Virgin Romance by Penny Wylder
9
The South Gate to campus is beautiful. An old brick arch that curves over the road, leading off campus to the older part of the city filled with shops and restaurants. It makes sense to meet him here—there are plenty of places to eat in walking distance and we’ll blend in with the crowd of other couples on dates.
I shake my head. I’ve got to stop thinking of this as some kind of secret mission where if we get caught the world ends. Right now, this is just a date. Nothing more, nothing less. There’s nothing wrong with that.
From the direction I’m walking, I can see Carter before he sees me. The sight freezes me in my tracks, and I suck in a breath. He’s wearing a suit that’s tailored perfectly. No tie, but the crisp white shirt under his jacket has a button open at the top leaving a tempting glimpse of skin. The setting sun is hitting him in such a way, like he’s stepped out of a picture. Perfect, gorgeous, and for the night, mine.
Stepping out onto the path, my movement draws his eyes to me, and I see the same reaction in him. He stills, taking me in, and then there’s that devastating smile. “Wow,” he says as I get close enough to hear. “You look amazing.”
“I could say the same thing to you.”
We stand there for a moment staring at each other awkwardly, and I see Carter move towards me like he’s going to kiss me again. Oh, I want him to. But he pulls back as another couple walks past us to the gate. Right. Probably shouldn’t do that here. I’m guessing most people wouldn’t recognize Carter on sight as the cheer coach yet, but there are those that would.
“Shall we?” he gestures towards the gate.
We walk side-by-side, close enough that our arms and hands are brushing, and I get little electric shocks every time our skin makes contact. It takes all my willpower not to just reach out and weave my fingers through his. It wouldn’t be hard. Why is something that should be so simple so complicated?
The walk is silent but not uncomfortably. The chittering of the cicadas fills the air, and I know I was right earlier: it really is the perfect evening to go on a date.
Carter leads me through the old section of town, stopping in front of a tiny restaurant named Celia’s that’s right along the river. “I’ve heard of this place,” I say as he guides me up the steps, hand on the small of my back. “It’s supposed to be amazing and really hard to get a reservation.”
His mouth quirks up into a smile. “You’re not wrong. It is amazing, and it’s very difficult to get a table.”
“Then how did you manage?” I quirk an eyebrow at him. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would murder someone to get a good restaurant for a date.”
Carter bursts out laughing, a giant booming laugh that brings a smile to my face and the attention of the people nearby. “No, I didn’t kill anyone. Let’s just say I have a family connection.”
“Really?”
He nods. “My brother is the chef.” Stepping up to the hostess, he gives her a grin. “Hale, reservation for two.”
She checks the computer and nods. “Right this way, Mr. Hale.”
Now that we’re inside, Carter takes my hand, tangling our fingers together as we follow the waitress. I look around to see if there’s anyone we know. Just for a second, I think that I see someone I might recognize, but then she’s gone and I think I must be mistaken. Even this small contact with him and my skin is suddenly flushed and wanting. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me crave him like this, but I know that if I’m not careful I’ll lose myself. The question remains whether or not I think that’s a bad thing. There’s part of me that thinks it would be the most glorious, delicious thing I’ve ever experienced. The other part of me says that it’s just an infatuation, just a crush, and that giving into this temptation is nothing more than me being irresponsible. Kara flashes into my mind, and I’m not sure why I feel so guilty.
I realize Carter asked me something as we sat down. “What?”
He chuckles. “I asked if you like Italian.”
“I do,” I say, blushing that I got so lost in my own thoughts. Thoughts about what we might do after we have said Italian.
Our table is gorgeous—on the balcony overlooking the river. The sunset is laid out in front of us perfectly, and a little thrill goes through me. It’s like a movie, the perfect date with the perfect guy. This is real, right?
The menu is in front of me, and it’s one of those places where the prices aren’t even listed. Everything looks delicious, and it doesn’t take me long to decide on the fettuccini. Carter orders a steak carbonara. “So,” he says, taking a sip of the wine the waiter brought for him, “I’m glad you made the team.”
“Oh, honey,” I say dramatically, “are you sure you want to talk about work while we’re at dinner?”
He laughs. “I promise we won’t talk about it the whole night.”
“I am glad I made it, though. No thanks to you! Distracting me like that.”
“Me?” He looks almost hurt. “What did I do?”
“Staring at me the whole time, making me think about that night at the party. Very distracting.”
Carter’s smirk is devilish. “You can’t blame me for making you think about that night. That’s all you.”
“Fair enough,” I take a sip of my water. “I do have one question though. In all seriousness.”
“Sure.”
“Did you put me on the team because you think I deserve to be there? Or did you put me on the team because you want to sleep with me?”
“April—”
He’s interrupted by the waiter coming to our table and dropping off a loaf of bread along with olive oil and spices. The air is filled with tension as we wait for him to leave, and as soon as he’s gone, Carter exhales. “I would never do that. I put you on the team because you’re good. You didn’t make any mistakes in the group rounds, and your tumbling is insane. That little mistake you had was a fluke. And,” he gestures to me with his bread, “as you previously pointed out, it would actually be easier to sleep with you if you weren’t on the team.”
That gets me to smile. “I’m glad.”
“You and your friend were hoping to make it together?”
“Yeah.” I grab a piece of the bread for myself. “That was always the plan. I’m not sure what we would have done if it had only been one of us.”
His voice grows soft. “I didn’t realize it was so important to you.”
“More important to Kara than it is to me. I like cheerleading—love tumbling—but it’s not my first love like it is for Kara.”
