Every step towards room 203 was a punch to the gut, one too many chocolate eclairs threatening to come up. I had to remind myself that this wasn't a big deal. It was just sex. People did it all the time. This was supposed to be a good thing. It was just sweaty, naked bodies... You know, what? It really was best not to think about it too much.

      Much to my dismay, the key card, successfully unlocked the door. Seizing my clammy hand, Glenn pulled me into the room. Before I could even take in the small one-bed room, he had me pinned against the wall again. Large hands holding mine firmly against my side, he leaned in, forehead rested against mine. His breath tickling my lips, he grinned seductively. Entire body tensing under his touch, I couldn't conceal the sharp intake of a breath of surprise.

      "Are you okay?" he asked, brows furrowing cautiously.

       Not trusting my words, I hummed my answer and feebly nodded my head. He seemed to deem the answer satisfactory. As he trailed kisses from my jawline down to my neck, I reminded myself to breathe. This was okay. It was just someone else's saliva on my skin. Totally sanitary. The more I thought about general hygiene, the more I thought I was doing something wrong. These thoughts shouldn't have overruled the pleasure. But the more I focused I trying to find this promised pleasure, the more distracted I became and the more I felt like I was somewhere I ought not be.

       "Are you sure you're alright?" Glenn whispered against my skin. "You seem nervous."

      I'm in a strange man's room and he's sucking on my neck. Of course, I'm nervous.

      "Fine," I choked out instead. "A little nervous. But there's a first time for everything. I'll get over it."

       "First time?" he croaked, eyes bulging.

      I shrugged a shoulder. "No big deal."

      "No big deal. But—" he stammered, studying the room with a mixture of disgust and bashfulness. It seemed like he believed the unmade bed and clothes littered floor, unworthy of first times.

      "I truly didn't expect anything more than this."

      "But you waited so long... Surely you were waiting for something special."

       I shook my head. "No. The opportunity just never surfaced." Though I spoke opportunity I meant desire.

       Pale brow cocked into his hairline, he watched me skeptically. Blue eyes that had been strained on my face, travelled down my body, all the way to my feet and back to my eyes with an almost pointed look. I blushed at the insinuation in his gaze. A decent face and body? Was that all he thought was required to get laid? All bodies were worthy of being laid, whether or not they met society's absurd ideal standards.

       "I mean... I probably could have encouraged the opportunity to surface, but I never had an interest to do so," I blubbered.

      "But you have an interest, now?"

      I shrugged, again. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

      Lips just barely quirking upwards, I couldn't help but notice the slight crinkle of his nose, either in confusion or interest. Probably both.

       "It's just my virginity," I said lamely, mouth moving on its own accord, with no apparent intention of stopping any time soon. For the love of me, I couldn't shut up. "Virginity is a social concept anyway. I don't look at this as some kind of grand milestone to be proud of. It's just sex. First times are supposed to be uncertain. I've never played tennis. I wouldn't react any differently if you were taking me to play tennis for the first time."

      Glenn blinked. "Did you just compare sex to tennis?"

      "I mean is it really that different?" At this point I almost wanted him to shove his slimy, likely germ infested, tongue down my throat, just to shut me up. "They're both basically sports. They're generally undertaken to induce pleasure. They get you all sweaty and worked up. Sometimes it goes well, sometimes you lose. Some are natural tennis players, others aren't. Might be disappointing, but whether you mark the point or not, doesn't change who you are. It just makes you a bad tennis player."

       Eyes widening slightly, completely taken-a-back, Glenn studied me silently. I came to the conclusion that some people really just ought not get their hands on tennis rackets. I was people.

      Just as I considered making a dash for the patio door, jumping off the balcony without hesitation, Glenn blinked once more and burst into laughter.

      Baffled, I mimicked his earlier expression: face dull, completely lost.

      "Eva was right," he chuckled. "You are quite peculiar, but truly in the best way."

      "Um. Thanks?"

      Shaking his head amusedly, blue eyes shone brightly, staring intently into mine. I suppose this was supposed to be a cute moment, but the taste of blood from my bitten cheek was a little distracting.

       "So, who takes the first serve?" he wiggled his brows.

       I thought my chest might combust from the contained air accumulating from the attempt to suppress the profound urge to squirm. I can't believe, I babbled about tennis. I don't know anything about the sport.

       "Um." I swallowed. "You go ahead."

       With a roguish grin he took my hand. Tentatively he guided me across the room, towards the bed. Cheeks puffed; I did my best not to trip during the short walk. Did tennis players regularly puke on their way to the court?

