Taking His Virgin

By: Lila Younger

My eye catches on a woman, all sex and curves, wearing what might as well be a towel, it was so damn short. It barely covers her ass, and it’s got an open back that shows she isn’t wearing a bra. Gorgeous, but only for a moment. But then the woman turns around and my eyebrows shoot up. Is that... Ava? No fucking way. She doesn’t dress like that, putting everything on display for the world. I must have mistaken her for one of her friends. I drive on, but then I hear a voice I would recognize anywhere.

“I said no, Ken! I’m going home.”

I flick my eyes up to the rearview. It’s definitely Ava, and there’s a big, dumb bastard who’s trying to pull her back inside. Fuck that, I think, my teeth clenching with anger. He doesn’t get to touch Ava like that, like she’s some regular broad on the street instead of the most perfect woman in the world. I react without thinking, slamming on the brakes and u-turning in the street. Good thing there isn’t anyone else on the road. I drive up to the two of them and jump out of the car.

“Hands off of her buddy!” I growl. I’ve got adrenaline pumping through me, and I’m ready to defend what’s mine.

The two of them look over at me, the asshole with anger, Ava with surprise.

“James?” she says, as if she can’t believe I’m standing in front of her.

“Who the fuck is James?” The idiot asks. He still hasn’t taken his hand off of her, so I help him along, pushing him back a few paces. Getting into a fight my first night in town would be pretty stupid, but I’m not thinking with my brain anymore.

“That’s me. And I think you’ve outstayed your welcome. You heard what Ava said.”

The guy narrows his eyes. He’s built like a bull, with no neck and heavy brow ridges. A nose has been broken in two places. A real, dumb fuck. I curl my hands into fists, ready to back up my words, but the guy must have seen how serious I was, because he shakes himself off.

“Whatever. I don’t need a bitch like you,” he says.

I step forward, ready to show him what happens when he disrespects Ava, but she puts a hand on me.

“James, what are you doing here?” she asks in that sweet voice of hers.

My eyes are on this Ken guy until he shoves his way back into the pub, then I turn to Ava.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I say. “Come on, I’m taking you back home.”

I head back to my car, and Ava follows, tottering on sky high heels. Another thing that’s new. The Ava I love isn’t flashy and provocative. That’s the thing I love about her. She’s like a secret present only someone who’s willing to take the time and effort gets rewarded for.

Once we’re back on the road to the B and B, I start to relax. I like this, Ava by my side, the road stretched out in front of us. The painful feeling in my chest subsides, and I relax my grip on the steering wheel. It’s a pretty, winding road along the beach, and the sea is shimmering in the moonlight. I’m paying more attention to what’s inside the car than out though. Ava’s wearing the scent she’s always worn, something flowery and feminine, and her dress, or let’s face it, shirt, is riding up high on her creamy thigh. How easy would it be to take my hand off the gear stick and move it a few inches to the right?

“James,” Ava says softly, breaking into my thoughts. “Are you, are you mad at me?”

“Not mad, just surprised,” I say. I furrow my brows again. “Do your parents know you’re out this late?”

“I’m not a kid anymore you know,” she protests. “I can do whatever I want.”

She’s right, but that doesn’t pacify the roiling anger I still have in my gut. Seeing another man’s hands on Ava, touching what should be mine, all of it just pissed me off. But I really have no one else to be angry at than myself, which only makes me angrier.

We crest a hill, and the B and B is spread out below us. The lazy gravel driveway, the high tower and fancy stonework, all of it suggesting a stately elegance lay within. At least Bill and Sandra has that going for them. People expect a bit of history, a bit of old charm when they visit a bed and breakfast, and Selkirk House has it in spades. As we drive up though, I start to see signs of wear. Paint is peeling in places, and the grounds need tending too. As in flipping houses, outside appearances matter. They set the stage for what’s inside.

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