Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
This is the real deal.
This is do-or-die.
The stars are aligning, and the universe has given me the big thumbs-up for Operation V Card. You might not think it would be that hard for a reasonably attractive woman who isn’t overly needy, smelly, or allergic to showers to lose her virginity, but you’d be wrong. I’ve been trying to get rid of this albatross hanging around my neck for years, but I’m looking down the barrel of age twenty-six with no acceptable de-flower-er in sight.
At least, not until now . . .
Now, Graham needs something from me—something that I’m happy to give because I’ve always believed in his vision for his company—and I need something from him. Things couldn’t be going more perfectly if I’d scripted this brunch chat.
And sure, it’s going to be weird, but it’s always been weird between Graham and me. Graham, who I’ve lusted after since before I really knew what lust was. Even when I first laid eyes on him, back when he was seventeen and Sean’s best friend, he was all man—broad shoulders, narrow waist, stubble-lined jaw, and a deep, husky voice that sent shivers down my spine. He ignited all my preteen fantasies. I daydreamed about Graham giving me my first kiss behind the pool house almost as often as I daydreamed about winning a road race cycling medal at the Summer Olympics.
At eleven, kisses and personal achievements comfortably coexist. At twenty-five, it’s so much harder, especially in a city like New York, where everyone under the age of thirty is obsessed with success.
Professional success, not personal relationship success. No one wants to fall in love before thirty-five anymore, and even sex is something guys seem to want to pick up at a drive-through window. Or, better yet, have delivered by an Uber driver—sex and a side of cheesy fries from the diner down the block, please and thank you.
If I wait around to find the perfect guy on a dating app or at happy hour in the Meatpacking District, I’m going to be the world’s oldest living virgin, and that is not a title I’m interested in holding.
Yes. All in. No backing out now. I flip my hair over my shoulder and straighten my spine. Graham’s gaze flicks down to my chest before darting just as quickly back to my eyes.
Oh my God, Graham just looked at my boobs! Aha! This is going to work! It’s really going to work! Thank you, sexy yellow dress!
But when he speaks, his voice is cooler than it was before. “Oh, yeah? What exactly have you been thinking long and hard about, Ceej?”
I take a deep breath, blurting it out before I lose my courage, “I’ve been thinking about asking you to teach me things. Personal things.”
He stares blankly, and for a moment I’m not sure he heard me. He brings his water to his lips and drinks again. “Teach you personal things like . . .?”
I sit tall, even as I twist my cloth napkin in circles in my lap. “You might think it’s easy to date in this city, but it’s not. At all.”
“Oh, I know it’s not easy.” Graham rolls his eyes, proving he at least sort of gets where I’m coming from. “It’s a minefield out there.”
“Yes, it is!” I agree, nodding a little too fast. “A minefield, and I know I’m going to step on a bomb sooner or later. But I don’t want to step on just any bomb, you know what I mean? I want it to be a nice bomb. A, um . . . skilled bomb, who knows how to bomb effectively.”
The metaphor isn’t working. Graham looks more confused with every passing moment, and the waiter is circling behind him like a bird of prey ready to swoop down and snatch our menus, and this opportunity, from my hands.
I have to act now, before it’s too late.
“This is the thing.” I lift my hands, fingers spread wide, showing him I have nothing to hide. I’m putting it all out there and hoping he’ll have mercy on me. “When Dad moved to Greece with Betty after I finished college, Sean was so hyper protective that men were too scared to set foot on my doorstep. No lie. And then Sean died, and I was so sad I didn’t care about dating for a long time.”
Graham’s gaze softens. “I know. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want . . .” I swallow hard. “I want to move on. I want to be a normal twenty-five-year-old woman, but I feel like I’m so far behind I’ll never catch up, you know? I’m drowning in all the things I don’t know. So I just need . . . I need you to teach me about . . . about . . .”