Chapter 1

Netflix and chill? More like Netflix and anxiety attack. I never should've said yes to a date from the waiter at my favorite sandwich place. Now I have to find a new sandwich place and I loved their roast turkey sandwich with havarti and green olive tapenade on ciabatta. The bread is made in house and the meat to cheese ratio is on point.

Shit. Now I'm hungry. I thought pizza was a requirement for Netflix and chill. Least he could've done is brought home leftovers from work, instead I'm staring at a bowl of pretzel sticks and haven't touched the Bud Light he gave me when we sat down. Light beer is so gross. Lost all respect for him the moment he handed it to me.

Luke the aspiring actor is way too young. In my defense, I thought the obvious age gap would help loosen me up, but he's too good looking. I gaped at him for the first few minutes I met him. His light green eyes and wavy blond hair were so distracting, he had to clear his throat to get my attention so I'd order. Lucky for me, or unlucky depending on how you look at it, he found my pathetic girly soft gaze adorable and asked me to come over.

We're currently sitting on his warehouse purchased faux leather sofa watching the second episode of Breaking Bad on an massive flat screen television that doesn't seem to fit the broke-as-fuck vibe the apartment he shares with three other guys gives. I have no clue what's going on on the show because Luke just draped a blanket over both of us. His hand keeps trying to find mine under the blanket. He could be trying to find my thigh. Or the button on my jeans. The thought causes me to scooch away from him, but to my disappointment he moves with me, placing his entire hand on my thigh and I feel nothing but regret. This was such a dumb idea.

He turns to face me, a smile on his lips like I was playing a game when I moved. "Liking the show?"

I avoid looking at his lips and gaze into his eyes as my head bobs up and down. He really does have beautiful eyes. "Yup," I manage to utter. "I'm completely on board with this whole selling meth thing."

Luke chuckles and leans forward to brush an imaginary crumb off my lip. I haven't had anything since lunch, but the move is still smooth. "You're so cute."

He's inches from my face and I think he's going to kiss me. Here we go. Do I lean to the left? Will we bump noses? That'd be embarrassing. What if he sticks his tongue down my throat and I gag? What do I do with my hands? Keep them on my lap? Touch his butt? Worse yet, what if he can tell?

The influx of thoughts cause my heart to beat in the worst way possible and I feel my breathing quicken like I've forgotten how to inhale and exhale. I feel trapped and on the verge of suffocation.

No, no, no, this cannot happen again. Words fail me and suddenly the smell of his cheap beer breath mixed with cologne makes me want to gag and it's hot. Not I'm so turned on right now hot, but the sticky heat that comes from pure panic. I keep scooting back, away from him, but instead of taking the hint that I am not okay with what's about to happen, he takes it as an invitation to lean his torso on top of me so he's almost on top of me, his hands on either side of me, trapping me.

Luke takes my rapid breathing and lack of verbal communication as a desire to fulfill the "chill" portion of our Netflix and Chill evening and leans in to kiss me, except as he leans in, my body rejects him. I say my body because before the evening started, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to get this whole shebang over with, but my body had other plans and decided to jerk and physically push him off of me. My actions are so vigorously that he falls on the floor, knocking his head on the coffee table and causing the pretzels to fall off and scatter across the carpet.

"What the fuck?" he yells, rubbing his head and not looking like the pretty waiter from earlier, clearly upset because there will be no fucking tonight.

"I'm s-s-sorry," I stutter, getting up to leave because I am. It's not his fault I'm a freak. When someone literally invites you over for Netflix and Chill, expectations for the evening are implied. Honestly, one could admire his ability to sit through one episode of whatever we were watching while I sat with my arms crossed on the other side of the couch.

Luke lays his head back and closes his eyes, trying to calm himself down. "You don't have to leave."

I sling my purse over my shoulder and look at the mess I made. Luke lying on the carpet with pretzels all over him and the bottle of beer I didn't drink about to topple over. The kid had potential but it looked like neither of us would be able to chill for the duration of the evening. I feel bad skipping out, but if I didn't leave in that moment, I knew he'd get the wrong idea and there'd be a repeat performance of what just happened, except probably worse. So I don't say anything and run out the door like a bat out of hell.

XXX

The story goes, Angelus and Santiago were twin brothers and Spanish explorers. Their arguments were legendary and well documented by their crew. One argument even led to a duel, but the brothers were so drunk the sword fight turned into a brawl which ended with each of them sleeping it off. But Angelus did something Santiago could not forgive, he stole his brother's betrothed and married her without Santiago knowing.

When they landed on the Americas and purchased (stole) the land in the name of the Queen from the Native Americans for pennies, they split the land down the middle. Santiago settled on one side of the later named Mystic River and Angelus settled on the other side. Long after Santiago and Angelus died, and the towns realized that if they were going to survive they needed to put aside their differences and trade, they built the Wickery Bridge to connect the two settlements, Angel Falls and Diego Falls, named after the two brothers and the falls that flow from the river.

