Free Operation One Night Stand by Christine Hughes Page A

sipped her rum punch—“is what we needed. Fuck all that snow. Fuck all that dreary weather. We need sun.”
    “You aren’t kidding.” Sarah rolled over onto her stomach after she handed me the suntan lotion. “If I had to deal with one more administrator talking to me about leaving no child behind or whatever the fuck, I honestly think I was going to shoot myself. Common Core my asshole.”
    I half-listened to the two of them go on about the pleasures of a sun-filled winter vacation. My head was stuck processing the events of the past weekend. I’d finally taken the plunge. I’d had sex with a stranger. Good sex. Excellent sex. Mind-blowing, bucket-list sex.
    I’d lived through the awkward next day encounter. Ryan was the perfect target. Tall, built, hot as hell. And he’d asked for a date the following week. I wasn’t sure what to do with that. Wasn’t a one night stand just that? One night? I was sure I was breaking some weird rule about the whole one night procedure.
    Who said, of course, that it had to be anything more? Maybe I’d never have sex with him again. Maybe dinner means just dinner. Maybe dinner meant he felt as awkward as I did when we ran into each other at the gym yesterday. Maybe he’ll tell me he has crabs.
    “Care?”
    “What?” Even with sunglasses I needed to shield my eyes. Melody’s metallic swimsuit reflected back at me with the strength of an eclipse. I was pretty sure I’d go blind.
    “You okay?”
    “What if he gave me crabs?” I looked back at the ocean, picturing tiny little crabs marching toward me.
    “You’re bald as a baby doll down there.”
    “So?”
    “Oh my God, Care. It’s like teaching a newbie. Crabs are lice. Lice need hair. You have no hair. As in none. As in zilch. As in—”
    “You think too much.” Melody finished Sarah’s thought.
    “I’m just saying. I don’t know him. I don’t know where he’s been!”
    “As in,” Sarah continued, “there is no hair down there for crabs to hang on to. I was reading online that the popularity of Brazilian waxing has led directly to the decline of pubic lice.”
    “So, it’s not crabs you should be worrying about. If it starts burning when you pee, or—”
    “If your vagina begins to shrivel up, then you should be worried.”
    The two of them were unbelievable. I was having a real and seriously minor panic attack at the possibility of contracting a sexually transmitted disease and all they could do was joke.
    “It’s not funny. My vagina will not shrivel up.” Just in case, I was going to have to check later.
    “Well, not now, because you used it. For a while we were wondering if you’d started collecting cobwebs down there. I was actually thinking of purchasing a feather duster for you. I figured you could get off while you cleaned. But, if you’re really worried about shriveling or crabs, one of us could check for you. Sarah, did you bring a flashlight?”
    “Har, har. Cobwebs? Really, Melody? Real mature.” I searched my bag for suntan lotion and remembered it was in my lap. “Whatever. I don’t think I’m having sex with him again.”
    “You know what your problem is?”
    “Enlighten me, Sarah.”
    “You think too fucking much. Christ, the way you talk about it, you’d think he popped your fucking cherry. This isn’t forty-year-old virgin crap. You’ve had sex before.”
    “True, but it was so…vanilla.” I rubbed lotion wherever I could reach.
    “So you’re used to vanilla.” Melody shrugged her shoulders. “I’d be freaked out, too, if all I ever ate was vanilla then all of a sudden someone served up hot fudge, sprinkles, nuts, and cherries. Deal with it, doll. Ryan gave you the perfect sundae.”
    “He really did, didn’t he?” Lying back, I closed my eyes and thought about him. I thought about his hands, his big hands, which had held me pinned against the wall. I thought about his mouth, the mouth that touched every inch of my skin, his tongue that explored me inside