       Spinning me around, Glenn pushed me backwards, until my knees buckled against the floppy mattress. Collapsing on my back, he hovered above me. Don't panic, I told myself. Get your head in the game.

      "Let me know if you want to forfeit," Glenn said tentatively.

      With my signature awkward smile, I shot him a thumbs up, like the unexperienced virgin tennis player I was.

      Slowly inching closer, laying his body atop of mine, he brought his lips to mine. And we were back to sharing saliva. This had to get better. Surely, I was missing something, for all this seemed to be, was unhygienic and mechanical.

      Eyes wide open as he trailed open-mouthed kissed down my neck, towards my chest, I willed myself to relax. It was totally okay that he was fumbling with the zipper of my dress. I surmised that this might feel strange because I wasn't actively participating. Surely, tennis sucked if you just stood there and let balls be thrown your way. I would assume the amusement rested in hitting back.

      Lips still on my skin, dress gradually descending, while he was distracted, I took note of my motionless arms at my side. Raising my arms experimentally, I placed my hands on his hips. He hummed encouragingly, drawing my hands to his chest. Unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, I took the hint. I unbuttoned the rest, while he returned his attention to ridding me of my dress.

       Shrugging off his shirt, I let my hands explore his skin. Eliciting a moan from the lips glued to my neck, my brows shot up in surprise. Good sign, I suppose. Was I supposed to include some of those to encourage him? To be both a player and a cheering spectator?

      Still with a frown plastered on my face, staring up at the ceiling, I attempted a moan of my own. The moment the sound escaped me, I wanted to take it back. It was so strangled, so forced; nothing like what would escape me in the solitary safety of my bedroom. The mere thought of the noise made me want to gag. Luckily, Glenn was too preoccupied to notice. Successfully throwing aside my dress, he stood to admire his work. Sprawled against the wrinkled sheets, in a decent pair of underwear thanks to Quinn, I smiled tightly. What the hell was he doing? And why hadn't I thought of shutting the light?

        Eyes heavily strained on mine, he popped the button of his trousers, letting them fall at his feet. Gaze following his hands, I spotted the bulge in his briefs, and had to swallow a squeak. This was not good. Faced with newfound intimacy, as the lump in his briefs grew, so did the lump in my throat. I couldn't breathe, and we hadn't even started the physical stuff. This swelling panic would surely lead to a disaster.

       "Match still on?" he smirked, encouraged by my reaction. He had misunderstood my wide eyes and heavy breathing. My chest was rising and falling rapidly because there was no air in the room, every ounce of oxygen swallowed by Glenn's palpable lust.

      I refused to let my gaze fall on the bulge. I would not look below his navel. It's not that he didn't look great. He was attractive. He was sweet. But this just wasn't it. Still, for some reason I made no objection. Frozen where I laid, I let him continue his game... Until the briefs came off. There was no fixing this level of panic. There went my last straw. Gaze involuntarily sticking to his crotch, I went rigid, eyes ready to pop out of their sockets. There was a penis; and one approaching much too quickly. There was a penis, and it was about to go— Nope. No way. Though I had preached sex to be no big deal, I could not push through this. I could not go about this profound intimacy in a purely mechanical way. The idea of pretending in a moment like this made me nauseous.

       In a flash of motion, I bolted up, tumbling off the bed. Eyes shut as I didn't trust myself not to stare at the dangling nightmare, I searched blindly for my dress.

      Glenn inhaled sharply. "What—"

       "Can't do it!" I croaked, struggling to shove my legs through my dress hole. Damn Quinn and her love of ruffles.

       "But you said it was like tennis."

        Incapable of finding my voice, I settled for shaking my head violently. Sex was not like tennis, at least not in the skill set of Yasmine Sarraf. I had never seen a tennis match that required penetration. I didn't want any rackets up where the sun doesn't shine. I made a clumsily grab for my things. Multitasking, attempting to pull my dress while running for the door, I tripped on my train, colliding headfirst with the mini fridge.

       Glenn reached for me instinctively. On my knees, his family jewels dangling inches from my chin, I yelped.

       "I'm so sorry," I repeated.

      "It's—"

       "Don't take this personally," I requested, composing myself long enough to properly fix my dress and gather my purse and shoes. "I'm just... I— Sorry. Bye."

       With a last panicked glance across the room, I slammed the door shut. I didn't give him the chance to clothe himself and come after me. I made way for the exit, running as fast as I could with no intention on stopping until I was far from Riverside Hotel.

      I concluded that I was not a fan of tennis.