Not surprisingly, both towns still hate each other, except now for different reasons. After the company that produced the largely popular Twin Falls Water and Juices closed down, and the vineyards dried up, Diego Falls has been struggling for the past twenty years while Angel Falls continues to thrive. I grew up in Angel Falls and haven't left, even when my peers went to schools on various sides of the country, I stayed and earned my masters degree in library science at the local college.

I know this town. I know that on Sundays brunch at most restaurants doesn't really start until one in the afternoon because most of the town is at church. I know that on the 4th of July, there's a pie baking contest and Mrs. Fell will enter her green tomato pie but Mrs. Lockwood will reject the pie because she doesn't count it as a real pie and then they'll have a passive aggressive fight until Mrs. Johnson's peach pie wins the contest, which it always does because she's the shit. Then Mrs. Fell and Mrs. Lockwood have a common enemy and over a couple of bottles of wine, they plot on how to overthrow her the next year. It's my town. It has decent shopping, some nice restaurants, big buildings and fancy hotels, but more importantly, it's comfortable and it's easy, which is why I've never had a desire to leave.

After leaving Luke's place, I have no desire to go home and think about life while spoon deep in a gallon of cookie dough ice cream, so I head across the Wickery Bridge to Diego Falls. Diego Falls has a lovely little movie theater that plays older movies. Every night they have a theme and tonight it's Musical Monday. I already missed the first movie in the double feature, but I should be on time for the second movie. The thing about this theater is you can't look up the times or buy tickets online, and they don't have multiple screens or an IMAX. You just have to go and hope they play a movie you'll end up liking.

Once I cross the bridge, the drive isn't bad. I pass several community developments, but as I drive further away from Angel Falls, I take a turn and drive down a dilapidated road and pass boarded up homes in foreclosure and a couple of convenience stores with small groups of people congregated out front wearing hoodies and knit caps, smoking. Random graffiti decorates any bus benches, sides of businesses and billboards. I take a left towards Old Town and pull into the parking lot of a theatre that looks like it still did seventy years ago, turquoise paint and pink tile in geometric shapes line the entrance, directly below the lit up marquee. Tonight, the theater is playing High Society, with Grace Kelly, Frank Sinatra, and Bong Crosby.

I purchase my ticket at the ticket booth and walk inside to get popcorn. One of the many reasons I visit this theater is for the popcorn, popped in small batches and they use real butter and sea salt. It's good enough to distract me from the happy couple in front of me, holding hands and whispering to each other. She says something funny in his ear and he twists his head so fast to bend down and kiss her quickly on the lips and I wonder what that's like. To have someone want to be with you. To hold up the concession line because you just have to have that moment of intimacy. To be wanted like that. I shake my head and focus on ordering popcorn and a coke.

When choosing a seat in the theater, I always sit towards the back on the far left side. I choose the seat most people avoid, the one at the very end. Sitting in the middle has always made me feel claustrophobic, and sitting on the edge gives me the quickest possible route out of the theater. I settle in my seat and enjoy a couple of hours of Grace Kelly choose between men fighting for her affection, munching on actual buttery popped crack, forgetting about the young waiter I left on the floor less than an hour earlier.

Even though I prefer The Philadelphia Story, the movie this musical is based on, I find myself humming on my way out to my car. I get out the keys to my Mini Cooper and see a couple of teenagers leaning on the hood of my car smoking something that are not cigarettes. They're watching a guy with a knit cap do tricks on his skateboard and laughing. A lanky girl in a baseball cap and oversized black sweatshirt comes up to the kid sitting on the hood of my car and they quickly exchange something in a small bag.

I stand back in the shadows and watch this all go on while people filter out of the theater without a care in the world, oblivious to the fact that these kids are using the hood of my car as a their own personal office. Jesus. I should've parked closer to other cars. I don't know what I was thinking, except I wasn't. I was busy lamenting over my nonexistent love life and my utter failure of being able to function as a human being with pumping hormones.

I consider asking for help from one of the people walking out of the theater, but instantly shake off that idea because I don't want to come across as a weak idiot. I look at my beautiful shiny black coop and decide that I can just ask them to move. They won't want any trouble. We're in a public place and even though I'm pretty sure everyone would ignore me if I screamed for help, I can call the police…who, in the fifteen minutes it would take for them to arrive, would find my dead body lying on the pavement. I shake my head. I'll be fine. I slid my keys between my fingers, in case I have to defend myself and pop someone in the eye and, as casually as possible, walk over to my car.

As I walk closer, it's clear that the kids are either oblivious to me or don't care. "Excuse me!" I shout. "You're on my car."

