The Secret Virgin Read online

  The Secret Virgin

  Kate Gilead

  Contents

  The Secret Virgin

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Thanks for reading!

  The Secret Virgin

  Kate Gilead

  For

  Adriana

  and

  Felicity

  Copyright © 2017 by Kate Gilead

  Cover by Vivian Monir Design

  All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  Brenda

  Fresh out of the shower and wrapped in a big bath towel, I give Princess Pumpkinface Poopypants the Third a pat as I walk past where she’s curled up on my bed.

  She’s an orange Pomeranian pup I got a few months ago, so small and sweet! She rolls over onto her back and gazes up at me adoringly, her wee paws waving in the air.

  Oh my God, I love her so much! All I have to do is look at her and she turns into a shivering fur ball of happiness. I tickle her warm, round tummy, then I pick her up, snuggle her fur and kiss her. She kisses me back happily and then tucks her head under my chin. Awww!

  I put her back down and smooth her fur from head to tail.

  “Stay, Princess,” I say, and she settles right down like a good girl. She’s so smart for a puppy who’s only six months old!

  I drop my towel and take a few steps over to my full-length mirror. Eyeballing my naked reflection critically, I’m always on the look-out for a blemish or unexpected roll of pudge. Nothing’s different from the last time I checked –which was like, just before I got into the shower–so I lay down on the bed and stare up at the ceiling.

  I’m procrastinating because I don’t want do what I’m supposed to be doing.

  I’m supposed to be meeting Colton and his dog at the dog park and then we’re supposed to be going to his parent’s place, which he has to himself for the night. We’ve been dating for a few months, since just before my grad party. And he’s been hinting that tonight’s the night that he expects us to go all the way.

  The thing is…I don’t want to. I’m having a hard time sorting out my feelings about it, which is odd for me because usually I know exactly how I feel about everything.

  But I can’t kid myself any more. Being with Colton is not working out.

  I spread my damp hair out behind my head and raise my knees to let my body air-dry. The slightly cooler air in my room makes my nipples pucker and tingle, bringing an echoing stirring down in my ‘lady parts’, as mom calls them. “Muh parts, muh parts, muh lovely lady parts,” I sing to myself, wiggling my butt and grinning at my own foolishness.

  But when I think about Colton, those stirrings and the grin both fade away.

  Doesn’t that seem kind of weird? Why should my boyfriend, of all people, nuke my smile and my horny thoughts?

  Houston, I think we have a problem.

  It’s not like it’s unusual for me to be having steamy thoughts. It seems like I’m always thinking about sex; dirty thoughts always lurking in the back of my mind somewhere.

  Miss Perpetually Wet Panties, that’s me.

  I’m just not wet for Colton. And therein lies my dilemma.

  Don’t get me wrong. With his thick, dark hair, his dark eyes and movie-star-handsome features, Colton is hot. And, even though he doesn’t sound like it in the way he talks, or act like it in the way he carries himself, he is educated. I know because we met in college.

  But.

  But…even though we’ve been dating for a few months, we haven’t spent all that much time together. When we first got together, Colton was supposed to start work at my brother Nick’s construction company, but then he took another job instead. That’d be fine, except that it’s in Springville, Kentucky…a four-hour drive from here.

  So Colton’s only been in town for like, six weekends in that whole time. Then he went to the Bahamas with his parents over Christmas and New Years. He texted me some photos, as if that’s enough.

  And frankly…? What I have seen of him is not impressive. For example, he treats people badly sometimes. Like, the servers at this club he likes to go to. He’s snide with them and I think he stiffs them for tips, which is just shitty.

  Even the way he got his dog is all wrong. He made it seem like he was nobly rescuing the dog from a shelter, picking out an enormous Rottweiler-German Shepherd mix called Diesel. But his family never had dogs, and he never even mentioned dogs until I got my puppy. It was almost like he needed to one-up me or something. Weird!

  Worse, he doesn’t take care of Diesel himself, leaving the dog with his parents’ housekeeper to look after. He hardly ever walks the dog; doesn’t seem to know how to play with him, and definitely isn’t bonded with him.

  It makes me uneasy, because all this is showing me what kind of person Colton really is.

  Sighing, I get up, go back to the mirror and comb out my damp hair. Staring at my reflection, I wonder if the only reason I’m still with him is because I don’t want to be in the dreaded state of Not Having a Boyfriend.

  Ugh!

  I stand still, looking at the mirror but not really seeing it any more. I’m trying to look inside myself, trying to figure out what to do about Colton.

  I dislike being unkind to people. I hate to be the bearer of bad news and I always try to see the best in people.

  Yet, part of me wishes I could just text-dump him and be done with it. Then I feel bad for even thinking it, because that’s never okay. So I decide to go meet him at the dog park like we planned. And there, I’m gonna have to break up with him face-to-face; let him down easy somehow.

  It’s kind of depressing, and not just because it’s not working out with one guy who I hardly got to know.

