Page 4 of The Virgin Playboy

With the library in sight, I fought with the heavy front doors headed towards the closest bathroom. As if I couldn't be more ill-fated, there was another person waiting to use it, as he turned to me, a warm smile spreading across his full lips.

“I haven't been waiting long but judging by your jumpiness, you're free to go ahead of me.” His accent betraying my initial first thought of him.

With long, curly hair that he wore half up and half down and toasted sun-kissed brown skin, I pegged him for Latin American. I mean, the demographics of Mott Haven was largely Caribbean Latino, but his accent was more down under.

“I don't mean to be overly dramatic, it's just nowhere around here has a public bathroom, and I practically ran blocks to get here. I really appreciate you letting me go first. Whenever that person comes out anyways,” I said, folding my jittery arms across my chest. My in-line buddy licked his lips, and I had to look down for a second, because those piercing dark eyes behind geeky round frames were a bit too welcoming. He was distractingly tall, but that brown skin made the earthy green oversized sweater he was rocking a bit warmer. Friendly and approachable, but adding to the nerdiness of his look.

My guess was that he was in his early twenties, totally someone I could have bagged when I was in college if he wasn’t obsessed with type. I know the girlies were sweating him heavy. There is no way he didn’t walk away with anyone’s number with how big and precious his eyes were, he looked like a friggin’ Disney prince. Taking a glance at his watch, his once cheerful expression soured.

“It's perfectly fine. I volunteer here, so I have nowhere to be right now. Besides, I'm waiting for this bloody YA author to show. There's this event we're organizing downstairs that I'm thinking about canceling. I’d hate to disappoint the thirty odd some girls who were excited to meet an author whose book hasn't even released yet. Between you and me, it's always the YA authors who are all diva-like and entitled. I just wish I could have gotten the heads up or something. It'll be a bummer to let the girls down.” Wait, so he was fine and a librarian. Geez, what a cliché. I winced at what I had to admit next.

“Well, it's a good thing you don't have to disappoint them. This just in! Your friendly neighborhood, entitled YA author.” I ended in a bow, watching the color in his face drain. I omitted the diva bit, but in retrospect, I likely deserved it. Before he could open his mouth to apologize, the door to the bathroom swung open, the person inside ushering me in. Awkwardly stepping inside, I poked my head out for clarity on where to be next.

“Oh, and just so I don't waste any more time, if you could just point me in the direction I should be headed in, in two minutes flat, I'm there.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Graham

Ugh! Another time where my neurodivergency came back to haunt me. More often than not, I had no filter, and I was always putting my foot in my mouth. Damn, this ‘tism. I really, really, really should have googled her first. It would have saved me the minute of embarrassment. Now I was going to find myself fixated at a random hour of the day asking myself why would I say that?

Most authors I met for bookings, I rarely found myself attracted to. Mostly because looks were fleeting, and while attraction did matter, for me, personality far outweighed appearance.

But this woman? She was a total knockout, and I had made the absolute worst first impression. What started out as mild irritation quickly transformed into an admiration when I peeked into the conference room to see how sweet, encouraging, and interactive she was. The lucky group of tween and teenage girls she spent her time with during the hour were super excited about reading her upcoming release. I know it helped to see women who looked like them writing stories that mattered, including their presence in genres they tended to be excluded from.

That's one of the reasons why I wanted to compose music, because I never saw anyone from where I was from or how I looked composing full scores. Either way, the smiles and laughter I fought back as I watched her peak with interest at their fancasts and artwork, begging her to be in the room with folks responsible for casting if she ever got a movie deal.

Looking over my watch, the event nearly ended a half hour ago, and yet she’d stayed graciously taking selfies and signing swag provided by her publisher until I stepped in and wrapped up the signing to get the conference room cleared out and cleaned up. When we were finally alone again, I fought back the awkwardness, feeling the excessive need to apologize.

“Listen, I'd really like to apologize about earlier,” I started, her smoky lined eyes softening. “What I said to you was highly unprofessional and doesn't reflect the reputation of this establishment. It's perfectly fine to take it personal as I shouldn't have said it. And I really want to thank you for staying a little later for the girls. It's hard for us to get bigger debut offers to come to this area, and to lot of those young ladies, you authors are like their Beyoncé. I see a lot of them on a weekly basis, and you really made a lot of their days,” I smiled, surprised that she met mine with an even friendlier one and a wave of her wrist.

“Oh, don't worry about your faux pas earlier. I should have been better with my time. Even though I'm originally from here, I just moved back after nearly a decade, so I'm still adjusting to how things have changed since I left. Not that that's an excuse or anything. I should have left earlier,” she winced.

“Well,” I shrugged. “The city is lucky to have you back. But really, I can't thank you or apologize enough. Besides, you know how it is. You get charmed by a pretty face and an amazing smile, and suddenly your diarrhea at the mouth.” Her features twisted into a silly smile, tucking her shoulder-length hair behind her ears in a dramatic fashion.

It was hard to describe her style since I was the opposite of stylish. City maybe? Like that cooler older sister of your best mate that you fancied in secret. She wore a grey oversized tee shirt over black fitted pants with ghostface socks peeking above her clunky combat boots, and because I was burdened with capturing every last detail, smoky makeup that made her dark eyes look lighter than her dark brown. Not to mention the matching guitar picks she wore for earrings. As a musician, that’s what drew me in first.

“Pretty face, huh? Boy, how old is you? Out here terrorizing us senior citizens with your shameless flattery,” she joked, which I hardly thought was funny at all considering how beautiful she was. My eyes narrowed.

“Why, does beauty have an expiration date or something?” She only looked about five years older, if that. Even if she wasn't, she was gorgeous. She rolled her eyes realizing her mistake, as she playfully rattled her head back and forth.

“You know what, you're right. I shouldn't have said that. I know I'm adorable,” she said in a funny voice that made me laugh.

“That you are. But if you're interested in me making it up to you by having a drink with me later tonight, I'll be happy to inform you, I'm twenty-eight,” I beamed, realizing it was likely a weird moment to shoot my shot, but seeing as how I may never see her again, I took a chance. Her dark painted full lips pursed to the side, her manicured hands meeting her slim but curvy hips.

“Look, it's not like I'm not flattered or anything, and you're like, insanely handsome, but you might change your mind when you find out I'm forty-one,” she added, which only gave me the impression she was considering it.

“Okay? So, is that your way of saying you'd like to meet me there, or you'd prefer for me to pick you up at your place?” I flirted, her face again turning into a whimsical grimace.

“Okay, I gotta say, I wasn't prepared for your rebuttal,” she laughed, her fingertips touching her lips, revealing almond-shaped nails with cute little bats on them. “But I do like your confidence. They must build them different where you're from.” I shrugged.

“Maybe.” Her left brow cocked, curious and inquisitive.

“And where might that be? Australia?” My mouth widened in playful outrage. No one here ever guessed where I was from. Their first guess was usually London.

“You think I'm an Aussie?” I ridiculed, as she squinted, sensing she was wrong.

“Well, if I were being completely transparent, I thought from first glance that you might have been South American. Then you started talking more and yes, my first thought was Australia. Allow me take a second guess. The Cook Islands?” This time I was actually fascinated. Most Americans didn't know that much about the Pacific Islands. That was a better guess than most.