Like a gong going off, every single one of them turn towards me. The guy actually sitting on the hood, passes his blunt to the a short heavy set guy wearing way too much jewelry and combs back his greasy blonde hair with his fingers and smiles at him. "I knew this car belonged to a chick."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Was there a contest? Did the purple heart shaped sunglasses and Hermione Granger Funko Pop doll sitting on my dash not give me away?"

Wrong thing to say. Teasing a group of older teenagers is not a good idea. This is why I am not a librarian at a high school. Insecure little shits. The one wearing too much jewelry hands the blunt back to the blonde kid sitting on my hood and approaches me, something glinting in his right hand. "Hey!" He yells, more with his hands, showing exactly what he was holding, a pen knife.

I put my hands up, hoping someone, anyone, has noticed this interaction. But my car is parked in the dark part of the parking lot and everyone has gone home. It seems like this is a regular stop for these kids. "Look, I just want to get in my car and go."

He eyes my purse. "It's going to cost you."

I'm about to reach in my bag, when his eyes shift to someone behind me and he puts his hand down. My eyes stayed glued to the kid with a knife, not wanting to risk turning my back to him or my car. "Who're you messing with tonight?" asks the person behind me.

Knife guy shrugs. "Some uptight chick."

"Hey!" Rude jackass.

The person standing behind me moves to face me, placing himself between me and knife guy. He must've just gotten off his shift at the theater because he's still wearing the red vest. "Ms. Gilbert?"

I blink.

Knife guy looks as puzzled as me. "Who's Ms. Gilbert?"

"Holy shit," the theater employee momentarily flustered. "Sorry, I didn't mean to curse. I'm just so happy to see you."

I squint and then I see it. The eleven year old kid that used to come into my library asking for the next Rick Riordan book. "Aiden?"

He nods and gives me a big hug. He smells like burnt popcorn but it's a relief to see him and not someone who'd have enjoyed robbing me and stealing my car.

"This was my elementary school librarian," he explains, pointing at me like I'm a long lost friend. "She always had the latest graphic novels and would let me come in and read during lunch."

"You mean at that fancy ass private school you went to?" Knife guy says. I really don't like this kid.

Aiden releases me and walks me to my car, ignoring his friend. "Get off her car, Clive."

Aiden went to Angel Falls Day School under a scholarship. I wasn't sure what happened after he left when he graduated 8th grade, but I'd heard he got into Edison. Most students are either admitted to the prestigious college prep school, Edison Preparatory Academy, attend another private school in a neighboring city or go public. It's a grueling process and often more stressful than going through college admissions.

I glance at the kids pushing each other, sharing a sip out of a bottle covered by a paper bag and back at the boy who came into my library looking for solitude. "What happened, Aiden?"

A look of sadness crosses his face and he shrugs, knowing what I was referring to. "Got in but didn't get the scholarship," he mutters, his back turned from the kids who've now moved away from my car to another side of the parking lot. "It's better. I didn't fit in with that crowed and my mom needs me closer to home."

I place my hand on his shoulder and look up into his eyes. "You're better than this," I say. "Don't let these kids bring you down."

His face closes off and he pushes my hand off his shoulder. "These are my boys. My family. You don't know what you're talking about Ms. G."

I sigh, knowing that the kid I knew for three years needs a hard truth. "You're "family" just pulled a knife on me and are into some pretty illegal activities. They're going to get you arrested and then you won't be around to help out your mom." I open my car door and look at him square in the eyes. "Find the nearest library and study. You know my doors are always open."

He backs away and nods his head before walking toward his friends.

XXX

I gaze through the wooden slats of a closet door and hold my breath. Shades of blue and black dance before me. I see dark ominous shadow as I try to make myself as small as possible. My heart pounds like a drum, drowning out any sound from beyond the door. Smaller. Smaller. I crawl into the darkness so the shadow can't get me.

I wake suddenly in a cold sweat, shaking. It's the same. Always the same. Knowing I won't be able to go back to sleep, I get out of bed and walk over to my dresser to pull out leggings and a sports bra, deciding to go for a run before I have to face my day.

XXX

I lean against the door frame and gaze at Scott Easton's forearms as he hangs autumn leaves from the door frame of his classroom. The sleeves of his blue plaid shirt are rolled up and as he reaches up, the tight corduroy vest he's wearing moves with him giving me the perfect view of his ass. A couple of parents who are volunteering for the day walk over and ask him for help. He sheepishly runs his hands through his deep auburn hair and scratches the cool 5 o'clock shadow he's always rocking. His eyes crinkle at something they say. Shameless flirts.

"If you get any drool on those boots, you forfeit the right to own them and I don't have a pair of mid-calf Gucci boots."

Startled, I subconsciously wipe my chin and turn to see my best friend, Caroline Forbes shaking her head. "Seriously, I don't understand why you fawn over Science Scotty when you keep turning him down. He's asked you out three times, and every single time you make up some lame excuse as to why you two can't date."

