginity and your feelings about it being like a disease but that’s prosaic. But kissing? That’d be fascinating to see how the kiss has evolved through time. From the sounds of your young man, he seems to have grasped the romance of the kiss; it’s secrets, if you will. The kiss is the beginning, the start of something special. Wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, but what about expressions like the ‘kiss of death’ and the ‘goodbye kiss.’”
“What about ‘kiss and make up’, ‘kiss my ass’, ‘kiss my grits’, ‘kiss of life’, ‘kiss up’, ‘kiss and tell’, and ‘sealed with a kiss?’”
“I think we’re getting off track.”
“Are we? Think about this. Kissing varies within cultures. Maybe it changes generationally too. Your young man seems like he’s got an old soul. He thinks of the kiss like a man three times his age.”
I look up at the ceiling letting Dr. K’s words roll around in my head. “This kiss…”
“I liked what you said earlier about the ‘physiology and psychology of the kiss’. I think if you speak specifically about millennials and their thoughts on kissing, you could compare and contrast your findings with research done on the kiss on previous studies from other decades, other generations.”
“So, you think I should change my topic to kissing?”
“Well, I think you’re correct in assuming your first study is tainted and therefore not appropriate for your senior project. You’ve got plenty of time to start over. You aren’t the only one who has started one study and finished with something that was a variation of the initial idea. It is just part of the process. I’m glad you’re able to see the need for a shift. I think it’ll make you a better researcher and a better sociologist because you were able to recognize your failures and be open and flexible to work to turn them into successes.”
“So. Kissing?” I ask with a sigh.
“Kissing.” Dr. Kellogg says nodding. “Get to work, Ms. Murray. I’d like to see your revised research proposal next week. Shall we say same time next week?”
“Sure. Yes.” I’m smiling as I leave his office. I’m relieved and excited about this idea. I can’t wait to tell Baker. I stop walking, “Oh, hell. Baker.”
Chapter 34
Baker
At Welch Avenue Station, one of our favorite watering holes, Tig grabs a booth while I head to the bar to get us a pitcher of beer and two glasses. “Grab two more glasses,” yells Tig.
Two more glasses? “Who else is coming?” Before he can respond, I see the door open in the corner of my eye. Fuck! Goddamn Tig. I’m going to kick his ass. Making my way back to the table, I see there’s only one seat open in the booth. I slide in next to Virginia and glare at Tig. “You didn’t mention we’d have company,” I say with a scowl. I don’t like being duped by Virginia. I’m not prepared to see her. She’s going to ask questions about my face; she’s going to want an apology for the night at the game.
“Yeah, Peach,” says Virginia with just as much vitriol. “Thanks for warning me.”
Okay, so Virginia was taken unawares as well. At least that’s the way it appears. Appearances can be deceiving. I tend to believe her, though because she won’t look at me. Her eyes are staring straight ahead until she’s forced to turn to take the glass of beer from my hand. I know the moment she sees the scratches on my arm because her little fake smile turns into a frown. When she looks up at me, she gasps as soon as she sees them, the long lacerations and sutures on my face. “Baker! What happened to your face?”
I chuckle, “You should see the other guy?”
“You got into a fight?” she asks perplexed. “With what? A bobcat?”
“Kind of.” My mom has claws, for sure. And now she’s got a record thanks to those claws. Granna and I pressed charges. I’m sure it’ll end up being a misdemeanor or it’ll be thrown out of court, but at least she got to experience the wonderful world of the Story County jail for a night. Damn, I’d have loved to see her as she walked out of jail. It’d have been an Instagram hit.
“So. That’s it? You’re not going to tell me what happened?”
I shrug, “Nah.”
She’s glaring at me now. Jesus. I can’t win.
Leaning toward her, I smell her sweet scent.
I force my mind off of my dick for just a second since this is serious. Speaking softly, I say. “I’m sorry about the game. I wasn’t yelling at you.”
“Yeah, that’s what Peach said.” She shrugs. “You were yelling at your mom?”
“Yeah.”
I see her expression soften. She’s no longer scowling. It’s nice. “You don’t like your mom?”
I sit up in my seat again not willing, or maybe I’m not ready to tell Virginia about my personal life, “That’s none of your business.”
