The Kingmaker

“But first I need to tell you something.” She looks away and then back, defiance and uncertainty mingling in her eyes. “I hope it won’t change your mind, but some guys are weird about this kind of thing.”

“I’m not some guys, and I can’t imagine there’s anything you could say that will change my mind about spending tonight with you.”

We share a moment, a look before she drops her eyes again.

“It’s cold out here,” I tell her. “Should we go back to my place and discuss this there? I’m not saying this to get you in bed faster. It’s just cold.”

“For the record, I don’t have a problem with getting to your bed faster.”

There’s no stopping the grin that spreads over my face.

“But,” she interjects with one of my least

favorite words, “I want you to know something before I come with you.”

She looks up through a tangled web of long lashes, and it’s a stomach punch, how beautiful this girl is. It makes me really glad she’s not seventeen anymore.

“I’ve never done this before.”

What’s she saying? Never slept with someone after a day? On the first date? Will this be her first time four years after a protest?

“Done what, Nix?” I cup one side of her face. “I know it’s fast, but I don’t think of this as some one-night stand. I want . . .” I press my forehead to hers and sift my fingers into her hair. God, I’m going to sound like some besotted beggar, but I don’t give a fuck. “I want as much time as I can have with you. As long as we’re here. Until I leave for Antarctica or you go home. I just—”

“No, you don’t under . . .” She stops and smiles, and it’s a little self-conscious. “You said at dinner that you could clearly see my values, but I think you overlooked one.”

“Okay. Help me out here. What am I missing?”

“I’m a virgin, Doc.”

14

Lennix

The pin-drop silence following my words stretches so long I start fidgeting. Maxim just stares at me, mouth slightly open.

“I said virgin, not alien.” I run a hand through my hair. “If that’s a problem—”

“It’s not.”

When he takes my wrist between his strong fingers, it feels frail and small. Or maybe that’s how I feel, sharing something so personal and . . . mine with him. It reminds me how very little we know about each other.

“My favorite color is blue–green,” I blurt. “Not one or the other, because they’re just better blended together.”

He blinks a few times, frowns, then chuckles, a low, sensual sound that goes straight for my panties. If we actually make it to his place tonight, he’ll have the horniest virgin ever on his hands.

“Okaaaay. I’ll remember that the next time I’m, oh, I don’t know, buying you a pair of shoes, but tonight I feel like maybe there are other things we should discuss.” He starts walking, semi-dragging me along. “Let’s walk and talk.”

It’s not that late, and the streets still brim with conversations and laughter and people. Amsterdam is distinct and charming and wild and beguiling. It’s this amalgamation of medieval and modern that feels distinctly European to my American eyes.

“We’re going to your place?” I ask after a few moments of walking in silence.

“Yeah, unless you want your first time to be in a hostel with your two roommates listening and watching? I mean, if you’re into that kind of thing, I’m down. I just assumed you’d want some privacy.”

“Privacy would be better probably, yeah. Do you, um, want to know why I’m still a virgin?”

“If you want to tell me. It’s not like a disease or a contagious condition or something you have to confess to a partner for their personal health or safety. ‘Beware of virgin.’”

“Well a lot of people seem to treat it that way. I mean, guys do sometimes get weird about the whole deflowering thing.”