violet skies / michael clifford

the coffee virginity

10. are you taking her virginity, michael?

I drive and drive, and it seems the coffee shop never gets any closer. The ten-minute drive feels as if it has been going on for hours when I finally pull up in the parking lot. Jessa hasn't tried to escape, and I'm genuinely surprised she even agreed to come with me.

This is the first time I've taken anyone out, but I quickly push this thought out of my mind. It's not a date and the reason I'm treating her to coffee is because I managed to fuck up and get her fired.

I've never asked a girl out, and I don't think I ever could. Getting turned down would suck so bad; having my heart stabbed repeatedly would hurt less. That's why this isn't a date, and the innocent flirting doesn't mean anything.

I guess I'm at the point where I've stopped trying to bed her. She still hasn't made it up to me for not coming to our first gig, but it's fine. It's not like I actually expected her to give me a blowjob or anything. If she even knows how to give one.

Her innocence is refreshing, in a way.

"Do you do this a lot?" Jessa asks, her voice dry. "Pick girls up in your car, I mean."

She's spotted the condoms in the compartment between us.

"No."

When I usually hang out with girls we'd be either at a bar, in bed doing stuff, or playing video games (if I was in a good mood, I'd even let her win). All would involve alcohol of some kind.

If the girl is really fit, I sometimes struggle to find the right words to say; I let my hands do the talking instead. Or pretend she isn't that hot. This can be difficult, considering I'm a six and the girl might be a solid eight or nine. A ten? I could never bring myself to even attempt to pull them no matter how drunk I was.

So how am I talking to Jessa sober? I have no clue.

I hold the door for her when we walk into the coffee place. Partly because I want to check her bum out, but she doesn't seem to realise that and takes it as a sign of politeness.

"Thanks," she says, smiling at me. Her eyes quickly fall to the floor again and I realise she's as nervous as I am. Maybe she thinks this is a date. It isn't.

We order our drinks and she goes with something pink and fluffy with cream on top. It looks sweet, just like her.

I pour my normal amount of sugar into coffee - a fuckload. Jessa's shocked eyes follow the white crystals falling into the drink.

"What?" I ask.

"That's a lot of sugar," she says, eyes lifting to meet mine. Her nose slightly scrunches as she puts her lips around the straw of her drink. She sucks, not breaking eye contact.

I'm dead.

I have to look away. If the glasses thing was getting to me before, the straw thing is absolutely killing me now. The worst thing is I have no idea if she's doing it on purpose or not.

I swallow, hard, forcing myself to make conversation. Otherwise, I'll be stuck staring at her lips.

"Well, if I don't add more sugar it'll be bitter. Nobody likes bitter. Especially my old English teacher Mrs. Wilson. Damn, that lady was really bitter. Always gave me detention."

I'm rambling.

"I've never had coffee before, so I wouldn't know," she shrugs.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Like, never ever?"

Jessa shakes her head, brown hair bouncing with the movement. "Never."