Another laugh. “Yes.”

“What was her name again? George? Frank?”

“Charlie.”

“Right.” Now he’s standing next to me. “What’s she doing in there, shaving her pussy bald?”

“No, she’s brushin’ her teeth.”

“She brought her own toothbrush?!”

“No. She’s usin’ mine.”

“That’s asquerosa. Disgusting.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

“You know, I can hear you,” Charlie calls through the door with a laugh—thank God.

“Sorry,” Rodrigo calls back, but he shakes his head at me. “Not sorry. It’s disgusting, sorry bro.”

“I can still hear you.” At least Charlie is giggling as she turns the sink back on. “I’m ignoring you now—you can keep talking about me!”

“I like her,” my friend says.

“Same.” He continues standing next to me, watching the wall—as if Charlie is going to materialize so he can entertain her with his wit and charm and good looks. “You can go now,” I tell him.

“Don’t really have anywhere to be.”

“Then why’d you come out of your room?”

“’Cause I was bored, amigo.”

“Please go away.”

“Why? I like Charlie. I wanna hang out with you guys.”

I stare at him, hard. Is he fucking serious? “Carlos, I’m not… You know how I am. This is a big deal.” I can’t be more eloquent than that, can’t speak any more plainly. If he doesn’t walk away before Charlie comes out of the bathroom, I swear I’ll have a stroke.

“I’m just giving you a rash of shit, buddy. Calm down—your face is so fucking red.”

I can feel the heat covering my entire body, not just my face, blood pressure surely shot up past what’s considered healthy. Simply because I have a girl in my house and she’s about to spend the night.

“Maybe this was a mistake.”

Carlos puts a lip to his finger, hissing, “Shh, she’ll hear you!” He steps in closer and puts his paws on my shoulders, squeezing his palms into my muscles—hard. “Listen to me: relax. Take a deep breath. You earned this, mi hermano. Relax.”

Relax. I can do that.

“She likes you. You.” Now his palms give me a resounding smack in a show of solidarity. “You got this.”

I got this. “Right.”

“Have your balls shrunk? Why you being such a pussy?”

“Fuck off!”

My roommate laughs. “That’s the fighting spirit. Put on your big-boy pants and bone her tonight. Take one for the team—no one else is getting laid.”

“Eww! You did not just use the words ‘bone her’!” Charlie cackles through the bathroom door beyond my back.

“Goddammit, Rodrigo! Get the fuck out of here.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” His laughter fades as he makes his way down the hall, retreats down the stairs to the lower level.

On cue, the bathroom door behind me comes flying open, and I spin. She’s wearing the same clothes she had on before, but her hair looks combed, face scrubbed a shiny pink.

My overnight guest is grinning from ear to ear, clearly amused by my teammate’s antics. “I can’t say I’m not sorry I had to hear that. Bone her? Really?” Charlie breezes past me, brushing my shoulder and glancing at me over hers. “I’ll wait in here while you, you know—get your own business handled.”

She winks before disappearing into my bedroom. My door clicks shut.

I stare a bit too long from my spot in the hall, finally walking into the bathroom and going through my own routine. Take a piss. Brush my teeth. Wash my balls with a towel. Pull open the second drawer down and gaze into it.

Gold wrappers. Black wrappers. Blue, red, glow-in-the-dark.

Should I grab a condom, just in case?

I reach down, fingers closing around a gold one. Release it, letting it fall back into the drawer. Stand and stare down a little longer.

As I bite my lip, the penis inside my pants throbs. Still, I give the drawer a nudge with my knee until it closes.

Charlie doesn’t want to have sex with me tonight—assuming she does makes me the biggest kind of douchebag. We’ve only been on one date; what’s the rule about sleeping with someone?

Three dates? Five?

Six months?

Fuck, I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out the hard way that she has no interest in…boning me, despite the fact that she just sucked on my cock.

Said cock thickens.

Shit.

I glance down at it. Is this normal behavior for a dick?

“She just sucked you off, asshole. Calm down.”

Great. Now I’m talking to my penis—definitely not normal behavior.

I splash some cold water on my face and dry it off; that’s not part of my nightly routine, but I’m stalling, afraid to go back in my bedroom, heart rate still accelerated.

I take my pulse, counting the seconds and beats.

“You’re gonna live. Relax, amigo,” I say to my reflection. Run a hand over my scruff. “Damn, you couldn’t have shaved before she came over?” Too late now. If I get out the razor and cream, she’ll wonder what the fuck is taking so long.

Inhale. Exhale.

In and out. Out and in.

“What are you waiting for, you pussy?” Damn. If I acted like this before a game, I’d be kicked off the team so fucking fast my head would spin.

I screw around for another couple of minutes before heading to my bedroom. Give a few raps on the door with my knuckles before slowly turning the handle and pushing it open.

Charlie has all the lights off except one, the small lamp on my bedside table, its dim glow casting a light no brighter than a single candle would.

She’s in bed.

Not wearing one of my shirts.

Her shoulders and arms are bare, comforter pulled up to her chin. I can make out a pair of white bra straps; they’re lacy and stark against her pale skin. Blonde hair falls over one shoulder.

I gulp.

Step all the way inside and shut the door behind me, sliding the deadbolt to the left. “Um, I’m not lockin’ you in or nothin’—I’m lockin’ everyone else out.” I feel the need to explain. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I don’t want anyone walking in while we’re trying to, you know—sleep.”

Is she being sarcastic? I can’t tell.

I walk the few paces to my dresser, pull it open—though, do I really need a shirt? Shouldn’t I just go to bed without one tonight? The tit-baby in me is tempted to text Rodrigo and ask, but he’d just give me shit for it.

I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it up my torso. Fold it into a neat square. Set it on my dresser.

Now the pants. On or off?

I’m wearing boxers under my mesh athletic pants, but are those enough? It’s underwear—is that weird?

My stomach forms a knot, a pool of indecision, uncertainty, self-consciousness and regret that has me wanting to vomit all over my bedroom floor.

If I don’t get my head out of my ass and in the game, I’m going to be filming the sequel to The 40-Year-Old Virgin.