“When was the last time you just made out? Like without any wandering hands?”

The waiter chooses that moment to walk to our table. “Hello, welcome to The Cheesecake Factory, I’m Greg. Can I start you out with anything to drink?”

I slam my hands on the table, making the silverware jump. “I need cheesecake!”

Greg the waiter does really well at holding back his laughter as he looks to Theresa, who orders the orgasmic slices for both of us…and then starts flirting—I’m pretty sure just to torture me. I clench my teeth and breathe in deeply through my nose. I don’t get it. I went eighteen years without sex, I went over a year with longtime-relationship quickies, and yet I’ve never been this pissy.

Greg leans a little on the table, completely shutting me out while Theresa tries to get free food and a weekend date. I let my head fall to the back of the booth and try to remember the last time Landon and I just made out.

Second date, I think. He kissed me on our first, and it was pretty awful. I don’t know if he was nervous or what, but it was awkward and rushed, and after such a fun date it was a little surprising I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would. But despite that, he took me out the following night and shocked me by kissing me hello. Like really kissing me hello. It left sparks from my crown to my toes.

“Oh!” I said, surprised. I’d been contemplating how kiss number two would go—worrying about it all day, actually.

Landon pulled away with a shy smile and a slight blush. “Sorry. My lips wanted to make up for last night. They were pretty embarrassed after their performance.”

“They weren’t that bad…”

“They also missed you. They’ve been tingling since they said goodbye.”

No one had ever said something so sweet to me. I’m pretty sure I said an audible “Aww.” See, I remember first kisses. I think that’s something everyone remembers, but the second kisses with previous second kissers somehow fade into the background. I can’t say where I was or how it felt or where their hands were or what time of day it was. But Landon’s was different. I don’t just remember kiss one, I remember kiss two, almost more clearly.

I reached up and turned his cap around. It was his Beetlejuice one, and it wasn’t faded then. It was just past six, the sun was set, and most of the light was from the snow reflecting the streetlamps. Landon’s car was running, smoke spilling from the tailpipe, quiet music filtering out of the open car door. His hands found my coat pockets, my lips found his lips, our butts found the backseat.

“Ouch, hang on,” he said when I landed on top of him. He wiggled out of his coat and helped me out of mine. It was chilly at first, but heated back up again as we really explored the way we kiss for the first time. If his lips had an awkward opening act, they killed it for the encore. I remember thinking I’d never been kissed like this before, and never ever had I wanted lips to perform against every inch of my body so badly.

Landon’s hands gripped my hips, and mine tangled in his hair. He started asking me questions between kisses.

“What’s your favorite color?”

I went with it, way too buzzed to care why he was asking anything.

“Red. What’s yours?”

“Red too. Do you have a job?”

“Yes, but I want a different one.”

“Me too. Beer or wine?”

“I don’t drink. I’m eighteen.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t drink regularly.”

“Okay, Coke or Pepsi?”

“Coke. How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“You don’t look like it.”

“I don’t act like it, either.”

“Why the questions?” I finally asked. The windows were so fogged I couldn’t even see the car parked next to his.

“I don’t want you to think I’m just trying to get in your pants. I want in your brain, too.”

“You are getting closer to the keys that unlock both of those.”

We started testing boundaries then. His hands moved up. Mine moved down. Pretty soon we didn’t need our shirts to keep warm. I had my very first orgasm not by my own hand that night. Oh, so I guess that make-out doesn’t count…

Theresa laughs, taking me out of my thoughts and back into our dessert. Greg finally decides to go place our order, and I lean in and say through my teeth, “Never.”

“Huh?”

“Landon and I have never just kissed.”

She blinks, then her brain catches up with mine. “Not even the first time?”

“Well, that time we were only lip to lip, but after that, I mean, Landon and I are handsy, I guess.”

That and when we started hard-core making out, hell, why not go all the way? Even if it is a quickie during a commercial break.

“Then figure out where to put up your stop signs.”

“That’s it. I can’t. I just want him to keep going, and I think he wants to keep going, but he won’t because he doesn’t want to lose, and I won’t because I don’t want to lose, then he pulls away and he’s…and I’m…and then we’re both…”

“Unbearable.”

I chuck my straw wrapper at her. “I was going to say on edge.”

She pulls her dark curls back, snapping an elastic band around them. “Just give in. Go to Utah.”

My eyes narrow. “I will not.”

She laughs and sits back as Greg brings us water and our cheesecake. I’m into it so fast I nearly stab him with my fork.

Oh, sweet loving monkeys. It’s like a natural shot of endorphins straight to my hypothalamus.

Theresa kicks her feet up next to me on the seat, taking the daintiest bites possible, while I’m seconds away from nose-diving into the raspberry sauce.

“You should propose, like, a once-a-month deal.”

“I can’t do that,” I say around the soft cream-cheese goodness. Do they make this stuff with hormone drugs? “He’ll totally rub it in. And seriously, this was your idea. Why are you not backing me up?”

“Oh come on. I have flimsy ideas all the time. Like you.”

She’s got to be kidding me.

I. Am. Not. Flimsy!

Sure, I went into theater classes and quit that.

And I spent exactly two days learning piano.

And maybe I try diets for about twenty seconds before I see a burger I must devour.

But that’s normal. I can stick to my guns when I want to.

“Well, I’m fine,” I say, wiping my finger across my now-empty plate. “I can stand another three and a half months. It’s not even that bad, really. And I can commit, damn it. I’m getting married. Do flimsy girls get married? Hell no! So if I want to wait to hump my crazy sexy fiancé into oblivion, I will do it! I’ll show you guys Elizabeth Fanning is not a flake!”

Theresa’s mouth is wide open, slight smile in the corners, and her palms are up.

“Okay, Liz. Step away from the fork.”

I breathe heavy, looking down at my hand clutching my utensil like I’m about to gouge the next person who walks by. Several patrons are looking at me—a pair of old ladies are giggling and winking. A couple of freshmen from NYU stare blatantly at my boobs. And a mother covers her ten-year-old’s ears.

“Oh, balls,” I say, dropping the fork and resting my forehead in my hands. “What is happening to me?”

“Eat more chocolate.” Theresa shoves her plate toward me.

“You can’t have sex with chocolate.”

“You can, but it gets messy.”

An image of Landon covered in Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup plants itself in every thought recess, and suddenly I’m adding whipped cream, raspberries, and my legs clench together under the table.

“Damn it. You’re supposed to be helping me.”

“Oh!” She slaps her hands on the table, jolting me in my seat. “Let’s find your dress!”

“It’s depressing enough with my lady bits on lockdown. Now you want me to go look at gorgeous dresses I can’t afford.”

“Don’t think about it. Let’s just browse.”

Even though it’s probably the last thing that’ll help my terrible sex-deprived, penny-pinching body, I let her drag me from the booth and out to the car. She taps on her Google Maps app, and I sit in the front seat, contemplating the many ways I could cheat and relieve some of the pressure.