She looks at me for a few seconds, blinking rapidly. I know what she’s doing. She’s trying to hold back feelings. I watch it pass over her face, anger then hurt. But, she rebounds quickly. Leaning over to whisper in my ear this time I feel her breath on my neck, and her scent wafts up into my nose again. My damn dick reacts. Bastard. What is it about this girl? She whispers, “Excuse me. Can you please let me out?”
I don’t want to let her out. I want to hold onto this moment for a little longer. I’m startled off my ass when she shouts in my year, “Yo! Douche canoe. Let me out.”
Douche canoe? I want to laugh, but that just pisses me off. “Douche canoe? That’s rude.”
“So is blocking my exit. Let. Me. Out. Please.” She says please so sarcastically I’d like to spank her bottom for it.
I move out and stand next to the table as she slides out. Without a word, she walks back toward the restrooms. I can’t help it; I watch her go. She looks hot again tonight in her tight jeans and a flowing top. I couldn’t help noticing how low-cut her top was in front. I got a glimpse of the edge of her bra and the soft round top of her breast. Since I’ve seen them close-up, I happen to know they’re fucking all-star tits.
Her hair is different tonight. It looks a little more blonde that before and she’s got it in these sort of Princess Leia pig tale bun things on each side of her head. They aren’t braids, but they’re twisted up like that. It’s cute and hot at the same time. I can picture myself holding onto one or both of those from behind. Ugh, stop it, Baker. It’s never going to happen, and you’re okay with that.
Still interested in her movements, I catch a glimpse of her coming out of the bathroom. On her way back to the table, a tall, hulking guy steps in front of her. She looks up and smiles. When I see her step closer to him and then nod, I nearly lose it. I watch her pull out a bar stool and sit next to the asshole. “What the fuck is she doing?” I say with clenched teeth.
“Looks like she met a new friend.” Peach emphasizes the word friend just to annoy me.
I turn to Peach for a second then look back at Virginia. “She doesn’t need another friend.”
Peach practically cackles after I say that. “I told you. You didn’t listen. You snooze; you lose. It’s as simple as that.”
I turn back to Virginia and the fucker at the bar as she stands up and makes her way back to the table. Thank fuck. “Hey, guys. I ran into a friend of mine. We’re going to head down to Cy’s.” When the big guy moves in behind her and slides a palm onto her hip, I want to murder everyone.
“Who’s your friend?” I ask attempting to be calm. It’s not working.
Scowling at me she says, “His name is Taylor. We had Philosophy together last year, didn’t we?”
The dumbass simply smiles and nods.
“He also plays football here. Right Taylor?”
Nodding again, the Neanderthal actually speaks. “Linebacker.” His voice is so deep it rumbles.
“Cool,” I nod. “Cool.”
“Okay. See you at home,” singsongs Peach.
“Yep. Bye.” Virginia waves as she leaves. The big guy places his paw on her lower back escorting her out the door.
I turn to Peach. “You’re okay with her leaving with that guy?” I use my thumb to point toward the door. “You don’t even know him.”
She shrugs, “Virginia is a grown up. She won’t do anything stupid. I’ll head down to Cy’s in a bit to check on her. No worries.” Peach sips her beer then turns to Tig. I don’t hear a word either of them is saying. All I see is Virginia and Taylor in my head. What if she lets him touch her? What if she kisses him? “Fuck!” I growl as I slide out of the booth.
“You ready to make it official?”
I look at Peach. “What are you talking about?”
“With Virginia. Are you ready to make it official?”
“Official?”
Sighing like she’s frustrated with me, “Ready. You know? To make her your girlfriend, dingus.”
“No!” Am I? No! No way!
“Then leave her alone, Baker. She deserves to be happy.”
Leave her alone? With that guy? No fucking way. “Whatever,” I say as I slam back the rest of my beer. “I’m out of here.”
I march to the door and yank it open, “Leave her alone, Baker,” repeats Peach.
Ignoring her, I step out into the cool air of November and head north. I’m hungry and wouldn’t you know it? Cy’s has food. Good plan.
Chapter 35
Virginia
I could literally kill Peach. The last person I wanted to see was Baker Stark and she knew that because I told her those exact words, ‘I hope I never see Baker Stark again.’ Even knowing all that, she still set me up. “Witch,” I mutter.
