Valentine's Day Virgin

But Eric...just thinking about him makes me blush. He's so attractive that I was getting hot when he looked at me. This is the kind of man that virgins like me dream of having a first time with. But that's not going to happen. I'm only doing this as a favor to Bianca. There's no way it's more than that. I can't get my hopes up, otherwise going with him to this party would destroy me. And I'm sure he won't want someone on his arm who is so depressed that should thought she could get a billionaire into bed and couldn't. That's not going to be fun for anyone.

Iris combs my hair back from my face. "We're going to curl your hair and it's going to be big and sexy."

"I'm basically your Barbie tonight, aren't I?"

She grins. "Yep. You'll thank me." I roll my eyes, and she says, "I saw that. Okay, clothes first."

It takes a few minutes, but she hunts through her closet and finds a few outfits that she wants me to try on. Two of them I dismiss out of hand. Short skirts that would make it pretty clear if I was wearing underwear or not, and a neckline that would almost fall to my belly button. "Iris, I'm not going to seduce him. It's just drinks so we're not doing all the 'oh, what's your favorite color,' stuff at h

is family's party."

"No, you're not going to seduce him," she says, smiling. "You don't have enough practice for that. I'm going to make it so that he'll seduce you."

"Iris—"

She holds up a hand. "I'm very good at what I do."

"But..." I trail off. She's one of the few people who know that I'm still a virgin. And that this isn't necessarily the way I imagined. "Iris I'm not sure about this."

Sighing, she sits on the bed. "Yeah, I know. I'm not saying I want him to just take you home, but this is a chance you're probably not going to get again. If there's a chance that you could date him, and it could lead to something, don’t you want that?"

I barely know him, but my stomach plummets with nerves and anticipation. "Yeah," I say. "Of course."

"Then trust me," she says. "It's going to be good. I'm going to make you look so hot he won't know what to do with himself. And then it's your job to charm his pants off. Not literally," she says quickly. "He wouldn't have asked you to drinks if he only just wanted you as arm candy, right? So you're already halfway there."

"I don't want to get my hopes up," I say. "I was literally asked to do this because I almost killed his sister and she needed a favor. So it's not exactly like he found me and decided to ask me on his own."

"No," Iris says, going back to her closet, "But he could have introduced himself to you and had you show up at the party and that would be that. But he didn't. So let's lean into it and make sure you're not going to let him slip by just because you're nervous or because you think that you're not worth it. You are."

I look down. When she puts it that way, it seems really simple, and I can't remember why I was protesting in the first place. "Yeah. Okay."

"I think I have just the thing," she says, pulling a dress out of her closet. The dress she's holding in her hand has a long, pleated skirt that flows. It's ankle length and swishy, and the purple material looks iridescent in the light. The top half is a little more revealing, with lace that falls from a halter top to cover the chest and sweep around the back. It's a little sheer and just as iridescent as the skirt. But it's also classy and sexy. And not nearly as over the top as the other outfits that she already tried to put together.

"I like that," I say. "I don't think I've ever seen it before."

Iris shakes her head. "I got it on a whim at some sale, and I've never worn it. Dresses that kind of change colors like this don't work well for a lot of stuff. I think it'd be perfect for this."

In addition to a vanity, Iris has a screen in her room for changing. Her room decorated the way you might imagine a movie star of the 50s might have it, with perfectly feminine decor and minimal clutter, and beautiful things like the changing screen. Stepping behind it, I change into the dress, and as it falls around me, I can already tell that it feels good. There's no way that I can wear a bra, but it's not quite as revealing as I thought it might be, and the little skin that you can see through the lace does make me feel sexy.

I step out in the dress and Iris gasps. "Oh my God that's perfect!"

Looking in the mirror, I swish the skirt around and watch the purple swirl through green and back, shimmering. It seems like something that I might actually wear to the party and not to drinks. "Are you sure it isn't too formal?"

"Girl, who cares? Being the best dressed person in a room is never a bad thing unless you're in a tux while everyone else is in t-shirts, and that's not going to happen. Try these on too." She hands me a pair of black heels. They go perfectly. "Honestly, when tonight is over, don't even give that back. It looks too good on you for you not to keep it."

"You don't have to do that, Iris," I say, laughing.

"Of course I do. Now take that off so we don't get make-up all over it." I slip back into my own clothes and she plants me at the vanity again, pulling out a frankly alarming number of palettes and hair instruments.

"Make sure I still look like me," I say.

"You're going to look like you plus."

She flips the chair around so I can't see the mirror. "Really?"

"Really. You think I'm going to let you peek and ruin my creation? No, no. Not gonna happen."