  It’s because none of my dates have ever really, truly rung my bells.

  No one has ever made me feel that hot, animal desire that you always hears about.

  I want to feel that sizzling, passionate lust. I want the kind of thing that my brother Nick and my best friend Amanda have, even though they have a near twenty-year age gap. She nursed a crush on him for way longer than anyone suspected; and he had to wait for her to grow up.

  The irony is, I was always telling Amanda that she’s too picky. Hah! If she knew the truth, she’d kill me.

  Okay...well, she’d pity me, which, if you ask me, is worse.

  Not even Amanda knows the true state of my sex life.

  Which is, that…I don’t have one.

  I, Br
enda Bennett… Miss Blonde-Hair-don’t-Care, Soul of Sass and Ovaries of Brass…am a secret virgin.

  I know, I know. Who’s still a virgin at twenty-one, especially in this day and age? It’s embarrassing but the fact is, I haven’t even seen a real penis. Well, I mean, not up-close and personal, anyhow.

  Sad but true….porn peenies are the only ones I’ve seen.

  It’s not like I’m ugly or too socially backwards to get a date. And sometimes, I’m so horny, all I can think about is how bad I need to get laid.

  So, why am I still a virgin?

  Well…put it this way. Once, I overheard mom telling a joke:

  How is virginity like a balloon?

  One prick and it’s gone.

  Yeah. Like they say…it’s funny ‘cuz it’s true. You only get one ‘First Time’ and I want it to be special.

  I don’t expect to be head-over-heels in love, but, at the very least, I want it to be someone who really turns me on.

  Well, no point in moping around the house any longer; dragging my heels isn’t going to make what I have to do any easier. So I finish getting dressed and put on a tiny bit of make-up. I use my new lip color, a shade called Courage in Red.

  Who knows, maybe that’ll help.

  Then I put Princess into her shoulder carrier, the one with the orange stripes that match her fur, and get my ass in gear.

  In the car, I put the radio on and listen to oldies from the eighties and nineties. Prince and Madonna and such. I love that stuff but I can’t relax enough to enjoy it like I usually would.

  Arriving at the dog park, I see that except for Colton’s flashy red pick up and a black Jeep, the parking lot is empty. Good. Too many dogs around Princess makes me nervous.

  Standing on the grass to the side of the lot is Colton, holding Diesel by the collar and talking to some guy.

  As soon as I get out of the car, I hear Colton’s voice. It sounds loud, whiny, defensive.

  “I don’t especially leash my dog at a dog park, why would I?”

  “Because your dog caused a problem as soon as you let it out of your vehicle,” comes the reply. Deep, voice, calm and matter-of-fact. “So yes, you should especially leash your dog at the dog park, especially when he’s so full of piss and vinegar,” the man continues, sounding amused.

  As I grab Princess’ carrier and walk towards them, I’m not surprised Colton’s gotten himself into some kind of beef already.

  I get a good look at the guy talking to Colton and oh…my.

  He’s a tall, hunk of a guy, looks like maybe twenty-five or thirty-ish. His hair is shaved around the back and sides and thick and longer on the top. Blue eyes set off a blunt, well-made nose and a lantern jaw.

  He’s wearing a short wool coat, unzipped, over a waffle-pattern shirt, his broad, built chest tapering down to a trim-looking waist. Sitting calmly next to his blue-jean clad legs is an enormous male Rottweiler.

  It’s a massive dog, with a huge head and thick, stocky body. The man is holding the handle-loop of the leash loosely, and the dog is relaxed, looking around, alert but unconcerned.

  The dog sees me coming at the same time as the man. Both of them regard me steadily, with the dog’s nose twitching as he picks up mine and Princess’ scent.

  The man’s eyes linger on me for a quite a few beats longer than is strictly polite.

  Colton, on the other hand, is anything but relaxed. Diesel, eyes rolling, is yanking him hard towards the other dog, with frothy drool already gathered around his mouth. Diesel is probably eighty or ninety pounds and it’s obvious that it’s taking everything Colton has to hold him back.

  “Yeah well, you really should mind your fucking business,” is Colton’s retort. His breath makes a cloud of vapor in the frosty January air.

  “Um…hi,” I say, wishing I was anywhere but here.

  Colton barely glances at me. “Just gimme a sec, babe. I’m having a problem with this wanna-be dog expert here.” He sounds peevish, like a spoiled teenager.

  When the man hears Colton call me ‘babe’, his gaze flicks back to me and lingers for another moment before returning to Colton. I can see the amusement in his eyes and it makes my face flush.

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it a problem,” the man says. “It’s no big deal. Just put your dog on a leash and he won’t charge the first dog he sees.”

  “Colton…?” I say, “Where’s his leash?”

  “I forgot it at home, so what? Diesel was just playing. It’s his dog that freaked out.”

