The Girl Who Wrote The Dating Manual

chapter eighteen

By the time Chance got out of bed the next morning, I was already up, standing by the bench as I cut up bell peppers for breakfast.

            I wore only his shirt, so when he emerged from my bedroom, his hair ruffled in only a pair of jeans, he smiled sleepily. “You look a lot better in that than I do.”

            I grinned. “Those jeans don’t look too bad on you, either.”

           

            He walked over and wrapped his arms around my waist, placing a small kiss on my shoulder as he pulled me close. I shut my eyes and enjoyed his scent and warmth. “How are you feeling?”

            I sighed. “Sore,” I admitted finally. “But I’m okay.” I turned around. “I’m happy.”

            He grinned as well. “Why don’t you let me cook for you for once? You can go shower or watch TV or whatever you want. I make a mean omelet.”

            I glanced over worriedly at the fry pan, afraid to relinquish my coveted kitchen rights. “Are you sure?”

            He nodded. “Definitely. Don’t worry. I’m an awesome cook.”

I laughed and walked over to the bench, dropping unceremoniously into a bar stool and wincing slightly as my body let out a pang of pain in my lower abdomen. A lovely reminder not to try such a reckless maneuver again.

I traced the bench top and felt a little embarrassed and nervous as I asked timidly, “Chance?”

“Yeah?” he asked absentmindedly as he cut up onions.

“Can I ask you a slightly awkward question?” I asked, looking up at him through my lashes. “I just… I have to know.”

“Sure,” Chance answered, still cutting.

“How many girls have you, you know… been with?” I asked slowly, tracing patterns on the bench top with the tip of my index finger. After a second I realized I was just writing his name over and over again.

He stopped cutting. “Oh,” he whispered, nodding and clearing his throat as he caught on to what I was trying to get out. “Right.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Don’t answer that. I shouldn’t have asked.”

He shook his head adamantly and turned around with a reassuring smile. “No, it’s fine. You deserve to know.”

           

I waited patiently for him to speak. “Two,” he admitted. “Not including you.”

Two other girls. That wasn’t so bad. There were most definitely worse answers to that question, considering he was twenty-two. Being an attractive, romantic, sweet guy, that was certainly less than I’d been expecting.