The V Card

by Lauren Blakely

  Then I do.

  I draw a deep breath and recommit myself to my one-step program.

  The first and only step is this: Resist engaging with the female of the species.

  Resist at any cost.

  Chapter Two

  Graham

  Skyscrapers slide by as the town car weaves its way up the avenue toward the Upper West Side. As Midtown’s high-rises give way to brownstones and brick residential buildings, I recover my center and my focus.

  Thankfully, I won’t have to worry about Project Resistance with CJ.

  CJ is like a little sister to me. Since her brother passed away, I’ve stepped into the protector role Sean filled so well. The past two years without my best friend and business partner haven’t been easy, but being there for CJ has given me something to do, assuaging my anger and sadness. Every time I get pissed that a texting driver took my friend away, I think of something nice to do for CJ. It’s a coping mechanism that works, and it’s a hell of a lot less complicated than a booty call to the woman of the moment.

  Gary pulls up outside Ruby’s Kitchen, where CJ is already waiting on the curb, and my stress level drops another degree. She wears a sunshine-colored dress with strappy sandals and a jacket slung over her arm. Her chestnut hair curls softly in the spring breeze, and her nose is buried in her e-reader, as usual. The woman is an unrepentant bookworm, obsessed with horror novels that are every bit as scary as she is sweet.

  “Weirdo,” I mutter affectionately as I savor the sight of her, one of the few people in the world I can trust not to make life unnecessarily complicated. CJ shuts the cover on her e-reader as I swing out of the car.

  “And he appears.” She taps her foot playfully as I join her on the sidewalk. She tosses her dark hair off her shoulders as her face melts into that kid-in-a-candy-shop grin she’s never outgrown.

  That’s one of the many things I adore about her. Her absolute fucking sweetness.

  “I’ve been known to make appearances from time to time.” I lean in to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek, enjoying the familiar jasmine scent of her hair.

  “I’m assuming your tardiness means you had a most excellent night,” she says, raising her eyebrows.

  That’s the thing about girls who have known you for more than a decade. They’re well aware of your foibles and shortcomings, your strengths and your weaknesses.

  “No way.” I hold up two fingers. “Scout’s honor. I was a good boy last night. I was only late because I saw something in a shop window I couldn’t resist.” I hold out the gift bag. “For you.”

  “Oh, stop,” she says, smacking my chest. “You’re making it impossible for me to be mad at you.”

  I smile. “You weren’t mad at me, anyway. I gave you an excuse to read for an extra ten minutes.”

  “You speak the truth.” She smirks as she reaches inside the bag with a soft coo at the sight of the paper. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

  Laughing, I say, “It’s just wrapping paper.”

  She looks up and stares pointedly at me. “It’s not just wrapping paper. It’s a sign of thoughtfulness. The last guy I went on a date with brought me a candle his mother gave him three Christmases ago, said I’d look great by candlelight, and suggested we skip the movie and go get naked at his place.”

  I recoil. “What?”

  “Little did he know that if he had wrapped that candle, I might have said yes,” she says, a twinkle of mischief in her big brown eyes.

  Red billows from my ears. Smoke comes out my eyes. The thought of CJ going home with this candle asshole boils my blood.

  “You’re joking,” I grit out.

  She cracks up and points at me. “Gotcha. Anyway. It’s incredibly sweet of you to bring me a gift.” She opens the bag, handing me the paper as she unfolds the shirt and laughs. “Graham, thank you! This is adorable. And way too naughty for casual Friday.”

  “Good thing there’s life outside the office. For some of us, anyway.”

  “Hey, I’m out of the office now, aren’t I?” She tucks her tee back in the bag, and nods toward the restaurant. “Shall we?”

  “We shall,” I say, my smile fading as I follow her to the hostess stand and then on through the throng of late-brunch-eaters to a table in the back courtyard.

  As we settle in, the busboy brings the waters, and I cut to the chase. “So, I hate to crash the Sunday Funday vibe, but I invited you to brunch with an ulterior motive. I need a favor.”

