The Temporary Virginity of the American Player

2. The Challenge.

 "You'll call me, won't you?"

There it was. If I could have gotten away with rolling my eyes to the back of my skull, I would have. They always asked that question, and God forbid if I answered it wrong, it was the end of the world.

"After that performance? I can't not call a girl who makes me tap out like that. You know I will."

"I hope you will. You're a lot of fun, Nick. I'd really like to hear from you again."

"I'd be stupid if I let a night like that be my last one," I told her, and gave her a gentlemanly wave on her way out. "You're a gem, babe." When I shut the door, I couldn't help but give a sigh of relief. "Have a nice life."

"Wow," my roommate Johnny said through a yawn, trudging down the stairs with a bowl of cereal in his hands and Star Wars-themed sweatpants covering his chicken legs. "Usually you get them out in at least an hour. You're slacking, man, what's wrong with you?"

"She didn't want to leave," I said with a shrug. "Kind of glad she didn't. She was fun."

"Yeah, it sounded fun," he said sarcastically, running his fingers through his mop of dirty blonde hair. "What was her name, again?"

"Hell if I know! Macy, Maggie, something with an M. Maybe a K. We didn't talk a lot."

"See, that is asinine," Johnny told me, raising a scrutinous eyebrow.  "How do you get away with it, man? You go a whole night and then three hours the next morning without even having to say her name? All you do is say "baby" or something stupid like that and the girls are all over you."

"Probably because I don't walk around using big words like asinine that nobody understands, " I retorted. "I think I'm gonna go over to the café. Wanna come?"

"Why not," he yawned. "I could go for a coffee. Want me to wake up Joe?"

"Nah, leave him," I said, spying our good buddy passed out on the sofa, a half-empty beer bottle pressed against his chest. "Looks like he had a little too much fun last night."

"Didn't we all," Johnny asked, trailing me into my room. He cringed at the sight of the floor, covered with clothes and everything that should have been on a shelf. "How is this even attractive? What kind of standards  do these girls have?"

"I'm a bit of a fixer-upper," I told him. Johnny picked up a t-shirt from the floor. "Girls love that. But if you want to clean my room, I'll pay you in beer."

"Hard pass. Is this yours?"

I glanced his way and eyed a pink lace bra hanging from his fingertip. "Uh, that's," I started, snapping my fingers in hopes of jogging my hazed memory, "someone's."

What was her name....?

"You gonna call her?"

"When do I ever call girls back," I asked, and he shook his head in wonder. "Nah, man, I'm not gonna call her. Hey, throw me that jacket over there, huh?"

Johnny picked up my leather jacket from the bed and hesitated for a moment, like he had a lecture to throw my way. He swallowed the sermon down and tossed the jacket to me. I slid it  over my t-shirt, the scent of stale cologne drowning out the nameless girl's fruity perfume. I looked sharp in that jacket...even if I was just going across the street for a coffee. I always told Johnny that you never knew who you would end up meeting when you left home. I figured someday it would give him an incentive to dress the part of the stud he was, but he wasn't there yet. Johnny looked like a professional tweaker college hippie. You've seen the type: somewhere between the type that studied law and believed in the healing powers of crystals. He walked around in a pair of someone else's sandals that were two sizes too small and liked stupid Hawaiian shirts, but also could talk for hours about environmental law. He was the smartest guy I'd ever met, besides myself.