“Who’s a witch?” asks the ginormous guy beside me. Giggling, I put my hand on his thick, furry forearm, “No one. I was just, uh, thinking about the Halloween party I went to a couple weeks ago. Next year I’m going as a witch.”
Nodding, Taylor just says, “Cool.”
“Did you go to any Halloween parties?”
“Yeah”
“Did you dress up?”
“Yeah.”
Okay, this is sort of like the first time I had to talk to Baker. “What was your costume?”
“Costume? I didn’t wear a costume. I just dressed up. Coach’s orders. We always have to dress up when we go to parties and shit.”
“Oh, right.” I take a sip of my beer and look around Cy’s. I look back at Taylor and smile. He’s good-looking, that’s for sure with his shoulder-length blonde hair and light blue eyes, I could get used to seeing his face. When he smiles back, I notice he’s got a crooked smile and a chipped tooth. It’s adorable. It’s too bad he’s got no personality.
Trying again, “Did you have a game this weekend?”
He blinks at me and scowls. “Of course. You didn’t watch it?”
“Um, no, I.” Quick Virginia, make something up. “I had a hair appointment.”
“Chicks,” he grumbles.
“Yeah, chicks,” I say with a laugh.
“You look pretty so the hair thing was probably a good call.”
I blush a little and smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Okay, maybe I could get used to Taylor. “Did you play a good game?”
He gives me that look again; you know the scowly one. “I’m an All-American.”
I shrug. I know I should be honest here but he looks hurt, offended, “I don’t get sports. Maybe you could teach me about football.”
His frown turns upside down, and I get another glimpse at his wonky but adorable smile. “Okay. I can teach you.”
“I thought you wanted to learn about hockey?”
I feel my eyes roll involuntarily. “Baker? Leave. Me. Alone.”
“Nah, I think you and Taylor should invite me to sit at your table. There’re no seats left in this place except these two,” he says pointing to the two empty chairs at our table. “And since we’re friends, I thought you wouldn’t mind sharing.”
“I…”
“Sure thing, dude. Any friend of…a… hers is a friend of mine.” Great! Taylor doesn’t remember my name. Ugh. Will the humiliation ever end?
“Her name is Virginia.”
“Oh, right. Virginia.” He repeats it aloud. “Sort of an old-fashioned name, right?”
“Right. It was my grandmother’s name.”
“That’s cool,�
� nods Taylor as he sips his beer.
“Wow, riveting conversation,” mocks Baker.
Okay, I’m not sure how or why this happens, but it just hits me like a shit storm. The tears. They just start falling out of my eyes. Maybe it’s because my mom is the queen of guilt trips and she’s sent me on a big one after she found out I wasn’t spending any time at home over the holidays. Or maybe it’s because Baker Stark is fucking with my head. Either way, the frustration, and stress hit me like a Mack truck.
“Whoa, what’s wrong, Victoria?” That’s Taylor. He uses his massive hand to pat me on the back so hard I lurch forward.
“I’m on my period. It happens.” Okay, why did I just admit that? Could I be any more embarrassed tonight?”
I look over at Baker who seems sincerely worried about me. “You weren’t on your period last night.”
And boom. There it is. The answer to my earlier question––yes, things can get more embarrassing––so much more embarrassing. “Baker!” I hiss. “Shut the hell up.”
I turn to Taylor. “He’s kidding. We weren’t together last night.”
“I thought you guys were just friends,” asks a confused Taylor.
“We are!” we both shout in unison.
“With benefits,” winks Baker.
“No, that’s not true. There are definitely no benefits being friends with you, Blake.” I stand up from the table and look at Taylor. “Taylor, it was nice seeing you again. I don’t feel well. I’m going home.”
I stomp away from the table just as Baker shouts, “It’s Baker, and you know it!”
Turning, I shout right back, “Yeah, I know it. I just don’t fucking care!”
Chapter 36
Baker
I watch her walk away and wince when she says, ‘Yeah, I know it is, I just don’t fucking care.’
“What’s the deal with you two?” asks Taylor as he finishes off his glass of beer and refills it with more.
“We’re friends.”
“She didn’t seem too friendly when you sat down.”
“It’s a long story.”
I watch as Taylor leans back in his seat. “Spill.”