I laugh, and close my eyes as she starts to work on my face. Slowly and meticulously. We have plenty of time. Plus, this is what she does. Iris is a stylist. Not generally for me, but for people who can pay her the money she deserves to save them from their own taste. I guess I should admit that letting her do her thing is only going to help me. I've seen the before and after pictures that she's shown me.

She moves from my face to my eyes and finally my lips. She paints them with something smooth and sticky and instructs me not to rub my lips together, no matter how hard I have the urge to do so. And when she's done, and I can feel that I look different, she still doesn't show me. Instead she moves on straight to my hair. "It's good we can have some time so your hair can settle. I think curls are always best when they're a little relaxed. It looks less like you just did your hair and walked out of the house. Plus, we're gonna have to get you something to eat."

"That's a good idea," I say. I didn't even realize that I haven't eaten since the morning. Everything has felt like such a whirlwind with the adrenaline of the accident and then going to meet Eric. Food was the last thing on my mind. But now that she said something I'm suddenly starving. "Hand me my phone," I say. "I'll order us something while you finish."

Pasta. I want pasta. And Iris wants French fries. I put in the order while the curling iron practically whizzes through my hair. She's so used to this that she could probably curl all of my hair in the time it would take me to do a quarter. Finally, after what seems like forever, she says, "Okay."

She spins me, and my jaw drops. Iris is very, very good at her job. I look amazing, and I don't say that very often. The way she's painted my eyes they're both smoky and pale at once, making the blue color in my eyes seem deeper than normal. Combine that with a rich lipstick that's not too dark, but deep enough to make a statement, and I'm all in. My eyes are big and my hair falls in amazing curls and I think that this is probably the best I've ever looked in my life. "Wow, Iris."

"I know," she says, grinning. "I'm awesome, right?"

The doorbell rings, and she hurries out of the room. I can't stop staring at myself, because it doesn't seem real. It feels like that moment in a movie when the girl we all already knew was beautiful gets her make-over and everyone else realizes it. But that can't be me. Can it?

I hear the rustle of paper as Iris comes back into the living room. "Come on, gorgeous. Let's eat so I have enough time to re-apply your lipstick before you leave."

"Okay," I say, shaking my head and finally breaking eye contact with the mirror. This is crazy. I break into my pasta and the hunger takes over. Oh my God it's so good. And now I can have a couple of drinks without them going straight to my head. This is perfect. "Thanks, Iris."

"No problem. I'm going to have you begging me to do your make-up again soon."

"You're just going to have to teach me your secrets."

She smiles. "What are friends for? In return, you better tell me all the details tomorrow."

"I don't think that there will be any details worth telling," I say, laughing, "but sure."

We finish eating and Iris touches me up and makes sure I'm perfect in the dress before sending me out the door with a final plea for details. I promise them. But frankly, I'm just hoping that I make it through the night. Nerves have taken up residence in my stomach and my chest is tight as I try to breathe. I can do this. I want to do this.

The club where Eric wants to meet is downtown in the most popular area, and there's already a line outside. I don't wait in it. His assistant clarified that I would already be on the list and could walk right in. But it makes me anxious as I walk up to a guy with a clipboard and an earpiece. What if there was a mistake and my name isn't on the list and suddenly I'm shot down in front of this crowd of people?

I shouldn't have worried. Almost the second I say my n

ame the man nods and stands aside, holding aside one of the barriers for me to pass through. I check my coat and head inside. It's loud with vibrant music and lights, the dance floor already thick with people. As I walk down the stairs and into the main space, I realize one thing that neither Eric nor his assistant clarified: Where to meet him inside the club. I don't know where he is, or if he's even here yet.

One thing is for sure, all of Iris's work is having an effect. I don't think I've ever been stared at like this before. People look as I walk by, and I think this is what it must be like for Eric or Iris, people who move in glamorous circles with beautiful people. Having eyes on you must feel normal. It doesn't feel normal now.

Well, I decide, Eric is tall. If he's here, I'll probably be able to find him. I should just make a circuit around the room and see if I can spot him. He said something about reserving a table, so it's possible he's in one of the alcoves I can see on the other side of the room. But the club is crowded and this is slow going. I'm bumping up against people and more than one person has bumped into me. A couple of time it felt like it was intentional.

I don't see him anywhere. There's a nervous buzz in my chest. What if he forgot? What if he got held up longer than he expected and he just didn't come? A hand falls on my shoulder and spins me around, and a man is there, smiling at me in a way I'm not comfortable with. "Hey," he says, and I can smell the drinks he's had. "Wanna dance?"

"No," I say, pushing away and moving further on my path around the room. He follows me. "Don't be like that," he says, "all I want is a dance."

"And I said no," I yell over my shoulder in order to be heard. "I'm meeting someone. I don't want to dance."