I glare at her and pull her into the library, where none of the volunteers can hear us. It's Grandparents and Special Friends Day and the day before Thanksgiving break, so school doesn't start until later. Kids tour the school with grandparents or family friends and they usually do a craft or something in the classroom and have brunch in the courtyard. "Jesus Christ, Caroline, announce it to the whole school, why don't you?"

She laughs and sits on a bright blue bench near the check out desk. "You're the trifecta, Elena. Gorgeous, intelligent, and good taste in best friends, plus you have more money than God. Why Science Scotty? You could do so much better."

I sit on the edge of the check-out desk and shrug. "He's sweet and good with the kids."

"Then why won't you go out with him? You could walk over there right now, ask him to cancel his Thanksgiving plans with his family to take you out and he would."

Caroline pierces me with her stare and I know she's about to do something stupid on my behalf because she thinks she knows what's best for me. I need to shut this down. "I don't think it's a good idea to date a coworker."

She scoffs. "We work in a school. No one gives a shit as long as you don't use one of the closets as your own personal fuck-pad and you keep it professional at school."

I scratch my head and raise my hands. "I don't want to date him, okay?"

I'm a liar. I do want to date him. I want to have his babies but there's no way I can ever date him. I'm too screwed up and Caroline cannot know how screwed up I am or I'll never hear the end of it. I've never told her. We've been friends for two decades and this secret, this part of me, is one of the only thing I've kept from her. But since Scotty was hired a year ago, she's been on to me. She knows something's up.

Caroline gets up and walks to the door, then spins around with her hand on the door, ready to push out and leave. "Elena Gilbert, you give me one good reason for why you can't go out with Scott or I'm asking him out for you."

I panic, cause I know she'll do it. "Don't, Caroline. Please. I have to get ready for the book dedication sale before people arrive."

She laughs mockingly and waves her hand at the table of books I ordered and set up. "You've had this set up and ready to go since yesterday."

"Caroline…"

She starts to push the door open.

I jump up and practically tackle her away from the door. "No! This is none of your business."

Caroline stumbles back and brushes wrinkles from her red pencil skirt. "You're hiding something from me and we don't hide things from each other."

I'd call her out on those words, because she's hidden plenty from me, but there's a crack in her voice and I know she's hurt because she loves me. I was by her side when her mother passed away and she was the only person that didn't treat me like a weak freak after the accident. Even though we've slowly grown apart since she married Tyler and started her own family, I'm suddenly so tired of holding onto this that I decide to let go.

"I'm a virgin," I mumble. I can feel the color creep up to my cheeks.

Her mouth drops and I know that she didn't expect that. "I thought you lost it to…"

"I lied," I finish.

She sits back down on the bench and I can tell she's trying to go back through our history to see if she can pull any clues. "You're thirty."

I nod and sit next to her. "I'm literally the synopsis for a Judd Apatow movie."

"Except you have to subtract ten years because you're a girl," she adds.

"Now you know."

"How? How is it possible? I've seen you date, not much, but you went to prom with Matt. Everyone has sex at prom."

"I skipped out when you got drunk with Tyler and Matt realized he wasn't going to get any action. I don't like big parties, you know that."

"I gave it up when I was sixteen and told you all about it. How did I miss this?"

I shrug. "You know how you're supposed to have rites of passage? Your first high school party, getting your license, the day you go off to college- I just kept missing this one until I was too embarrassed to be intimate with someone and for them to find out. Whenever someone gets close, I sort of freeze and become anxious."

Caroline nods, like the news is finally sinking in. "Plus your Aunt Samantha is super religious and a super bitch and being raised by her probably didn't help."

"Aunt Sam telling me that sex before marriage is a sin didn't really affect me. I just… haven't found anyone worth the risk or knowing that I'm a virgin and telling them that they'd be the one to swipe my v-card. I should be more experienced. You've been sexually active for almost half my life. It's weird that I haven't been able to make this jump. I'm weird." I place my head in my hands. "I'm so weird. I just want to get it over with so I can move on with my life. Rip it off like a bandaid."

Caroline puts her arm over my shoulder. "Elena Gilbert, you are not weird. Plenty of people decide to wait and have sex and anyone who'd tell you that's weird isn't worth your time. Now, if you want to get your cherry popped, I can help you."

I sit up. "You can help me?"

"Absolutely," she replies, straight faced. "Are we still on for our Thanksgiving break celebratory lunch?"

"Champagne and waffles at Jam Bistro? Yes! It's the only thing that gets me through this day. I hate asking people for donations- makes me feel like a car salesman."

"Good, because I invited Jessa."

"You're crazy multi millionaire CEO cousin?"

Caroline nods. "She's in town for Thanksgiving and my dad wants me to take her out. Plus she'll know what to do."

"You can't tell her!"

