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girlfriends.”
    Ian scowled. “You know, you knock us for kissing and telling, but you women are twice as bad.”
    I dismissed his comment with a wave of my hand. “Please, that’s totally different. Guys do it to brag about their conquests. We call in the reinforcements to help analyze every little detail and discern what it all means.”
    “Like that’s so much better. And no generalizing.” Ian wagged his finger, reminding me of our long-standing rule against that kind of thing. “Not all guys brag.”
    “Yeah, I know.” I conceded the point, well aware Ian fell into the latter category. He was as tight-lipped about the details of his sexual encounters as he was about anything else truly personal. Well, except with me. I knew all the nitty-gritty details of his life; the good, the bad, and the ugly, and there had been plenty of all three.
    “So, Vanessa, were we able to answer your question?” Ian said.
    “Yes. Thank you.”
    “We’re here to serve.” He pressed the “kill” button. “And on that note, we’re going to have to take a short break. When we return, more listeners’ calls and our letter of the night. So stick around for more of
The Truths about Dating and Mating
. It’s ten after eleven, and we’re just getting warmed up on KRAZ.”
    As soon as the ON-AIR light went out, I raised my brow. “World’s leading expert in masturbation, eh?”
    A sheepish smile spread over Ian’s face. “Well, you know. Expert, practitioner… same difference.”
    I pulled my hair from its tie and ran my fingers through the long strands. “Between classes and dropping your pants for every girl on campus, how
do
you find the time?”
    Ian ran a hand over his neck, mussing up his dark hair even more. “Come on, Ivy, I don’t date
that many girls.”
    I scoffed. “You don’t date
any
of them. ‘Dating’ implies you actually spend time with the girl
before
taking her to bed.”
    “Ahh...” Ian averted his gaze, looking just the tiniest-bit flustered. Which, for a guy who bedded as many girls as he did, was all kinds of ironic. “You know, I’m hardly the only one guilty of casual sex, here.”
    “
One
time,” I stressed. Only three men in the wide world could answer the perennial question – natural blonde or bottle job? (Both, as a matter of fact; my dirty-blonde hair was often treated to a pick-me-up with Garnier’s Champagne Fizz). Two of my lovers had been semi-serious relationships, and yes, the third had been a sexier-than-sin Navy Seal Leap Frog. Adam something-or-other 2nd Class had been in town for one weekend only, doing a parachuting event at my old high school. We met at a club downtown, and after challenging his occupational claims – A Navy Seal? Sounded like a B.S. line to me, but he was smokin’ hot and I was feeling adventurous – I accompanied him back to his hotel room to view his... ahem, equipment.
    “And I don’t regret it one bit,” I added, just because I knew how much it would irritate my overprotective friend. It was a bald-faced lie. While the sex had been enjoyable, the whole experience left me feeling hollow and… well, crappy. The guilt and shame ate at me for weeks. I eventually made peace with what I’d done, and decided to chalk it up as a learning experience; one I never wanted to repeat.
    Ian reached for a C.D. from the wooden rack behind him and studied the song list. “I still can’t believe you went home with that guy,” he grumbled.
    “I still can’t believe we made our escape before you could scare him off. You were off your game that night.”
    “I don’t scare guys off,” Ian said indignantly. “I just give them incentive to act like gentlemen.”
    I goggled at him in disbelief. “Need I remind you of what you said to Brian?”
    The corners of his mouth quirked. “So?”
    “Don’t ‘so’ me! That’s not incentive, it’s interfering where you don’t belong.”
    “Again, Sellers is a douche.”
    I groaned, letting my head fall