“You’re right, I am an adult. I can fucking do this. Okay. Also, you look like a freaking star. You’re beautiful. Amazing. Extraordinary human being that I adore. I love you. I’ll text you ASAP after for the full update!” I said, giving her a little finger wave, my eyes darting back and forth.

  “Thank you. Love youuuuu,” she sing-songed before hanging up.

  Looking at the time, I exhaled. I was supposed to meet her in about twenty minutes. So, I grabbed all my shit and headed out my bedroom door.

  Cory, my roommate, and his boyfriend Connor were snuggled on the couch.

  “Go get laid, bitch!” Cory yelled as I ran around the apartment and collected my things.

  “Get that V!” Connor threw at me as I laughed and slammed the door behind me.

  My own personal cheerleading squad for my chaotic sexual escapades. What a lucky girl I was.

  ***

  “Hi, Elena,” Zhara said as I walked up to the front desk of the climbing gym.

  The gym was huge and in the warehouse district in North Kansas City. Very hip and very urban. It had no AC, and we were fully in a one hundred-degree Midwest summer. The stench of feet and BO were strong, but I supposed that was part of the allure.

  Honestly, not my favorite.

  The gym was ginormous. It was all open air and had colorful climbing walls, belays, and bouldering lining the perimeter. It was a very sweaty climber’s dream.

  “Zhara!” I said, smiling, and we hugged.

  Our first shared body contact. She smelled a little like smoke and sweat. Not what I was expecting but not bad.

  Did she smoke?

  It was really fucking hot with no AC.

  Who thought it was okay not to have air conditioning in this gym?

  Was I sweating from the heat or nerves?

  Was my natural deodorant doing the least?

  Were pit stains already forming?!

  I felt like my brain was screaming as I was smiling pleasantly at Zhara. I needed to focus. Pull it together, Elena.

  She was dressed as a typical climber. Khaki cargo pants with a tear in one knee and at the ankle, Chacos, and a cropped black tee with a bouldering competition logo.

  I felt very overdressed.

  “I brought clothes to change into for when we climb,” I offered as we gave each other’s outfits a weird once-over.

  I wanted to justify why I had regular pants and makeup on.

  “You look great,” she finally said, smiling and flashing an absolutely fucking adorable gap between her front teeth.

  “Did you have anything in mind for dinner, or should I pick a place?”

  I realized the awkward tension as other people lingered about and chatted.

  It felt like there was an invisible wall between us. We always had easy conversations in person up to this point, so this felt . . . not great.

  “You pick!” She grabbed her backpack before walking toward the door.

  “How about Thai?” I followed her out and walked over to what I assumed was her car.

  “Sounds great! Did you want me to drive?”

  We walked up to a beat-up gold Subaru.

  “Sure!” I climbed into the passenger seat.

  Why did things feel weird? Was it because I was nervous? Maybe she was nervous? God, I hoped this tension would go away.

  I swallowed, trying not to freak out for no good reason.

  We settled in, and she smiled at me, rolling down the windows. “No AC. Windows down good?” She turned on the car.

  “Totally,” I said, not knowing what to do with my hands, mentally preparing myself to continue to sweat my nonexistent balls off.

  She backed up and jokingly said, “Sorry about the smell. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “The smell?”

  “Yeah, I smoke a lot of weed.”

  I smiled and nodded.

  I wasn’t against smoking by any means. I mean, I had dabbled in smoking and in edibles, but I would consider myself a social smoker—as in, if I were with friends and it was offered, sure, but it wasn’t on my regular to-do list.

  “I was thinking of the place off of Southwest Boulevard. Lulu’s.”

  “Sounds great!”

  It was about a ten-minute drive from the gym, and we talked idly about music. I found out we didn’t share the same taste at all. Which was fine. You don’t need to like all the same things to be compatible, especially music. I hated when dating profiles would say things like If we don’t like the same music, then don’t bother swiping. Like, excuse you? More important things should be aligned in relationships than fucking music tastes.

  Whatever.

  I didn’t want to date those people anyway.

  We pulled up to Lulu’s and immediately got seated.

  “So, you mentioned one time you were starting a PhD program in the fall for environmentalism? Are you doing that in Kansas City or somewhere else?” I said as we settled into opposite sides of the booth.

  I tried to quell my nerves by thinking of cute, fun date conversation ideas. I should have studied flash cards or something to avoid the awkward silence.

  “Oh, yeah! I actually leave in August to go to Vienna for the program,” she said, smiling, her short black bob swaying.

  I nearly choked on my water.

  “Oh, that’s so cool! How long is your program?”

  I tried to dispel the wave of disappointment rolling through me.

  “Five years! I am so pumped to go and just get out of here, you know?” She tucked her hair behind her ear.

  August was in three months. I tried to tell myself to chill. First things first: if this was meant to be, maybe long distance wasn’t so bad because I liked to travel, but five years was a long time. Then again, maybe this was a fun summer fling? Lol, like I would know how to do a casual summer fling. Or maybe a hookup? What was the proper balance of being realistic about the future and living in the moment and not getting ahead of yourself? Did that balance even exist?!

