3

“Are you saying that you are not…? That you haven’t…?” I

cleared my throat, floundering a bit with how I was asking this nearstranger about her virginity. It was like the opening of a poorly written

porno.

Holy mother of God, I was going to be fantasizing about this for

quite some time.

“Oh, no,” she said in a rush.

And to my relief. I couldn’t handle the weight of knowing that and

later having to get out of the car to see her to the door of her

apartment building.

“I’m not that innocent,” she went on. “I’ve had boyfriends. Two

serious. Long-term, each of them. Very committed, very in love with

both of them. And, maybe, even, either one of them could have been

the guy. You know, The Guy? The Forever Guy?”

The fairy tale. Yes, I knew that story.

She was in a car now with me though. Not with me, but she

wasn’t with anyone else either, from what I’d gathered during the

night. So those fairy tales had obviously ended. The way that every

fairy tale eventually does and life returns back to reality.

“So what happened?” I asked, guessing she was about to reveal

the flaw in her religion.

“Our sex life happened. Or didn’t happen. My friends used to tell

me about all these filthy, hot, dirty things they were doing with their

boyfriends. Really sexy, adventurous things. You know the way girls

share everything. And my guys? Missionary. Every time. I swear to

God. Once the boredom in the bedroom became obvious, it seeped

elsewhere in our relationships. No matter how much I hinted or

pushed to explore new things, my guys were always as ignorant as I

am.”

My trousers were suddenly much too tight. Oh, the things I could

show her. The ways I could be with her. If every man had only ever

been on top of her, rutting around inside like some horny little

teenager—had she ever even had an orgasm? My body pulsed with

the want to show her the sweetness of expertise.

But that couldn’t happen. For all the reasons I’d gone through

before. Whatever those reasons were. They had left my mind at the

moment, but there had been many. Good reasons.

Yet, even as I knew where this little car ride couldn’t go, it

seemed we were suddenly closer to each other. Audrey had

unbuckled her seatbelt and smoothly slid across the bench toward

me, and I hadn’t even noticed.

I swallowed.

“I think your story of two men who could’ve been the one but

ended up not, proves your theory of there being a one at all as

flawed.” My voice was still surprisingly steady. Fortunately. It didn’t

belie the pounding of my heart, the tingling of my skin. The rock hard

state of my cock.

“No way. The One still exists. The theory isn’t flawed. I had

simply jumped to conclusions too soon. Maybe because I wanted it

too much. Maybe because I wasn’t ready yet. I still most definitely

believe in kismet.”

Her hand was on my thigh, like a hot iron burning through the

material of my trousers to the skin underneath. It was a warning sign.

A flash of silver threaded through a dead worm.

She lifted her delicate face up toward me, blinking her eyes

innocently. “I’m pretty sure I can convince you kismet exists too, if

you’ll just do one thing.”

Swim, fishy.

I didn’t swim. “What’s that?”

“Kiss me.”

TWO

AUDREY

“KISS YOU?” he asked, and the wariness in his tone almost made

me doubt myself.

Almost.

Actually, not even almost. More like, I wondered if I should doubt

myself.

But I didn’t. I didn’t doubt myself at all. Why should I, really?

I’d always been confident. I’d had the good fortune of being

raised first by a father who instilled power in me, and then an older

sister who made sure I felt my worth. Ironically, Sabrina had often

lacked faith in herself, probably because, as the oldest, she had felt

the burden of filling the woman-of-the-household role at such an

early age, our mother having died young and then our father only a

handful of years later.

And, to be honest, mothering wasn’t Sabrina’s strong suit. It

made sense that she struggled with her self-esteem, as she’d been

thrown into that role when she’d never asked for it. I loved her

grotesquely, exactly the way she was—strong, opinionated, and

smart as hell—but she tended to be too strong for much of the

traditional world. Too opinionated. Too smart. Weren’t women

supposed to be dainty and quiet and demure? Sabrina didn’t buy into

that, and I so very much appreciated her paving the way for me to

walk behind her with my head held high, no matter what form of

femininity I wore.So I felt pretty secure with myself for the most part. I knew who I

was—talented, but not quite talented enough to pursue a career

based on selling my artwork. Smart enough to understand the

chemistry and archeology that went into my nearly completed

masters of art conservation. Attractive—no one would ever confuse

me for a model, but I did turn heads. I certainly wasn’t desperate. I

got to choose who I paid attention to, and when I liked someone, I

told him. I had no reason to play hard to get.

But even though I was fun and romantic, I never felt like I wasn’t

grounded or that I needed someone else to anchor me. I especially

never needed a man for that.

Yet, I did like having a man in my life. When I had a boyfriend, the

world spun around him. I was a love-with-the-whole-heart kind of gal.

I didn’t enjoy being alone, and never had. There’s a comfort in

knowing someone will always catch you when you fall that Sabrina

had never been able to replace. I’d been single now going on five

months. That had been purposeful. After the last relationship that

had blossomed and thrived everywhere except the bedroom, I’d

decided something had to change.

Finishing school, though, had been the priority, and I hadn’t

thought much about how I was going to bring about that change.

Until tonight.

Since I was visiting Sabrina in New York for Thanksgiving break,

I’d intended to give her all my focus, not expecting that her head

would be wrapped up in a guy. Not that I was resentful. She

deserved some happiness.

Just…her preoccupation with Donovan left me free to, well,

notice. Notice Sabrina’s boss—the tall, sophisticated, much older Brit

with the chiseled jaw and brown wavy hair. Notice the way his eyes

melted like chocolate as he got more buzzed on wine. Notice how

his gaze lingered on me throughout dinner, despite the two other

people present. Notice the crackle and the spark of electricity that

traveled between us.

Notice how he noticed me.

And, wow, was he fantastic to look at. And listen to. And be

noticed by. It made me beam and pulse. A lot like when Mr. Gregori,

my favorite art teacher, acknowledged my work in class. That was

what Dylan felt like—a professor. A very sexy, very hot professor.

The kind of professor who could teach a girl a thing or two. The dirty

professor who obviously had naughty thoughts about his young

student but was decent enough not to act on it. He let those thoughts

simmer and stew instead.

It wasn’t like any other attraction I’d felt before. There was no

pretense. No expectation. Just this raw, primal interest drawing me

to lean in, to angle my body toward him. Drawing me to be bold.

Drawing me to have Ideas.

“Yes, kiss me,” I repeated, my hand on his thigh. I swear I could

feel the temperature of his skin rising through his pants.

Still, he made no move to grant me my request.

“Am I supposed to fall in love?” he asked, studying me with an

intensity that made my heart beat against my ribs like a caged

madman.

Gosh, he was noble. Wrestling with propriety even as his desire

pressed against the wall he’d so firmly built around himself.

Or perhaps he feared that wall wasn’t as sturdy as he

proclaimed.