The Last Virgin in Texas

by Jennifer Woodhull

  “I’m having a great time with you tonight, Gretchen.” His voice is low and sexy against my ear.

  “I’m having fun with you too, Zach.”

  He slides his hands lower down my hips, making my nerves buzz.

  He dips his head so his lips are almost against my ear. “My place ain’t far,” he whispers. “We could just get outta here and go get to know each other better.”

  Wow. So, I guess people really do this, huh?

  Logically, I guess I knew guys try to score on the first date, but to be fair, I’ve mostly only dated guys I know. Well, at least they know someone who knows someone who knows me, anyway. Zach is a stranger. A cute stranger, but a stranger all the same.

  “Oh, well, I don’t know.” I start to object, but the next line dancing song comes on and it’s so loud I can’t even hear myself think.

  “Sorry, darlin’, I can’t hear you. Come on.” He pulls me outside toward our cars.

  When we get outside, he leans back against his car and pulls me close.

  “Now,” he brushes my hair back behind my shoulder and deposits a soft kiss on my jaw. “What was that you were tryin’ to tell me before?”

  “I…was sayin’…” I try to speak, but he’s kissing my neck and my brain is trying to process the foreign sensation.

  He turns my face to his, staring right into my eyes, and dips his head forward capturing my lips. This kiss is…wow. He’s good. Very good.

  When he breaks the kiss, he gives a naughty little smile.

  “Come on back to my place and let me do that all over,” he whispers.

  “Um, I don’t…think that’s a good idea.” I mean, this is the awkward part about dating, right? I can’t exactly say something like, “Sorry, I’m a virgin and I’m saving it for the second date.”

  He looks down my body and back up to meet my gaze. “What’s the matter, darlin’? I thought you liked me.” He brushes his palms down my sides.

  “I do, I’ve just…never done it before.”

  “What, on the first date, you mean?”

  “No…at all. I’m a…I’m not experienced.” I chew on my lip as I utter the hesitant words.

  “Wait,” his voice gets more serious. “You’re a virgin?”

  “Afraid so.” I sigh.

  “Oh.” He chuckles, then a smirk tugs up at his lips. “Well, that’s no problem. We can just go the other way.”

  “The other…” before I can finish the question, his hands slide around to my ass, pulling my cheeks apart.

  “I’d love to make you my dirty little backdoor girl.” He leans forward to try to kiss me again.

  Shocked, and unsure what to say, I press my hands to his chest and push him away.

  Is he serious right now? Anal on the first date? Is that even a thing?

  “No way! I think we should say goodnight.”

  “Seriously? Okay, okay.” He puts his palms up. “I get it. That’s not your thing. You can just suck me off in my car, then.”

  What?!

  “That’s not gonna happen.” I scoff. “Goodnight, Zach.”

  I turn and walk toward my car.

  “Fine, ya frigid bitch! If I’d have known you weren’t gonna put out, I wouldn’t have listened to your boring-ass stories about your Podunk diner!”

  I just shake my head as I get in my car and drive away.

  People are truly un-fucking-believable.

  “Maybe you should go out with Lyle.” Maisie leans her shoulder into mine, looking down the counter at the shy clerk from the county records office. She was almost as disappointed as I was at the outcome of my date the other night. Lyle is a nice guy, but hardly the kind of guy that makes your heart race.

  “He’s kinda cute, and he’s quiet.” She whispers. “Quiet guys usually try harder in bed.”

  I glare at her.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have given up on Tyler. He’s sweet. Good-lookin’, too.”

  Tyler and I dated for about three months last year. He’s a nice guy, and didn’t mind that I needed some time for sex as long as I gave him regular blowjobs and let him eat me out—an activity for which his appetite was insatiable.

  “I told you, he just…couldn’t hold my interest.”

  “That’s Gretchen’s polite way of sayin’ that boy’s dumber than a box of rocks.” Dodger grins as he comes around the corner from the kitchen to refill his glass of soda. He was ahead of me in school, but we weren’t close. Since he came to work for me a couple of years ago, he’s become a good friend.

