Screwed (V-Card Diaries 2)

He’s thought of everything, and even called ahead to the fish and chips place to make sure the entrance was handicapped accessible.

We settle into a corner table in the rustic bar and share massive baskets of buttery, flaky fish and the best French fries I’ve ever had. And then Gram wheels off to play darts with an old man with a twinkle in his eyes just like hers, leaving Derrick and me alone to nurse our second Cloudwaters.

“I’d say our adventure was a roaring success,” he says, smiling at Gram as she proceeds to kick her new friend’s ass in their first round. “What do you think?”

“I think…” I bite my lip, fighting the feeling rising inside. Something real and scary is about to spill out. If I don’t get up and take my ass to the ladies’ room right now, there will be no stopping it.

I’m about to bolt for the loo when Derrick turns to me, his curious gaze locking with mine, and the truth spills out like lava bursting from a volcano. “I want to be with you. I want it to be real. At least for a little while.”

His brows lift, but he recovers quickly, his eyes darkening as he says, “How long is a little while?”

“Until we leave on Saturday?” I say, anxiety and excitement surging through my blood in equal measure. “And then we can decide from there? If we want to keep playing with fire?”

“I already know the answer to that.” His fingers curl around my thigh under the table, making my pulse spike. “I want to keep playing with fire.”

“You don’t even know if the fire’s any good yet,” I say, my voice husky.

“With you, the fire will always be good,” he says, holding my gaze as his fingers dig deeper into my thigh, ensuring dry panties are a thing of the past, once more. “There’s no doubt in my mind.” His lips curve in that cocky smirk that hasn’t made an appearance in a while, making me realize how much I’ve missed it. I adore sweet Derrick, but I love this side of him, too, the cocky, smug man who knows he can make any woman’s sexy-time dreams come true. “But if you need a trial period, that’s fine, Hepburn. I’m going to enjoy proving there’s no way you’ll get enough of me in just three days.”

My breath rushes out. There’s no doubt in my mind about that, either, but I can’t leave it at that.

Cameron’s right. I should be honest with Derrick. More importantly, I want to be honest with Derrick. He’s been fucking incredible with Gram today. And with me. If I’m ever going to let down my guard and trust that he won’t shame me for my ancient V-Card, now is the time.

“And there’s something else,” I add, curling my fingers into fists on the table until my fingernails dig into my palms.

“Yes?”

“I’m… I haven’t… I still…” Unclenching my hands, I grab my glass and take a deep pull of my beer, finishing off the last two inches of the golden liquid before I gulp in a breath and blurt out, “I’m still a virgin.”

He rears back in shock, hitting his head on the wooden bookshelves behind our table.

But when I wince and ask, “Are you okay?” he doesn’t so much as flinch. He just reaches up to touch the wounded place on his head with absent fingers and murmurs, “I’m fine,” as his face slowly drains of color.

“You don’t look fine,” I say, wishing I hadn’t finished my beer. I could really use another drink right now. Or just something to do with my hands. “You look like someone just told you your barbeque was made of people.”

His brows pinch slightly as he murmurs beneath his breath, “We didn’t have barbeque. And that’s a disturbing thing to say.”

“Well, you look disturbed,” I say, as he continues to stare at me like I’ve sprouted a chipmunk in the center of my face. Or maybe a rotten Brussels sprout or a hunk of moldy cheese.

Finally, I can’t take the awkward silence and push my chair back. “I’ll go check on Gram.”

“Wait.” Derrick’s hand shoots out, his fingers circling my wrist and holding on tight. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t expect that. At all. You’re so… You always seem…”

“I seem what?” I ask, chewing my bottom lip and fighting the urge to rip my hand from his, run out the back door, and keep running until I reach the ocean and am absorbed into its salty depths.

“Sexy as fuck,” he breathes, his grip tightening on my wrist, sending my brain back into the gutter from whence it came. Visions of Derrick pinning me to the mattress by my wrists writhe through my head as he adds, “Everything about you. The way you dress, the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you used to shoot daggers at me with your eyes from across a room… Everything about you exudes this sensual confidence. If you’d asked me before this afternoon, I would have said you eat men for breakfast, spit out their bones by lunch, and are ready for another victim by dinner.”