  I filed away the overthinking for the time being, as we moved through more nervous conversation and talked about our families, our jobs, and other first-date things.

  I desperately needed to get my physical jitters out and barely touched my food— incredibly unlike me, unless I was really fucking nervous. Not a great start.

  “One check or two?” the waitress said.

  I blinked. What was the proper date etiquette? I was fine splitting the check but also wouldn’t have been mad if she paid for it—but should I pay for it?

  I hated this exact moment in dating. The weird gender norms applied when I went on a date with a guy were bad enough. Trying to navigate it with a woman was another thing. Was I bad feminist if I wanted someone else to pay?

  “Just one,” Zhara said, smiling. “I got it.”

  I had a surge of gratitude and attractiveness to her then.

  “Thank you,” I said, thankful that moment was over. “Ready to go climbing?”

  “Let’s go!” She grabbed my hand, and it felt good to just touch someone romantically again after what felt like a long time.

  I told myself this is what dating was.

  And that this was good. It was fun. These butterflies were normal.

  Zhara and I were just having fun, which was good.

  Was it what I wanted?

  No.

  But it was fine for now, right?

  Right.

  CHAPTER Three

  The gym was closed, and since we both worked there, we had permission to climb after hours, which made the huge space seem too big without the hustle and bustle of others. Suddenly, I was nervous again. Too much dead air filled the room, like the whole building was listening to my pounding heart. And the sweat. Oh god. I was sweating so much again.

  I liked climbing. But I was a full-time yoga teacher, so I also did a whole shitload of other physical activity, so I was definitely not going to be as good as Zhara, who practically lived, breathed, and worked here every day. And I was an eight on the Enneagram, so I did not like to look weak.

  Why did I think this was a good idea again? Feels like maybe a slight miss. Past Elena didn’t set up current Elena for the best success here.

  “What do you want to climb, Elena?” she said, looking around as we strapped on our climbing shoes, harnesses, and chalk bags.

  “Uh, I’ll just warm up over here first.” I pointed to some easy walls and locked into some auto belays while Zhara headed to a more challenging wall.

  Things felt lighter after each wall I climbed, and, soon, we were joking and bantering on what felt like a normal date. I turned to loop myself into a top rope, and, suddenly, Zhara was there, her hands sneaking around my stomach and her mouth pressed against my neck.

  “Ahh,” I breathed out as her lips trailed across my neck and shoulder.

  Shit, it felt nice.

  Her lips were dancing across my skin, leaving heat in every wake.

  To feel desired again felt fucking great.

  “Do you want to keep climbing?” she whispered in my ear, her breath tickling my skin and sending heat straight to my lower belly.

  “No, we could try some other things.” I released my belay and turned to face her.

  Her brown eyes were bright, and a seductive smile played on her lips.

  “I think so, too,” she said before her lips crashed into mine, and I stumbled back a few steps, nearly falling to the ground.

  Her lips, teeth, tongue, and hands were everywhere, and, suddenly, our harnesses were down, and I stepped out of mine. I was panting as wet heat pooled between my thighs.

  “Here?” I said, looking around at the empty gym and padded floors. This would be a first.

  Zhara smiled devilishly and said, “We wouldn’t be the first ones and probably not the last.”

  That was not an encouraging line to hear.

  “Are there cameras or anything?”

  I didn’t want to get fired from the gym for fucking on the floor after hours. I wasn’t really into having sex in public places. Why not just hold on a little bit and do it in a bed instead? Plus, getting slapped with a predatory charge or something made me anxious. I mean, we had all seen movies where the guy was just peeing outside near a children’s playground and got hit with a felony charge, which he deserved.

  Zhara scoffed. “Of course not! The owners are too cheap for that.”

  That made me feel better. She also had locked the door when we had come in, so it was probably fine . . . right? I had little time to think about it because she collided her body against mine, slipping her hands underneath my shirt and grabbing at my breasts as I grabbed for hers. Pants were sliding off as fingers explored, and we fell to the mats.

  Her style was aggressive. I didn’t not like it. I just wasn’t prepared for it on the first date—on the gym floor, with little to no communication about it. Where other people also sweat, climbed, and, apparently, fucked.

  But, okay!

  I’m doing this. I could be cool as a cucumber, having sex in a public place I also worked at. I got this.

  Zhara worked fast and efficiently. She practically tore off my pants and went right in for my clitoris with her mouth, licking, lapping, and gently coaxing with her fingers in and out as an orgasm built so quickly it nearly had me shaking as it erupted from my body, and I cried out as Zhara smiled against my skin. It was fast, considering orgasms with men took a very, very long time.

  Breathing heavily, I pulled her against my mouth, tasting myself, then pushed her back on the mat to return the favor. Hers built not as quick—hard not to compare and think she probably had done this a few more times than I had. Cue the bi-panic—but, eventually, she came and moaned, and we were both laying next to each other. Our breathing was heavy after the quickest fuck I had ever had.

  Again . . . not my favorite.

  It felt like it had lasted twenty seconds with zero foreplay. I didn’t love that.

  “Want a smoke?” she said after what felt like a long time of me wondering what the hell had just happened.