  “He don’t have to be a rocket scientist, Gretchen.” She points to her forehead. “This head isn’t the kind you need from a man.”

  “Seriously, cut it out!” I swat at her and try to focus on my work.

  A few minutes later, Dillon comes in for his afternoon indulgence: a cup of coffee and a slice of cherry pie.

  “You do have the best pie in town, Gretchen. Maybe in Texas.” He takes the last forkful into his mouth and gives me a wink.

  Maisie is walking behind him, clearing a table. She glances from Dillon to me and mouths the words, “He loves your pie,” with a wriggle of her eyebrows.

  I seriously have to find a better class of friends.

  “Thank you.” I deflect his attempt at innuendo. “It’s my granny’s recipe.”

  “Speakin’ of, how’s your Mama? People don’t much leave Shiner, and I wonder about her now and again.”

  “She’s good. Livin’ the dream, I guess you’d say.”

  “Speaking of people who leave town, I s’pose you heard about Tucker Kane?”

  I bristle at the mention of his name, my spine instantly straight.

  “What about him?” I squeak out, hoping for nonchalant, but instead sounding like an ineffective ventriloquist.

  “He’s comin’ to town. Next week. They’re doin’ some kinda hometown roots story on him, and he’ll be staying here for a coupla weeks while they film.” He throws a five on the counter and puts on his hat. “The production company reached out to us about security, and access to things like the high school football field and the Dairy Gem. Gonna be a lot of excitement for our little ol’ town.”

  He touches the brim of his hat and nods. “Have a good one, darlin’.”

  Oh. Holy. Fuck.

  Tucker Kane is coming home.

  Here.

  To Shiner.

  And he’s bringing Hollywood with him.

  Nine

  Marissa and I ignore the calls from photographers and reporters as we walk into the Parker Palm Springs resort.

  “Tucker! This way, Tucker!”

  “Marissa! Who are you wearing?”

  “Tucker! Do you two have an announcement for us? Are you setting a date?”

  I put my hand low on her back and guide her into the lobby. Before we disappear through the doors, the point of no-return for paparazzi and reporters thanks to the hotel’s excellent security, I turn back, drop my shades and give the photographers a wink. We slip inside just as they go nuts.

  “You’re an upstart, you know that?” Marissa tells me, a sly smile spreading across her perfect lips.

  “I thought you loved that about me,” I retort.

  “I never said I don’t.”

  The Gene Autry residence, the villa for which we have a week-long reservation, is a two-bedroom bungalow. People will assume we booked it for privacy and probably picture the two of us fucking against every surface in the place. That works out, since that’s exactly what we intend for them to think.

  The suitcases are delivered, and Marissa goes into the master suite and changes into a designer bikini and a pair of cutoff denim shorts that undoubtedly cost more than my first truck.

  “Nice suit,” I offer.

  “Thanks. After Doctor Brigman leaves, I’m going to sunbathe on the patio naked.” She smirks. “You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like.”

  “Hmm, well.” I scratch my head as I walk toward her. “I am a dude, and dudes love naked gir
ls, so that’s tempting. I’ve got some work to do, though.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t offer.” She shrugs, blowing me an exaggerated kiss.

  A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door and our friendly, neighborhood plastic surgeon walks in, bag in hand. He spends about half an hour pumping Marissa full of Botox and fillers.

  “You should come by the office.” He points in my direction. “Let me get a head start on those crow’s feet that are starting to show.”

  “Thanks, Doc. I’m good, though.” I give him a smile and a nod as he leaves.

  “So, what are you going to do this week?” She holds an ice pack to the various points on her face that are swelling and turning red.

  “I’ve got some work to do. Then, tomorrow night, I’ll slip out and head to the airport. I’m heading out to Texas a little early.” My heart races as I say the words. I’ve gotta get there before the production team does. I’ve gotta prepare them for what’s coming.

  I’m also planning to try to see her, if I can.

  “So you’re going to see the girl who broke your heart, huh?”