  “If Diesel charged the dog, that wasn’t a very polite greeting then, was it?” I say, keeping my tone mild. I’ve been reading up on dog behavior but it’s not exactly rocket science. You don’t need to be an expert to know the difference between rude and polite, in dogs or in people.

  “Oh, so you just got here and you know what happened?” Colton says. He looks down at Diesel who’s still straining. “Cut it out!” he yells, giving Diesel’s collar a hard yank. Diesel staggers against Colton’s legs before gaining his feet again, his breath making a rusty sound as the collar cuts it off.

  “Hey! Watch it, you’ll hurt him!” My voice rises into a squeak, making me sound like a kid.

  “Tiny didn’t freak out, he just gave your dog a lesson in etiquette,” Hunky Dude says, not sounding amused anymore. He stands straighter, his dog looking up at him expectantly.

  Tiny! The gargantuan dog is named Tiny. Hah! I take another look at the owner. Hoo, boy, he’s sweet-looking. So sweet, butterflies start doing laps in my stomach.

  “He snapped at my dog,” Colton insists. “If he bit my dog, you’ll be paying the vet bill.”

  “If he snapped at your dog, he wouldn’t have missed,” the man says.

  “Oh come on, Colton. Vet bill? Was it really that bad?”

  In the back of my mind, a little voice is saying: See? You don’t really like Colton and this kind of thing is why.

  “Well, I dunno…maybe,” he says in that sullen teenager tone. “I haven’t had a chance to look yet. I literally just got here and this douche is making a big deal out of nothing.”

  “Colton!” I wince, glancing at the man. I’m so embarrassed, I wish I could just disappear.

  “What?” he says, glaring at me.

  The man is just looking at Colton and shaking his head.

  I’m still keeping my voice down. “Have you even walked him today?”

  “No, I haven’t fucking had time,” he says, although I know he was out drinking last night and probably slept most of the day today. “Here, you know what? You take the fucking dog. He’s pulling my arm off.” He lets go of Diesel’s collar and pushes the dog towards me with his knee, sharply. The poor dog backs up, looking at Colton warily.

  “Hey! What’s wrong with you?” I take the dog by the collar and brace myself to get yanked around, but Diesel decides that this is a good time to sit down and chill. Thank God for small favors.

  “There, see? He likes you better anyway. Fucking pain in the ass.”

  “Honestly, why’d you bother getting a dog in the first place?” I say.

  “Why? Because of you. You said you don’t trust people who don’t like dogs.”

  “First, that’s no reason to get a dog. Second, that’s not what I said. I said, I wonder about people that dogs don’t trust. I don’t appreciate you twisting my words like that. ”

  “It means the same thing. You only like special-snowflake dog people…like you.”

  I’m annoyed that he’d talk to me like this at all, never mind in front of someone else. With all his other bullshit and now, this…nope.

  “Colton,” I say, still keeping my voice quiet, “You’re embarrassing me.”

  His rolls his eyes. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” he says.

  Oh, wow. “Okay, that’s enough. I’m through with this.”

  “I’m through with this,” he says, in a mocking falsetto. Doesn’t he hear himself? He takes a breath to go on but I can’t stand any more.

&
nbsp; “No, forget it. I don’t wanna hear any more of this. I’m through with you. We’re done.”

  He stares at me, licking his lips, his face turning a deep shade of red.

  “You’re dumping me?” He backs up a step, pointing at himself with both hands, like he can’t believe his ears.

  Yes, and not a moment too soon, I think.

  Behind me, I hear the hunky guy moving away but I can’t bear to look at him.

  “I…well you’re giving me no choice. You’re being an ass! And not for the first time.”

  “Yeah? Yeah?” His fists clench and unclench. I can see he doesn’t know what to do. I almost feel sorry for him, until he digs in and makes it worse. “Well, fuck you! You’re just a snotty little bitch who doesn’t put out. You’re useless and so is that stupid shelter dog.”

  “Diesel’s a good dog, he just needs proper care.” And then, without thinking it through, I blurt out: “I should take him away from you…you don’t deserve a nice dog!”

  He stares at me and then lets out a snort. “Fine! You think you’re Cesar fucking Milan, you keep him. At least he’s a real dog, not a yappy little fucker like yours.”

  I barely hear anything except the words ‘you keep him”. Shit! What’d I do? Mom and Dad are in Florida. They went back after Christmas and won’t be home for a while. I got Princess without having their permission to bring a dog home, and it’s definitely not cool to do it again.

  But it’s a bit late to worry about that now.

  “You’re unbelievable.” I say, biting my lip. I take a quick look around for the man. He’s walking away slowly, looking at his phone.

  Colton turns away, then stops. “Oh and Brenda? Princess Pumpernickel Poopypants is a stupid fucking name for a dog.”

  “It’s Pumpkinface,” I correct him, holding my head up, “and yeah? So what? You got Diesel for a stupid reason, and that’s a lot worse.”

  “Pssshhh, whatever,” he says, flapping a hand at me. Then he turns and stalks away.