"You need to stop being ashamed. It's not a big deal. Plus, who's she going to tell? She lives in New York. Do you want to continue to avoid relationships because you're worried they'll find out?"

"No," I state miserably.

"You just need a crash course in sex and you'll be dating Scotty by winter break. I don't think I can stand another Christmas Eve with you canceling dinner at my place to see White Christmas at that shitty theater in Diego Falls."

I take a deep breath. Caroline's right. I need all the help I can get and if her crazy successful cousin knows what to do, I'm game. It's a hell of a lot better than going out with guys I have no interest in in the hopes that I'll have enough guts to do the deed. "Fine, Jessa can tag along."

"Yay! Operation De-Virginize Elena is on!" Caroline claps and gets up. "Okay, kids will be taking their grandparents or special friends around to my classroom soon. I better get back."

"And I need to get some parent volunteers to help with book donations and check out," I say, getting up to walk Caroline out.

"If I get you laid, will you give me your beautiful boots?" she asks, on her way out the door. I think she's joking, but knowing Caroline, my boots will disappear from my closet before December hits.

XXX

"You need a prostitute," Jessa says, popping a blueberry in her mouth. She's blonde and glamorous and looks like she could kill you with her venom green eyes. I see the similarities between her and Caroline right away.

I take a deep gulp of my champagne. "Isn't that illegal?"

She scoffs. "Everyone does it, but no one talks about it because we're careful and pay a lot of money for discretion. Just because I'm a woman, doesn't mean I don't have needs and to take care of those needs, I use a high-end escort service. Then I don't have to deal with a relationship or an awkward one night stand. A few hours of fun and then they're out the door, no questions asked."

Caroline sits back wide-eyed. I kick her under the table so she'll speak up and I don't have to respond to anything that came out of Jenna's scarlet painted lips. This is a bad idea. Why did I let Caroline tell Jessa I'm a virgin? Although, when Caroline told her, she simply shrugged her shoulders and came up with a solution over waffles. No judgment, which was very refreshing coming from a Forbes.

I have no clue what to say and neither does Caroline because we both take a huge bite of our waffle at the same time. I'm hoping Caroline didn't know that this would be Jessa's solution because I'd hate to have to kill her before Thanksgiving.

Jessa looks down at her phone and types something. "Look, as long as you take care of everything," she glances up and waves her hand at my body, so I assume she means waxing and general upkeep. "health-wise," she adds in response to the blank look that has been permanently on my face since I met her. "I'll take care of everything else, my treat for getting me out of that hell hole and away from the ankle biters and entertaining me for an afternoon."

"Hey!" Caroline yells, finally piping up. "Those are my kids."

Jessa looks back down at her phone. "Are you sure? Because one of them got peanut butter all over my new Valentino pumps and any child that'd so easily destroy a designer pair of shoes cannot be yours."

I gulp the rest of my champagne and decide it's time break up a potential argument and speak up. "Look, Jessa, it's really nice of you to set me up with a gigolo-" words I never thought I'd every have to utter. "But I'd rather my first time not involve a capitalistic exchange of goods and services."

Jessa pierces me with a steely gaze, one I'm sure she reserves for the boardroom. "Let me get this straight," she starts, putting her phone on the table, crossing her legs and placing her intertwined hands on her knees. "You don't want a relationship because you're worried that the person who you're with will judge you for your lack of experience, which is crazy, by the way. You should never be ashamed of choices regarding your sex life. That being said, if you want to get your first time over with like a bad pancake, I have the means to help you. The service I use does a deep background check of all their escorts and clients. It's completely professional and usually they don't take on new clients without said background check but because of your situation and because I'm a frequent customer, they're willing to make an exception."

I open my mouth to say something along the lines of no thank you, but Caroline interjects. "Jessa, Elena isn't that kind of girl. We just need to find her a nice guy that won't give her a business card and ask her to refer him to her friends."

Something about what Caroline said annoyed me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Jessa's phone goes off and she looks at it, reading the email and a wicked grin spread across her face. "Well, I'll tell you what. Someone with a red rose in his lapel will be waiting at the Oak Bar inside the S Hotel tomorrow night, at 10 o'clock. They know all about your situation and I made a room reservation for you at the hotel. If you decide to go through with it, he'll be there. If not, order room service and enjoy the room."

I put my hand up to decline, but she gets up to leave. "I have an overseas conference call I need to take," Jessa says as she slings her purse over her shoulder. "Good luck Elena," she adds with a wink.

When she's out of the restaurant, Caroline picks at the rest of her waffle. "You can't go."

I sigh. "I know."

"Who knows what kind of disease you'd catch. I'm sorry I invited Jessa to our annual lunch."
I dunk a massive piece of waffle into whipped cream and pop it in my mouth. "It was nice of her to buy me a night with a gigolo."