  I haven’t made many friends in Hollywood. Not real ones, anyway. Marissa is different. We hit it off that first day on set and have been good friends ever since. In some ways, as strange as it sounds, she knows me better than Jared does. There are things you can tell a girl that you’d never tell your buddies.

  “I’m going to try to talk to Gretchen, yeah.” I blow out a breath. “I’m not sure what to expect. Hell, she might be married and pregnant out to here.” I hold my hands out in front of my belly.

  “Your parents, or someone, would’ve told you.” She walks over to me and slides her arms around my neck. “I’m glad you’re doing this, Tuck. Maybe it will give you closure.”

  I slide my arms around her waist. “Thanks, Marissa. I’m lucky to have you in my life.”

  “You’re being awfully adorable right now. This stubble is pretty hot, too.” She slides her palm against my jaw. “Is this part of your travel disguise?”

  “Mm-hm. Beard and a baseball hat—the Hollywood travel uniform.”

  She laughs.

  “So charming. In fact…” She catches me off-guard by leaning up and pressing her lips to mine. She kneads and sucks and presses her tongue to mine. We’ve done this on screen a million times, and she has given me the occasional chaste kiss for the benefit of the cameras, but in private, it’s more than a little unusual.

  When she pulls back, she grins up at me. “Nope. Nothing.” She shrugs and laughs. “I guess I still prefer an innie to an outie after all.”

  I laugh out loud. “So, when is Willa getting here?”

  Willa is Marissa’s girlfriend. Her very serious girlfriend of three years. The press doesn’t know that, though. That’s partially because Willa is the head of talent acquisition for a major studio, and partially because Willa is married to one of the most powerful entertainment lawyers in L.A., and he has no idea about or real interest in his wife’s extra-curricular activities. He’s also a major asshole who is fucking every woman he can get his hands on, and, in my opinion, treats Willa like total shit in every possible way.

  “She’ll get in tomorrow night. She’s staying in the villa next door.” She gives me a sexy smirk.

  “I hope you get to have some fun and some privacy.” I say, pulling her jaw upward with the tips of my fingers and depositing a soft kiss on my friend’s forehead. “I wish being out was an option for you two. You’re clearly both in it for the long haul.”

  “True. Too many things working against us right now, though. Maybe in ten years when I’m too old to be an ingenue or a lead, when I’m a stodgy old character actress who plays the sage neighbor and the wise old aunt, maybe then she can divorce Arnie the asshole and we can live happily ever after.” She winks playfully and grabs a water from the fridge before stepping outside.

  I grab my laptop out of the bag and go to desk to start working. No one but Marissa knows I’m working on a screenplay. It’s what I want most to do—to be a writer and producer.

  I’ve thought about it long and hard this past year or so. I like acting, but I really want to get out of the spotlight. I’d love to cut back on it and get more into the behind-the-scenes part of the business. Marissa has been supportive of that because she’s a damn good friend. Well, that and because as soon as I found out about her and Willa, I offered to help.

  I glance out the window where my leggy blonde friend has pulled her hair up into a high ponytail and is untying her bikini. She sees me glancing up, and drops the bikini, flashing me. She makes a mock-surprised face then laughs. I laugh too and shake my head, feeling sorry for men all over America who dream of seeing her bare, Hollywood perfect tits, a very expensive specialty of Doctor Brigman.

  I briefly consider the women I’ve dated out here. I have to wonder if part of why I can’t ever seem to make things work for very long is the unfinished business I left back home.

  That’s the only good thing about this trip. Maybe I can get some closure with Gretchen. When I see her, undoubtedly happy with whoever she’s with now, maybe I can finally move on.

  There’s no way a girl like Gretchen would stay single. She’s too…everything. Beautiful. Funny. Smart. Cool. She’s the total package—the kind of girl guys dream of finding and, if they’re lucky, do once in a lifetime.

  Whoever it is she’s with now, I hate the lucky bastard.

  Seeing her happy without me will do the trick, though. It will help me get over her once and for all.

  I hope.