  She spreads her napkin on her lap with a raised brow. “What kind of favor?”

  “I need you at next Monday’s board meeting. As you know, we lost an important account last month when Beaux Rêves in Paris went with a cheaper option. Obviously, they aren’t our only account, not by a long shot. But given how volatile the industry has been lately, I need to make it crystal clear to the shareholders that selling isn’t the right path. With the number of mergers and acquisitions going on, they’re seeing dollar signs, but quick money isn’t the answer. That’s where you come in.”

  “You want them to hear from me because of my shares?” she asks, her brow furrowing. “We don’t have anything close to a majority.”

  Though CJ inherited Sean’s share of the business when he passed away, that’s not why I need her at the meeting. CJ has a way of putting people at ease, of winning their trust and confidence. She’s a successful business owner in her own right—her accessories company Love Cycle Creations is growing by leaps and bounds every year. Plus, she was courted early on by an accessories conglomerate and she declined—totally the right call, as her company is now a rising star in her field.

  I nod. “Of course, but that’s not the only reason. I need to convince them that now is not the time to explore getting into bed with a huge multinational retailer. And to do that, it’ll help to hear from someone with an insider’s stock holdings and an outsider’s perspective. I want them to hear from you in particular since you went through something so similar with Love Cycle.”

  “On a much smaller scale, though. My company is tiny compared to Adored.”

  “Size doesn't matter.” I pause to wiggle an eyebrow for effect. “Well, in this case.”

  A faint blush spreads on her cheeks. “You and the innuendo.”

  “I do love innuendo. I also love Adored. That’s why I want to keep it the way it is—growing, profitable, and independent. I don’t want it swallowed whole by some faceless corporate giant.” A smile teases her lips for a moment then disappears. I can’t read her at all, so I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for an answer. “Please, CJ,” I add when she stays silent for a long beat. “I need you.”

  “You need me,” she echoes, her brow smoothing as she sighs. She takes a drink of water, sets down her glass, and runs the tip of her tongue across her lips.

  I watch her tongue move, wondering why I’ve never noticed how amazing her mouth is. She has the bee-stung lips of a cover girl, in a shade of pink so deep it brings to mind flushed, hot, intimate things.

  Things I shouldn’t be thinking of in her presence.

  In anyone’s presence.

  Resist, Campbell, resist . . .

  Finally, just as I’m gearing up to beg, she looks up, a mysterious smile curving her lips. “I know exactly what you need, Graham.”

  Damn, that sounded . . . naughty.

  I reach for my water glass, needing something to cool me down since innocent words from a woman I’ve known forever are sending my thoughts straight into the gutter.

  “But before I agree to your request,” she adds, her fingers drumming lightly on the white tablecloth, “I need something from you, too. Something I’ve been thinking long and hard about. Very long. And very hard.” Her eyes meet mine, trouble flickering in her gaze.

  Glass halfway to my lips, I freeze.

  Christ. Who the hell is this sexy-as-sin woman, and what has she done with CJ?

  Chapter Three

  CJ

  Are you really going to do this? Really? For real?
A voice inside my head keeps squeaking, but I ignore that wimpy coward because this is GO time.

  This is the real deal.

  This is do-or-die.

  The stars are aligning, and the universe has given me the big thumbs-up for Operation V Card. You might not think it would be that hard for a reasonably attractive woman who isn’t overly needy, smelly, or allergic to showers to lose her virginity, but you’d be wrong. I’ve been trying to get rid of this albatross hanging around my neck for years, but I’m looking down the barrel of age twenty-six with no acceptable de-flower-er in sight.

  At least, not until now . . .

  Now, Graham needs something from me—something that I’m happy to give because I’ve always believed in his vision for his company—and I need something from him. Things couldn’t be going more perfectly if I’d scripted this brunch chat.