Caroline and I look at each other and both burst out laughing. People at neighboring tables give us odd and irritated looks, and considering we haven't exactly been quiet for the past hour, that's saying something.

"Oh my god," she says, wiping a tear from her eye. "She probably has a hooker for every city."

Jessa is a respected business tycoon and notoriously ruthless. If this is how she de-stresses, she'd have to be careful. Would it be that bad to take Jessa up on her offer? I could get it over with and because they're being paid, there'd be no judgement.

No, I can't do it.

Can I?

"Look, we'll go to a bar and I'll help you find the right guy. I'll be your wing-woman. Tyler isn't expecting me back until late and the kids are with his mom," she offers. Classic Caroline, coming up with a reasonable solution, even though she doesn't know half of the anxiety going on in my head and didn't seem to notice that I've never been in a serious relationship or question it. Sometimes, I think she was glad it was that way because then I could be her attentive and loyal friend, ready and eager to listen to any and every boy problem.

"I mean, you've been kissed," she states, like she's sure she's seen it.

I laugh nervously. "Of course."

No. No, I have not.

"And a guy has felt you up," she adds. "I know you've mentioned it."

She's thinking of the numerous times I've had to listen to her lament over Handsy Harry, the guy she dated in college in between her relationship with Tyler, because unless you count my last gyno visit, it's never gotten that far.

I bite the side of my lip and pour myself some more champagne. "Uh huh," I mutter.

Caroline shrugs and helps herself to the bottle. "Well, sex isn't that much different."

"Yeah," I hold up my left hand and make the shape of an O and using the index finger of my right hand poke it through. "It's just a penis penetrating my vagina. Now I know why I've never done it, because no one has put it in such simple terms. It's just one step up from being felt up. Thank you, Caroline."

Caroline exhaled and chewed on her upper lip, looking like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Biting back a snide bit of judgement, most likely. Caroline is my best friend, but this news threw her. She expected certain things from me and this wasn't expected. I had turned into an uncontrolled variable, and I knew that Caroline must be realizing that a lot of our relationship was one sided. Her contributing to my de-virginization would help balance an already rocky relationship.

I lean over the table and place my hands on hers and squeeze. "It's fine, Care," I try to reassure. "I'll figure it out, it's like you said, this isn't a big deal."

She exhaled, relieved. "Well, if you ever need to talk, I'm here."

I plaster on a smile. "Tell me about your Thanksgiving plans. Tyler's mom driven you crazy yet?"

Caroline holds her hands in the air like she's strangling an ghost. "She wants me to make three different kinds of stuffing and even though she'll tell me to not stuff the turkey, she'll bitch when it's dry. There's a strong chance I'll be arrested for homicide by the end of the day Thursday."
"The trick to dealing with Carol Lockwood is to keep refilling her wine glass when she's not looking. It's Thanksgiving, so she'll start drinking at ten in the morning when she makes mulled wine for everyone watching football," I explain.

Caroline's eyes light up. "That's good. That's really good. Are you sure you can't come and be Carol's personal cup-bearer? I really need you to keep me sane."

And pass up a double feature in Diego Falls and popcorn for dinner? "I can't," I lie.

She frowns in response and continues to talk about the dinner she has planned and who's coming. I sit and listen to her complain about various members of Tyler's family, all the while thinking about why I can't be normal and just have what Caroline has. I'm not jealous, but I'm envious of the ease in which she interacts with her husband and his family.

Is it wrong that when she brought up going to her place for Thanksgiving, I immediately declined? Wanting to spend the day on my own? A holiday meant for family and I preferred the solitude of a theater over hugs and conversation over turkey, dry or not.

If I could get this one thing, this stumbling block that is my virginity out of the way, maybe it's a step in the right direction. Maybe I'd then be able to find someone who'd want to be with me, all of me, not just the pieces that best served themselves. It's a foolish dream, but it doesn't keep me from hoping there is such thing as a better life.

XXX

I don't have work the day after my lunch with Caroline, so I spend the day catching up on work at home, updating the library website and posting various pictures I took of kids reading at the school fundraiser the previous day on the library's Instagram account. #caughtreading or #readingwithfriends with various smiley face emojis decorate the comments beneath each photo, doing what I can to promote reading and the library program.

I live in a newly developed gated community of Angel Falls known as Deer Crest. There's a lush green park with trees, a pond, paved bike path, and gazebo. There was talk of turning the park into a small 12 hole golf course, but the families in the community gathered together and got the project shut down. Companies are constantly trying to develop Angel Falls and there's definitely a divide in the city of those who want to compete with larger neighboring cities and those who like the community and family feel of the city.

