I sigh and pat my cheeks dry before I leave the bathroom.
As I round the corner I nearly run right into Flip.
“Whoa, hey.” His wide, warm palms settle on my shoulders, steadying me.
My hand lands on his chest. “Hi. Sorry.”
I inhale the mouthwatering scent of his cologne as I lift my gaze, hand still pressed over his heart. I should step back, stop touching him, but he’s still touching me, too.
He tips his head, maple eyes searching mine as he drops his hands, fingers gently skimming my arms on the way down. A shiver runs through me. For a moment I believe he’s not just my friend. For a moment a spark of something hot flares.
“You okay, Talls?”
Tension builds and swirls, twisting my stomach into a knot. Flip is an amazing person. He knows me. I know him. He cares about me the same way I do him. I’ve yearned for him for years. Previously innocent fantasies have spun into darker, baser desires over time and merged with my longing for somethingreal. Flip has always been protective of me. He would take care of me. He would make me feel revered. With him, I’d be safe.
Flip Madden would be the perfect man to give my V-card to.
Before I can think it all the way through, I blurt, “I need your help with something.”
His eyes soften, and a warm smile tips the corner of his mouth. “Of course. Anything you need, just name it.” He’s so earnest, his smile so genuine, like he’s pleased I would come to him.
I pull in a deep breath. “I need you to take my virginity.”
CHAPTER 2
FLIP
Shock leaves me speechless for a moment. I have done everything in my power toneverthink of Tallulah Vander Zee outside the neat, perfect little box labeledFriendandForever and for All Eternity Off-Limits.Despite her being an independent, intelligent, talented, and beautiful woman, I have carefully avoided all landmines that might lead me to think of her in any way that would make her father, my coach, want to bludgeon me with my hockey stick.
I have stopped myself from chasing off other men. I have stood by while Tally has dated idiots, and silently cheered when she realized she could do better. Which was every single time. None of those guys have been good enough for her.
I have not been possessive. Protective, yes, but I have kept my fucking mouth shut even when I haven’t wanted to.Especiallywhen I haven’t wanted to.
So what the hell am I supposed to do when every wrong thing I’ve tried valiantly, mostly successfully, not to want over the past six months falls into my lap, gift wrapped with a pretty bow?
Definitely not unwrap it and play with it every fucking dayfor the rest of my short life—because surely, I’d be dead, and her father would be in prison. The image of her gift wrapped just for me pops into my depraved mind unbidden. I beat back that fantasy with a fucking weed whacker. But it’s like a dandelion, growing and duplicating faster than I can mow them down.
I don’t know what my expression must be, but Tally squares her shoulders and lifts her delicate chin. Her eyes are alight with so many emotions: determination, conviction, and most, dangerously desire, that echoes through me. The emotion that cuts me off at the knees, though, is hope.
“I’m so sick of university boys and their single-minded incompetence,” she explains.
I can’t disagree there. The guys I went to university with were pretty damn clueless, and I doubt much has changed. We were all hormones with our brains stuck in our dicks. Still, I keep my mouth shut, trying to figure out how to let her down gently. Because what she’s offering, what she’s asking…that’s a place I shouldneverwant to go. Based on the scenarios suddenly clogging my brain, I do want to go there, badly. This is what I get for being celibate for almost two fucking years.
“I don’t want to have a shitty first time with some guy who only wants to fuck me because I’m the Terror coach’s daughter,” she continues, making yet another frustratingly valid point.
I’m aware that this has been a problem for her, in part because of her father and her university friend group. Not to mention the fact that she hangs out with all of us. I’ve spent years watching out for her, she’s become a friend, someone I enjoy being around. “Talls, I?—”
She cuts me off. “I want my first time to be good, something to remember because I enjoyed it.”
I open my mouth to say something wise, something other than,“Let’s have this conversation at my place, in my bed.”
But Tally pushes on, her face growing redder with everyword that tumbles from her soft, plush lips that I will not imagine kissing. Ever. “We’re friends, right?”
“Yeah, we’re friends, b?—”
“Exactly,” she cuts me off again. “We’ve been friends for a long time. You take care of people. It’s what you do. You would take care of me. I want to have sex with someone who actually cares about me. You’ll know exactly how to make me feel good.” Her voice drops to a sultry whisper. “I mean, you might even make me come.”
The gut punch is swift and damning in so many ways. And the unexpectedly vicious ache in my chest makes it hard to swallow. My past steamrolls me with ruthless, yet entirely deserved force. She doesn’t wantme. She wants my experience.Will I never get out from under the reputation I’ve built for myself?