“What’s your first love then?”
I pick apart the piece of bread and leave it in crumbs on my plate. “Books. I’m actually studying to be a librarian.”
Carter’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed that,” he chuckles. “You’re going to be the world’s first truly hot librarian.”
I make a face. “I thought that ‘sexy librarian’ was totally a thing?”
“I’m thinking that most of those ‘sexy librarians’ aren’t actual librarians.” That’s a fair point. He keeps going. “Why do you want to be one?”
“I’ve always loved books. It’s actually how I met Kara. Neither of us was popular when we were younger, and we preferred the quiet of the library to home or school. We always saw each other there. First we just noticed each other, then we started sitting together to read, and finally we bonded over books. Once we got to high school and Kara found cheerleading, there wasn’t any more library time, so I joined with her. If I hadn’t, I don’t think we’d still be friends.”
“That makes sense,” Carter says quietly. “But what does that have to do with you becoming a librarian?”
I shrug. “Those afternoons in the library were some of the best times I had as a kid. It was my favorite place. I’ve never stopped loving books, and I want to make sure some other shy kid has the chance to meet her best friend in a library.”
He smiles, taking a sip of his wine. “That’s really great.”
I blush at his words and look down, avoiding his eyes. “Okay, what about you? What did you study or want to be as a kid?”
“I really love books too,” he says, “but I love newspapers even more. I always wanted to be a reporter as a kid, and I studied journalism in college.”
I lean back in my chair, studying him. I get distracted by the way the last rays of sun are shining off his hair. “And yet you’re very much not a reporter.”
“Good observation.”
“Why aren’t you?”
It’s his turn to shrug. “Lots of reasons. Family, mostly. My mom got sick right after I graduated. I stayed with her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
He smiles, and it’s the smile of someone who’s had way too many condolences. “It’s fine.”
“So that’s why you brought me here?” I say, smirking at him and trying to bring the mood back up. “I get it. You’re getting your fix. I’m the news story. The big scoop.”
“I plead the fifth,” he says, raising his hands in surrender, but his eyes are smiling. “I refuse to answer a question that could incriminate me.”
“Okay fine,” I say, giving him a break, “but you have to tell me why you became a cheerleader.”
His smirk is back. “I need a reason?”
“I guess not, but male cheerleaders aren’t very common.”
“I like the uniforms.” Carter’s eyes dip suggestively down to my breasts and I suddenly remember that’s exactly where his mouth was this afternoon. “But that’s not why. I wanted to do something athletic in high school but I wasn’t good enough to make the football or basketball teams.”
“Does that hurt your precious male ego to admit?” I tease, taking a bite of bread.
He laughs that big booming laugh again. “Not a bit. First, it ended up helping me get a scholarship here when I wouldn’t have been able to afford it. Second, did I mention that I like the uniforms?”
“You may have.”
Carter gives me a smug look, and I can’t help but shake my head. I can only imagine how popular he was when he was actually on the team.
Our food arrives, and oh my god it’s delicious. All the people I’ve heard rave about Celia’s weren’t wrong. “Your brother is an incredible chef.”
“I know. I would drag him out here to say hello, but this is their busiest time of the night.”
I laugh. “I should send him a thank you card for how good this is.”
“He wouldn’t mind. There’s nothing a chef loves more than being complimented on his cooking.”
“Consider it done.” I raise my glass of water to him, even though you’re not supposed to toast with water. We lapse into silence again, each enjoying our food. But we talk too. I tell him about my classes, and he tells me about what it’s like to be thrown into a full-time job you didn’t realize you were going to have. He tells me about the time he tried to start his own newspaper in fifth grade, and I tell him about some of Kara’s most epic pranks—one of which involved a cow.
After dinner, we walk along the river. It’s dark now, but the weather is still lovely. The street and city lights reflecting off the water are mesmerizing, and I don’t remember when I’ve had this nice of a time on a date. Or really ever.
It’s dark enough now that we risk holding hands, and Carter rubs small circles on my hand with his thumb. I never knew such a small movement could make me all fluttery like this. I’m all tingles and anticipation.
“You weren’t wrong you know,” Carter says, pausing at one of the scenic overlooks by the river.
“About what?”
“I do want the scoop on you. I want to know more about you. More than just what your major is and why you want to cheer.” He reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since that night.”
“Me neither,” I admit. He’s leaning in, and I know he’s going to kiss me, but I can’t stop myself. “Can I ask you something, though?”
He falters for a second, and I smile. I don’t think he’s used to being interrupted when he’s trying to be so smooth. “Sure.”
“The fact that I’m a virgin. I don’t understand why it interests you so much. It almost seems a little odd.”
Carter’s brow furrows. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Just…help me understand. Are virgins like…your thing?”
“No.” He chuckles, low and deep, and the sound shivers across my skin. “I’ve never slept with a virgin before. And in case you didn’t notice at the party? I didn’t exactly care about that. I didn’t ask.”
“Then why—”
He cuts me off. “Because I like you. A lot. And…I wasted my first time. I wanted to get it over with. It was terrible, and I’ll always regret not taking the time to do it right. I like the idea of being able to make it special for someone else.” He curls his hand around my waist, pulling me slowly against him. “I want to make you feel so good that you’ll never forget it. And if you choose to give that to me, I’ll make sure your first time is one you don’t regret.”
The worry I’d been carrying with me slides off my shoulders and I let that craving fill me up again. I stop resisting and just let myself feel the want that’s growing under my skin. “Good answer,” I say, and I pull him down to kiss me.