  And sure, it’s going to be weird, but it’s always been weird between Graham and me. Graham, who I’ve lusted after since before I really knew what lust was. Even when I first laid eyes on him, back when he was seventeen and Sean’s best friend, he was all man—broad shoulders, narrow waist, stubble-lined jaw, and a deep, husky voice that sent shivers down my spine. He ignited all my preteen fantasies. I daydreamed about Graham giving me my first kiss behind the pool house almost as often as I daydreamed about winning a road race cycling medal at the Summer Olympics.

  At eleven, kisses and personal achievements comfortably coexist. At twenty-five, it’s so much harder, especially in a city like New York, where everyone under the age of thirty is obsessed with success.

  Professional success, not personal relationship success. No one wants to fall in love before thirty-five anymore, and even sex is something guys seem to want to pick up at a drive-through window. Or, better yet, have delivered by an Uber driver—sex and a side of cheesy fries from the diner down the block, please and thank you.

  If I wait around to find the perfect guy on a dating app or at happy hour in the Meatpacking District, I’m going to be the world’s oldest living virgin, and that is not a title I’m interested in holding.

  Yes. All in. No backing out now. I flip my hair over my shoulder and straighten my spine. Graham’s gaze flicks down to my chest before darting just as quickly back to my eyes.

  Oh my God, Graham just looked at my boobs! Aha! This is going to work! It’s really going to work! Thank you, sexy yellow dress!

  But when he speaks, his voice is cooler than it was before. “Oh, yeah? What exactly have you been thinking long and hard about, Ceej?”

  I take a deep breath, blurting it out before I lose my courage, “I’ve been thinking about asking you to teach me things. Personal things.”

  He stares blankly, and for a moment I’m not sure he heard me. He brings his water to his lips and drinks again. “Teach you personal things like . . .?”

  I sit tall, even as I twist my cloth napkin in circles in my lap. “You might think it’s easy to date in this city, but it’s not. At all.”

  “Oh, I know it’s not easy.” Graham rolls his eyes, proving he at least sort of gets where I’m coming from. “It’s a minefield out there.”

  “Yes, it is!” I agree, nodding a little too fast. “A minefield, and I know I’m going to step on a bomb sooner or later. But I don’t want to step on just any bomb, you know what I mean? I want it to be a nice bomb. A, um . . . skilled bomb, who knows how to bomb effectively.”

  The metaphor isn’t working. Graham looks more confused with every passing moment, and the waiter is circling behind him like a bird of prey ready to swoop down and snatch our menus, and this opportunity, from my hands.

  I have to act now, before it’s too late.

  “This is the thing.” I lift my hands, fingers spread wide, showing him I have nothing to hide. I’m putting it all out there and hoping he’ll have mercy on me. “When Dad moved to Greece with Betty after I finished college, Sean was so hyper protective that men were too scared to set foot on my doorstep. No lie. And then Sean died, and I was so sad I didn’t care about dating for a long time.”

  Graham’s gaze softens. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want . . .” I swallow hard. “I want to move on. I want to be a normal twenty-five-year-old woman, but I feel like I’m so far behind I’ll never catch up, you know? I’m drowning in all the things I don’t know. So I just need . . . I need you to teach me about . . . about . . .”

  About sex! Just say it, CJ!

  Sex, intercourse, coitus, banging, the horizontal hula, the bow-chicka-wow-wow.

  Woodenly, I erupt with, “Nookie.”

  Graham stares at me, his eyes wide and unreadable for one beat—two, three—while my heart crawls into my throat and puffs up like a blowfish.

  Oh God, I’ve ruined everything. He’s going to tell me I’m insane. He’s going to tell me that the thought of me in a sexual situation makes him nauseous, and I’m going to feel like a fool for every single flirty thing I said to him. I never should have led with the long and hard bit. I shouldn’t have tried to make this funny or cute—I should have just laid out my proposal with a calm voice and a level head, ensuring I could walk away with my chin up if he said “no, thanks.”

  I expect him to bolt for the door any second.