  We both did that awkward thing where we got dressed individually, even though we had undressed together. The pause seemed like it lasted longer than our entire sex session.

  “Uh, no, I’m good,” I said as she pulled a cigarette out and lit it.

  That also felt wrong in the gym. But, then again, I had just defiled the climbing mats with my body and all the sex fluids, so who was I to judge, really?

  “This was fun,” she said after finishing her cigarette. She gathered her things and walked to the front of the gym.

  “Yeah, so fun,” I said, feeling empty.

  The same feeling after having hooked up with someone too soon and too fast, like all my energy had been sucked out of me.

  “We should do it again! I’m gonna fully close up. You don’t need to stick around or anything!”

  Her words felt like a dismissal. I lived for post-sex cuddles, aftercare, and intimacy, but, clearly, she did not.

  “Cool, okay. I’ll talk to you later,” I said, walking out into the night and heading to my car by myself.

  I got in and wanted to collect my thoughts, but I didn’t want Zhara thinking I was waiting for her, so I drove back to my apartment in silence and sat in the parking lot.

  “What the fuck?” I whispered to myself.

  That was . . . not what I wanted.

  Dates with someone you wanted to be with long-term should leave you feeling full and fuzzy and warm . . . not empty, used, and depleted.

  It felt like a quick fuck with an obligatory dinner, which was . . . gross, kind of?

  We had different expectations and ideas about what this was, which was fine. I just wasn’t interested in doing that again with her or with anyone.

  So, I pulled out my phone and looked at Hinge—because what better way to reconcile with a shitty date than by going on another shitty date?

  I got through at least twenty profiles before I found someone who seemed sort of interesting.

  “Landon.”

  He was cute, blonde, white, and blue-eyed. Not my usual type, but his smile was so sweet and genuine that I scrolled through the rest of his profile. My mouth dropped. He was a drag queen—like, a sexy one. And he was straight. That wasn’t the typical norm in the community, but I was here for it.

  He listed his drag Instagram account on his profile, so, obviously, I went straight to it. Ella was his drag name, and her account was huge. Like 25K huge. So many beautiful photos and videos with tons of views, comments, and likes.

  I made a game-time decision to follow the account because, I mean, who would notice little old me in a sea of 25K? I scrolled through a few videos about transitioning to Ella full time, what it was like dating, and lots of other things. Soon after, I realized I had been sitting in my car for an hour, diving deep on Instagram.

  Fatima called, and I answered by pulling myself away from my IG deep dive.

  “E! How’d it go?!”

  I looked at the clock and realized how late it was. “It was . . . weird and sort of gross? As in, I feel like I received food in exchange for sex. Does that makes sense? It wasn’t what I wanted. It felt void of any emotional intimacy, you know? Also, I think my lips are bruised.” I tried to put my thoughts and feelings into words, not knowing how to say it as I checked out my lips in the sun visor.

  “Oh, E, I’m sorry. Is it bad?”

  They were red with a slight purple hue forming, which stood out against my pale skin. Well, shit. Did that mean I should wear lipstick for the next few days? How does one cover up purple lips?!

  How convenient that I not only bruised easily on my body but also on my lips.

  My lips were probably going full purple, and I felt shitty, which seemed to happen after a lot of my first dates and weird hookups. Like I wanted to cry but didn’t have an exact reason.

  I had a weird sense of hopelessness. Like, how was I supposed to keep doing this and find someone? Because feeling like this was exhausting and not fun. How many energy-draining dates did I need to go on before it got better?

  I wanted to be able to hook up with no strings attached, but I just couldn’t. I needed to accept that and move on and realize that hooking up with a whole bunch of people isn’t for everyone, even if you were horny all the time. It was okay that hookup culture didn’t leave me feeling free and excited. I needed to understand, honor, and respect my physical and emotional needs.

  Boundaries. They were good. And I needed to get better at communicating them.

  So what if I was a horny bisexual who couldn’t do hookups because, mentally, my body was like no? It was fineeee.

  “Kind of. I didn’t tell her my physical boundaries or needs at all. Ugh. I also didn’t initiate the safe sex conversation. It was not anyone’s best moment.” I let out a loud sigh.

  No growth happened on this date.

  “I’m sorry. I know you wanted this date to be different,” Fatima said, oozing comfort from the phone.

  I walked into my apartment and headed to my room and didn’t even bother stopping by Cory’s.

  “I just struggle to settle for that when I had a full-blown love affair for five years, and even though that blew up in my face, at least I know what I do and don’t want in a relationship, and I don’t want this.” I groaned and flopped onto my bed.

  “Yeah, I know, but trust your gut. She has your back. You don’t need shitty people and shitty dates in your life. You deserve more than that.”

  I curled up in a ball. “I hope work isn’t weird now. We fucked in the gym. On the floor.”

  “Ew, that sounds . . . not ideal,” she said, laughing.

  “Yeah, it was weird. Not the best, for sure. I orgasmed really hard and fast, though. But, oddly, that made it worse and really contributed to the sex-for-food-exchange vibe I was feeling. And you know I don’t love the fucking in public piece. I am pretty open to most sexual experiences, but that one is just a no from me,” I said as I rolled over to my back and stared up at the ceiling.