Page 1 of Sweet Virgin

Chapter One

Alaska

Itore the napkin into pieces, scattering small bits of white flakes around the floor beneath my feet. No one could see it, no one knew just how nervous I actually was, but I was a freaking mess.

My stomach was rolling in tangled knots, all of them careening around into each other like it was a damn bumper car session. Keeping my eyes in my lap, I took a long slow breath, holding it for a second. Letting it out, I lifted my head towards the door, never blinking once.

There he was, right on cue. Tall, light skin, a small birthmark perched near his lip. His hair was ruffled but perfect, his smile carved out from a piece of ivory and polished to the point of blindness.

None of this seems right. It's not natural.

The crowded restaurant slowed to a stop as my heart replaced the crickets chirping with deafening thumps. Each beat came in harder and faster, bursting against my ribs. Placing a gentle hand on my chest, I flashed a tight grin and waved him over.

Dropping the last few flakes of paper, I nervously stood up to greet the'so called'man of my dreams. Garrett Dionne, a man built of money, power, and all the sex appeal two genes formulated in a lab couldn't create.

Running his fingers through his hair, he kicked his head to the side and let the thick locks fall with precision back into place.

I, on the other hand, felt awkward and uncomfortable; unfamiliar with a man of such magnitude.

To be honest, every aspect that came with men was foreign to me. But I couldn't let him see that. I had to be smooth and elegant, smart and perfect. That was what a man of his caliber deserved. At least that was what the fine print had read.

I think.

I don't know.

Shit.

Reaching for my hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of my palm. “Wow, you really are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”

Holding my arm up, he spun me in a slow circle as his eyes licked my body. My dress belled out, falling back down like satin petals slipping off granite. Holding his breath, he waited for that perfect moment. The long pause was placed methodically like the world would be sitting on the edge of their chairs, leaning into the screen with a subtle gasp. Then he nailed it, laying his ending line like a champ.“Perfect in every way, just like an angel.”

Alright, it was cheesy and I had to refrain from laughing. Angel lines were popular a decade ago, not now. But with his looks and the dimple that instantly broke on his right cheek with that smile, there was new life in that word.

It was my turn to return the compliment, telling him how handsome and sexy he was. Tell him his body was insane and that his face was as sharp and sexy as a Greek god. I had to make it over the top, really cement the flash feelings we were supposed to share. Everything counted on the instant connection, the quick throw into love.

“You're not so bad yourself, hot stuff.”

Hot stuff! Really!

I'm a fucking idiot.

I wanted to slap my forehead with my palm and wither away off screen. I had all day to practice my opening line, I repeated it over and over in my head. I was supposed to ask him what stone he was carved from as I stroked his corded abs slow and sensually. That line should have been flawless, like I had written it myself while standing there.

And I fucking dropped the ball, replacing it with a lame-ass excuse for improv.

But this wasn't me, this whole facade wasn't me.

I wasn't made for the dating world, then again, how could I have been when my hormonal teenage years were spent behind four walls with a rigorous schedule of school, study, school. Put that on repeat, let it go for four years, then shut it off.

Where was the practice for dating in that?

My experience ended with a few local boys and a couple quick kisses here and there. That was sad training for a girl who was now nineteen and trying to play queen of the screen.

If I could count the pretend make-out sessions inside my head, I was a pro. Was I pathetic? Was that absolutely—horrifyingly embarrassing. . . One hundred percent yes.

Garrett squinted with one eye, staring at me like he wanted to laugh out loud. Or maybe that face was embarrassment. Either way, he glared at me like I was leagues below him career wise and shouldn't have even be standing toe to toe with him.

Jerk.

All I could do was think it. I wanted to slap him and tell him he wasn't the gift he thought he was. But now was not the time for that.

---