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"Wh-what are you doing?"
"I didn’t say you could move, did I?" His words are said in a conversational tone. In fact, from the expression on his face, you’d think we were having a conversation around the office water cooler. Not that this man would ever be seen near the water cooler, but you know what I mean. There’s a very attentive look about his eyes. He’s looking at me with keen interest. Like I’m a lab specimen, or like he’s a predator and I’m a little animal he’s toying with for his pleasure, before he moves in for the kill.
Don’t be a stupid little prey who’s going to be hunted down; stand up for yourself.And I’m not a simpering, ditsy blonde. I’m not—okay, so I do have my blonde moments—but honestly, I have learned to fight back when I’m faced with a challenge. I’ve had to with the cards I’ve been dealt in this life.So why is it, in this man’s presence, I seem to reduce to a stereotypical, hot mess?I tip up my chin. "I don’t have to do what you say."
"Oh?" He tilts his head.
My scalp itches. My hindbrain screams it’s not good to provoke someone like him. Someone who’s lethal and, clearly, dangerous. The suit he’s wearing and the veneer of civilization he’s cloaked himself in is a front to make people comfortable, but I’m not buying it.
"I told you it was a mistake I made coming here. Now, if you’ll excuse me—"
"I will not."
I gape. "Sorry? What did you say—?"
"No mistake can go unpunished, Little Dove. It’s time you learn that."
My nipples tighten. My heart seems to sink down to the space between my legs. I swear, every part of my focus is concentrated there right now.
"Wh-what do you want from me?"
"What can you give me?"
What can I give him?Let’s see. I don’t have money to pay for my rent, and all my savings have been used up in taking care of my mother, so that leaves me with— I blink. He must see the expression on my face, for his attention sharpens.
Nope, not going there. This is dangerous territory. And stupid. Really don’t say it. Don’t.
"Say it," he snaps.
I say it. "My virginity."
9
Penny
"You told him whaaat?" Mira spits out her vodka across the bar. The man on the barstool next to her moves out of the way, then scowls at her. Mira raises her hand. "Sorry, sorry. My friend announced to the man she has a crush on that she's a vir—"
I clap my hand over her mouth. And I thoughtIwas filterless. "Why don’t you announce it on social media, huh?"
She looks at me and says something, but her words are muffled by my palm.
"I’ll release you if you promise to stay quiet."
She nods. I lower my hand. She grabs her drink and takes another sip. "Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to burst out like that. You took me by surprise, is all."
"You mean the fact that I’m a virgin, or that I blurted that out to him?"
"Both?" She leans an elbow on the counter.
We’re at the bar at The Club the day after my announcement to the grumphole that I've yet to lose my V-card. And the only reason I’m here is because I thought I could coerce the bartender—the very same one who snuck me inside, and thanks to whom that entire disastrous meeting with Knight had happened— to give me a discount on my drink again. But when I arrived, that particular bartender was not to be found. He’d been replaced, which means I didn’t get my discount. As for the recruiter, I’m sure she no longer works here, either. Knight was livid enough to get them fired. It’s my fault they're out of jobs. I hunch my shoulders. Can’t do anything right, can I?
I reach for my glass of whiskey—full-price, now that I have no way of getting a discount.
"You should have seen how quickly he got away from me once I said that. I guess it was one way to ensure he never wants to see me again." I take a sip, and the liquor leaves a warmth in its wake. It’s thanks to my Dad that I developed a taste for whiskey. My earliest memories are him and my ma sitting on the patio in the evenings after dinner, each of them nursing a drink of their choice. My Dad’s was always a whiskey, and my mother’s a white wine. They’d sit on the swing, and I’d sit at a table on the other end of the patio. I’d work on my homework, and they’d catch each other up on the day’s happenings. Their voices would be a hum in the background, along with the buzz of crickets and other insects in the fields surrounding our home in Gainesville, Florida.
As the night drew in and it got chillier, one or the other of them would urge me to go inside and finish the rest of my assignments. I’d ignore them until my father would come over and lead me inside the house. I could never say no to him. I was my father’s daughter in every way. As I grew older, my relationships with my parents grew deeper. We were a unit, the three of us, and outside of school, I hung out with them a lot. Most teenagers rebel against their parents—me, I was more than happy to do as they wanted. I liked spending time with them and found their discussions about movies and music so very interesting.
My father taught violin at the local community college, and my mother taught piano. They were talented in their own right, and it’s what made me want to try my hand at the arts, too… Only, I don’t have any such inherent aptitude to speak of. I can’t sing—not even in the shower—play no musical instrument and have two left feet.
