First & Last (A Billionaire's Virgin Romance)

By: Penny Wylder


“That cannot be worth it,” I say, as I refill my wine glass for the third–or was this the fourth–time? I’ve lost count by this point, but I’m enjoying girls’ night too much to worry about it.

“Are you kidding?” my best friend Violet counters, rolling her eyes so hard it’s a wonder they don’t pop out of her skull. She snatches the wine bottle from me and tops up her own glass, even though it’s still half full. “The stories alone are so worth it.”

“Dating all these crazy weirdos, though?”

“Well, I didn’t know he was a crazy weirdo before I went home with him, did I?” She sighs. “He looked so promising on paper.”

“Okay, sorry, back to your story.” I wave a hand at her, trying to remember where we left off. “He was super hot, and things were going great, you wound up back at his, but then…?”

“Right, we’re both naked, on his bed, and he…” She grimaces. “He grabs my shoes–you know, the Jimmy Cho’s, the really nice ones I splurged on a few months ago?”

I grimace too, in anticipation. “Oh god…”

“And he puts them on himself, then rolls back on the bed, trying to pull me on top of him, and asking me to call him ‘Mommy’ while we screw.”

I can’t help it. I burst into laughter. So does Violet, shaking her head and holding back tears as she describes her flight from the bedroom and how she grabbed every item of clothing she could before fleeing for the street to hail a cab.

“But what about the shoes?” I protest, still laughing.

“Alas.” She sobers a little, resting a hand over her heart. “May my poor Jimmy Cho’s rest in peace.” She shakes her head. “I literally hopped in a cab barefoot, I was that desperate.”

I snort and roll onto my back on the floor where we’ve been stationed. In the background, old Sex and the City reruns are playing, but we’re enjoying swapping our bad dating stories too much to pay attention.

Or rather, I’m enjoying listening to Violet’s, since it’s not like I can contribute many of my own.

“What about you, Joyce?” Violet asks, refilling her wine glass again. “Got any good stories for me at last?”

“Not likely,” I respond, shooting her a you know why sideways glare.

She sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes. “When are you going to just give up the V-card, huh?”

A never-ending question, one she’s been asking me pretty much since the day she lost hers back in the freshman year of college. Granted, I know it’s pretty weird that I made it all the way through undergrad without finding a guy I wanted to bang, but I was pretty focused on my classes, and besides, none of the guys I liked returned the feeling. Not that I ever crushed too hard. I guess I’m just one of those people who doesn’t fall hard, or often.

It’s fine by me. I don’t mind being a virgin at 22–it’s not that weird. Not as weird as people try to make it sound. They make some pretty great vibrators nowadays, not to mention a huge selection of websites where I can ogle hot naked men whenever it suits me.

I’ve gone on some dates, made out with more than a few bad kissers, but never anything more. I figure the right guy will come along eventually. The one I won’t be able to resist, who will tempt me into his bed with a single come-hither look. Until then, well, I’m doing just fine, whatever Violet may believe.

But right now, she’s studying me with a sparkle in her eye. A sparkle that makes me nervous as hell because I’ve seen that look before. That is my best friend’s plotting face. And whatever she’s up to, it’s never something that ends well for me.

“Look,” I say, hoping to interrupt the wheels already churning in her brain. “If you’re thinking about setting me up with Mr. Mommy Issues, I’ve just got to shut that idea down right now.”

She laughs and punches my shoulder lightly. “I wouldn’t wish him on my worst enemy, let alone my bestie. No, I was just thinking about this website someone sent me as a joke the other day. It reminded me of you.”

“Okay, I also do not need you to send me anymore links about crazy cat ladies, Vi,” I interrupt.

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