  Ten

  On Saturdays, I only open the diner half a day, and I close on Sundays. In a town the size of Shiner, everybody knows when they should and shouldn’t come by, and if there’s something going on in town and I need to open up, I can. For example, last year when Mr. Macon, the high school science teacher, passed away, we opened up on Sunday for the memorial. He came in the diner every day for the last twenty years of his life, so it only seemed right that everybody come by after the cemetery to have a cup of coffee and a plate of biscuits and gravy—his favorite.

  This particular Saturday was pretty slow. Nobody much came in except the go-getters. That’s what we call the old farmers, the ones whose wives work down at the brewery. They do a little farm work—a very little—in the mornings, then come in and nurse a dollar cup of coffee for a couple of hours and shoot the shit in their favorite corner booth. When their wives’ shifts at the factory are over, they say, “Welp…reckon I oughtta go get ‘er.”

  After the go-getters file out, I lock up and head over to Victoria to do a little shopping. I stop by the craft store to pick up some drawing supplies, then go by Belk for some new shoes. Pulling up the app on my phone, I find a coupon code, and make my way over to the shoe department to pick up a new pair of Chuck Taylors. On the way to the checkout, I walk through the cosmetics department.

  The vibrant lipsticks and brightly hued eyeshadows beckon from their acrylic displays like candy. I don’t really know what I’d even do with half of that stuff. My makeup, what little I own, mostly comes from Wal-Mart, usually on sale and half of my stuff has little cartoon animals on the container.

  As I walk past, a glamorous clerk in a black smock is arranging a display.

  “Hey, hon. Anything I can help with?”

  I look around. “Who, me? Oh, no. Thanks. I was just looking.”

  She stops and looks at me, as if examining my features. “You don’t wear much makeup, huh?” I shake my head. “You’re real pretty. I ain’t doin’ much. Why don’t you let me give you a makeover? It’ll be fun.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I shrug. “Seems like a waste of your time, to be honest.”

  “Nah. It’s dead around here. Come on over here and have a seat.” She pats the stool next to a large mirror.

  I park my cart across the aisle and put my purse up on the counter, glancing at myself in the mirror as she busies herself gathering several containers from the
display cases.

  “Okay, let’s see what we’re workin’ with, here.” She pushes loose strands of hair back behind my ears and tips my chin up.

  Up close, I can see she’s quite a bit older than me, but her makeup is flawless, making her appear much younger and more glamorous.

  “Your skin is to-die-for! God, what are you, twenty-six? Twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-three,” I reply as she wipes a face cloth down my cheeks.

  “What I wouldn’t give to go back.” She shakes her head. “Okay, let’s have some fun.” The pretty brunette cracks her knuckles, and I worry slightly that I’ve gotten myself into more than I bargained for.

  She applies highlighter, blush, and eye makeup. At the end, she takes something that looks like one of my drawing pens and applies a line to my closed eyelids, dragging it out at the corners with an artful flick. After she’s satisfied with her work, she stands back, tips my chin up with her fingertips, and nods once.

  “Girl! You look amazing, if I do say so myself. One final touch.” She grabs a lip gloss and deposits some shimmery fluid onto a cotton swab before swiping it across my lips.

  “Have a look. See what you think.” She swivels the stool, turning me toward the mirror.

  Holy shit. I actually look pretty great. I’ve never looked this glamorous in my whole life.

  “See? I told you! Mind if I take a pic for my portfolio?”

  “I guess not.” I shake my head back and forth, My eyes locked on my reflection in the mirror.

  “Here, let’s just tuck this under.” She folds the collar of my diner shirt under, so it looks like a V-neck, which is an instant improvement, and snaps the picture while I cheese for the camera.

  “Do you mind doing one with my phone, too?” I hand her my phone and do my best fish-pout pose, thinking I’ll send it to Maisie as a joke.

  “You look damn good, hon. I know you said you didn’t want anything, but you should at least think about picking up that lip gloss. It looks perfect on you. The color is Orgasm.”

  I giggle at the name as I send Maisie the photo.