  Instead, he puts his glass down, hitting the edge of the table and sloshing water onto the gravel beside us, earning a dirty look from the busgirl tidying up at a nearby table.

  He clears his throat as he rights the glass, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said ‘nookie,’” I repeat, my cheeks still burning. “But, you know, use your own word. I’m open.”

  “You’re open,” he echoes, still sounding vaguely strangled, though he’s unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. “Open to what exactly?”

  “Graham, I’m twenty-five, and I spend most nights at home watching television or at the gym riding a bike that’s going nowhere,” I confess, embarrassed, though this isn’t news to him. He knows I’m practically a nun. He teases me about it often enough. “I want more than that. I want an adult relationship, but other adults don’t want me.”

  “You’re crazy. I—”

  “I’m not crazy. I’m inexperienced, and the real grown-ups can sense that, and it scares them away. That leaves me with the weird candle guys and the losers looking for a meaningless hookup.” He starts to interrupt me, but I barrel on. “I want more than that. But I don’t have the skills to seal the deal, and at this rate, I’m never going to get them unless I go to drastic measures to catch up. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I think so.” A flush creeps up Graham’s neck as he shakes his head. “But you can’t seriously be saying you want me to . . .”

  His gaze drops to my breasts again, lingering long enough on the place where my dress gives way to skin that it gives me the strength to nod and murmur, “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  He swallows hard, looking over one shoulder and then the other before turning back to me with a harsh whisper, “Sean would cut my dick off. Not to mention the fact that you and I—” He motions between us with a swift jerk of his hand. “We’re friends, CJ. Just friends. I don’t think of you like that.”

  “And that’s fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “You don’t have to think of me as anything but a friend. And a student. I’ll be a good student, I promise. I’m a fast learner. Especially when I’m invested in the subject matter.”

  Graham’s eyes lift to the blue sky overhead as he mumbles something that sounds like a prayer for strength.

  I sigh, my hope fading. But this is my one shot at getting what I need from the only man left in the world I trust, and I’m not going to give up so easily. Just because I’m a virgin, doesn’t mean I’m inexperienced in other areas, like speaking my mind or campaigning for my goals. And, like a good businesswoman, I plan on keeping this deal with Graham on the transactional level. Sure, I
’ve lusted after the man. He’s as handsome as anything, and a total softie beneath his occasionally gruff exterior.

  None of that matters in this situation, however. I’m focused, determined, and completely able to separate my heart from my head, just like I have to do at work when juggling my roles as friend and boss.

  That’s what I’ll do if he says yes.

  I must convince him to say yes.

  “Graham, I’m sick of feeling like a fish on a bicycle every time I’m in mixed company. Sure, men check me out, but as soon as they realize I have no idea how to flirt, let alone anything else, their interest fades pretty quickly.” I keep my head up, refusing to feel ashamed. “For once, I want to feel sexy. Like I know what I want and I know how to get it. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

  Graham sighs. “CJ, you’re an intelligent, successful woman. And you’re a fucking knockout.”

  He thinks I’m a knockout? He’s never said anything like that before. Never. Not even last New Year’s Eve when I wore my red cleavage dress to the Adored holiday party.

  “You could have any man you want,” he continues, proving he hasn’t been listening. “You don’t need me. And you don’t want me, trust me.”

  With my eyes fixed on his, I lean in until our faces are only a few inches apart, and I play my ace. “But I do want you, Graham. I’ve heard the rumors. You may not be aware of it, but your ex-girlfriends talk. A lot. And they have nothing but good things to say.” I pause, arching a meaningful brow. “About everything.”

  His eyes glitter. “I’m far from the only man in the city with that kind of reputation.”

  “True. But you’re the only one who’s my friend.” I lace my fingers together as I add, “I trust you, Graham. I know you won’t hurt me or take advantage of me or make me feel like a fool if I don’t get it all right straight out of the gate. You’re the only one I can ask a favor like this.”

  He frowns, but I can see him weakening. “What exactly are we talking about? What do you want me to teach you?”