I bought my home when I turned twenty-seven and knew what to do with the money in my trust. Up until that point, I'd been living in a studio apartment working as a librarian, free-lance writing, and waitressing to pay for graduate school. When I was able to access my trust at twenty-five, I felt weird spending any of it. Money I'd gotten in a lawsuit from a horrific accident when I was twelve isn't as easy to spend as you'd think, but when I saw this house, with it's dark wood siding and stone slate pillars, wrap around porch, lush green landscape, making me feel like I was in some fairy tale, I knew I had to buy it. Then the spending got easier, but I held onto the millions in my bank account for a few years and invested before I decided what to do with a small portion of it.

When it's late in the evening in Paris, I call my brother, Jeremy for annual pre Thanksgiving chat, but he doesn't pick up. Not surprising since he's most likely with his latest girlfriend, Juliet or something. Ever since he started dating her a year ago, he's been m.i.a., but Jeremy has pretty much been m.i.a. since my Aunt Samantha sent him to boarding school in England when he was ten. We try to keep in touch, but as we've gotten older and when he started working for an art restorer in Paris, it's been harder to schedule time.

I'm about to send him an email when the doorbell rings. I have no clue who it could be but it doesn't stop me from getting up and answering.

Twenty minutes after answering the door, I'm still in shock. A box from Barney's is sitting on my bed and peaking out of it is deep plumb lace lingerie and a black designer double breasted tuxedo jacket. But it's not just a jacket, it's a killer dress that only a woman who commanded boardrooms and brought people to their knees on a regular basis would buy. Jessa.

A note was left. One note in perfect cursive. Have fun.

There were two decisions placed before me. A) I could put on my pajamas and watch Die Hard, my pre-Thanksgiving tradition. B) I could put on the lingerie and dress and meet up with the guy with a rose in his lapel.

I chose option C, throw on jeans, a white tee, and vintage converse sneakers and go to a bar to play pool. The Rabbit Hole is a bar near the university that serves cheap beer and amazing buffalo wings they call rabbit wings, which makes no sense but the blue cheese ranch is so good, you'll willingly follow any rabbit down a rabbit hole.

Money is on the table and the people that surround the game have slowly started adding to the pile. Casey's thick chestnut hair is pulled back into a small bun, but tendrils fall into his face as he tries to make the shot. His worn black Eagles shirt rides up, revealing a defined abdomen. He peaks up from his shot and winks at me, showing me he's confident in his skills. I let him beat me once and now he's right where I want him, overly confident and the people, his friends, that have started surrounding the game and adding to the pile of bets, only make him more sure of himself.

"Sure you don't want to back out? You've already lost once, it'll be humiliating to lose a second time," he smirks.

I stand, holding my pool cue like a staff and resting my left hand on my hip. "You might be the type of guy that pulls out, but I never back down from a bet."

His friends ooohh and chuckle and just as predicted, when he aims for his shot, he misses. His eyes aren't on the solid red seven he means to hit in the corner pocket, but boring into my back, purposefully not watching his shot, but looking like I'm watching the football game going on at the bar, when really I can see what he's doing, reflected off of a framed picture of the owner shaking hands with Jeanette Lee, The Black Widow.

And I know it's time.

I spin around, line up my shot, and hit after hit I make every single shot without scratching or fouling like I did in the previous game. Eating rabbit wings dunked in dip while dancing around the table, taking my time, allowing the growing crowed to watch without causing me to clam up or get nervous. This is something I loved and something I've been doing since I was seven and hung out at Mr. Breckinridge's, playing pool and video games with the son of my family's lawyer, Logan.

"You conned me," Casey says, leaning in to hand me a wad of cash while the other hand rests firmly on the edge of the oak pool table I'm leaning against, slightly grazing my hip.

I fan through the bills nonchalantly. I came to the Rabbit Hole to have fun, but I also came for something else.

I look into his light green eyes, flecked with bits of gold and brown and cock a brow. "Is that what you call losing to a superior player?"

His other arm falls on the other side of my hip, pulling me towards him. His large body practically shadowing mine.

"Sass," he mutters, taking the wad of cash out of my hands, folding it up, and placing it in my back pocket. So smooth and slick, I hardly notice because my heart is racing. Pounding out of my chest. This is it. He's handsome. He's into me. He's about my age. He checks every box.

"Sass is very attractive on you, Elena," Casey mutters, sweeping back a lock of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. "I'd love to explore your other attractive things."

His hands move to my waist and curl around my hips like he wants to pick me up and explore me right there on the pool table. But instead he pulls me away from the table, takes my hand, and guides me to an empty back room reserved for not-exactly-legal poker games.

This is it. This is the moment I turn into a normal girl. Woman. Whatever. Just a normal person with hormones and feelings.

But it's his smell. It wafts towards me as he guides me through the room. I didn't notice it before, because I was so busy trying to be nonchalantly amazing at pool, but now that we're in a room illuminated only by a single lit up sign for a vintage beer, and he's close, his head bowed, his hands grazing the hem of my tee like he wants it out of the way so we can get down to business, I notice it. He smells like sweat mixed with aftershave and smoke. It's familiar enough to leave a pit of dread in my stomach. The unknown, unnamed ghost from my past has made a reappearance.

