By the time dessert arrived, she didn’t want to put it off any longer. Owen was great; surely he wouldn’t have a problem with her virginity.
She swirled her spoon in the strawberry sorbet. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” Chloe put down her spoon and moved her bowl aside.
“Uh-oh, sounds serious. Are you going to tell me you don’t want to see me anymore?” His shoulders slumped, and he rested back in his chair.
“No, not at all. I like you. I want to see you again.” She smiled reassuringly. Even though her skin didn’t break out in goose bumps when he touched her hand, nor did her body heat up when he looked at her. She hoped it was only a matter of time until it did.
He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and placed it on his plate. “Then what is it?”
She fidgeted with the stem of her wineglass. “There’s something you should know about me. If what we have is going to move forward, I think it’s important.”
“Okay.” His forehead furrowed.
“Well, umm, I’ve never… never done it before. If our relationship continues, you’d be my first.” There, she’d said it. Now to see how he’d react. She mentally crossed her fingers.
His brows furrowed. “Done what?”
Okay, that wasn’t the ideal response, but the restaurant was rather crowded. She cleared her throat, glanced around her to make sure no one was close by, and said in a deliberately quiet tone, “I’ve never had sex.”
Owen sat statue still. The only things moving were his rapidly blinking eyes. After a moment he said, “You’ve never hadsex?”
So… that response was worse—a lot worse—but it still wasn’t completely terrible. Chloe’s gaze flicked around the room. Thank God for good old New York indifference. She met his gaze and said, “No.”
“Never?”
She traced a finger along a crease in the tablecloth. “I’m a virgin.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“A virgin.”
“Yes.”
He put his palms on the table and leaned forward. “You’re how old?”
“Thirty.”
“This has to be a joke.”
Chloe sighed. This wasn’t going at all how she’d imagined. In fact, the only way it could get worse was if he started laughing at her. “It’s not.”
Owen stared at her, then blinked. Then blinked again. His cheeks puffed out, and he broke down into peals upon peals of laughter, drawing every eye in the restaurant to them. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, clutching his stomach.
“Wh-what?” she stuttered, surprised by his question.
“Are you a überreligious nutjob who’s waiting for marriage?”
Her heart sank. “No,” she said, subdued.
“Is there something physically wrong with you?” He screwed up his nose and scanned her from head to waist like he was trying to spot a defect with her body. “Are you a fucking freak?”
Freak? Had he really just called her a freak? She glanced around the room and saw several amused and pitying faces watching her. Anger burned in her gut. She’d liked him! Confided in him, and he’d thrown her confession back in her face! She snatched the napkin off her lap, slapped it on the table, and gathered her belongings. “I’ve changed my mind. Idon’tlike you, and Ineverwant to see you again.” She eyed the watching crowd again. “Thank God I didn’t waste more of my time on a selfish arsehole like you.”
With her head held high, she stormed from the restaurant. It wasn’t until she was seated in the back of a taxi that her shoulders slumped and tears pricked at the back of her eyes. Was this what she was going to expect from men she dated? Would they all see her as a freak and think something was wrong with her? Her mother had always told her people should have sex when they were ready and not a moment before. But apparently Owen didn’t subscribe to that philosophy.
She wished she could talk to her mother right now, but she knew her mother would drop everything and fly out to be with her. She couldn’t bear to have that.