"Adorable," he mutters, walking me to the card table. "But beating me in pool. Conning me into letting you win," he tsks, shaking his head. "That was sexy."

It was? I look at the card table. It doesn't look stable. The legs barely look like they could hold a bowl of potato chips.

Is he going to fuck me on this card table?

What if it breaks?

What if I fall on the floor?

What if I fart when I fall? That'll kill the moment then and there.

I feel my hands shake as I lift them and wipe them on my jeans, trying to put distance between us I step away from him, but the heel of my sneakers catch a loose floor board and I clumsily fall backwards, landing on my ass.

Casey stands there, looking down at me, laughing. "So adorable," he says, but instead of helping me up, he gets on the floor next to me. Camping out next to me like we're lying on a bed.

I don't really know what to do or say. My ass really hurts and I don't think I can get up on my own at the moment. Do I roll away from him? No, I can't. I have to go with this. I can power through. I may be panicky, and his smell may make me sick to my stomach, but I need to my cherry popped more, even if it happens on a dirty floor.

"Nice of you to join me," I say, twisting my body towards his so we're facing each other.

His eyes scan my body and zero in on my boobs. I may never get action, but guys have never been subtle about my rack. In one swift move, he rolls on top of me to get a closer look, his legs straddling me. It's not the most comfortable feeling. The hard floor at my back and a lumberjack straddling my waist, his wood digging in, straining from his pants. He hasn't even kissed me yet and he's ready to go, meanwhile I feel trapped like a caught animal. I can almost feel his smell travel down my throat, choking me, as he traps me with both hands on either side of me.

I close my eyes, trying to regain some semblance of myself when images of something large closing in on me blockades my senses. Blackness. Total blackness. I'm blind and I can't get enough air and I really start to choke. I feel myself being pulled up.

"Elena!" I hear my name, but I'm no longer on the floor. I'm in a chair in the back room with a glass of water next to me. I blink away the darkness and even though spots form in front of my eyes, I see Casey with a concerned look on his face.

"Sorry," I croak, taking a sip of the water.

"I'm not that kind of guy," he tries to explain. There's a pained look on his face. "If thought for a second you weren't into me, I wouldn't have taken you back here."

It's not his fault. I place my glass on the card table, take his hand, and squeeze, looking up into his eyes. He doesn't smell anymore. "I wanted to come back here," I say. He gives me a look of relief.

I need to know what I did. How bad it got this time. "Did I…"

"I tried to…" he starts

"Kiss me?" I finish.

"You started trembling uncontrollably and blacked out for a couple of minutes," he answers.

Every damn time.

"I'm so sorry," he repeats.

I shake my head. I'm not normal. I never will be. But I have one last hope before I move to Austria, join a nunnery, and sing about a problem like Maria.

"It's not your fault," I say, getting up to put as much distance as I can between me and this moment. "I better get going."

He grabs my hand, turning me towards him. He does have kind eyes and he does seem genuine, but this was a mistake. So release myself from his grasp and leave before he can say anything else.

XXX

I take a deep breath. I should've had a shot of something. Bourbon. Something that'd put fire in my veins. Twenty minutes ago I checked into The S Hotel. An hour ago I was at my house, blowing out my hair, shaving everywhere, trying to paint confidence on my face, and frantically getting ready. Ten minutes ago, I stood in the lobby behind a ornamental tree, waiting for enough courage to hit me that I could walk into the bar.

He walked into the bar a few minutes ago and let me tell you, Jessa wasn't kidding. This was a high-end operation because the guy sitting at the bar looks like a model for Armani. He's the very definition of an adonis wrapped in a three piece black tux, a red rose pinned to his lapel. Raven hair, not too short, but long enough to run your fingers through and even from this distance, I can see his pale blue eyes sadly looking at his drink before he downs most of it in one go. Brooding. Confident. Sex.

I can do this.

I can do this.

Oh god, he looks like he's going to leave.

I've got to do this.

I straighten the hem of the very low cut and short designer dress Jessa sent me, and throwing my shoulders back, stride towards the gigalo in the highest pair of silver stilettos I could find in my closet.

When I approach him, he cocks an eyebrow, piercing me with a stare that burns me to the core. He looks at me like he owns me, a slow long gaze, and maybe in this moment, he does. Our fingers barely touch, sparking something unknown in me, as I take the drink out of his hands, down the rest of it, and slam the hotel key down in front of him. "Room 576," I say in a voice that isn't mine because the sound coming out is controlled and confident, something I am not.

I turn around and walk away, toward the elevator, knowing he'll follow because he's paid to do so. I reach the elevator and can feel him behind me as I press the button for the fifth floor. He puts a hand at the small of my back, guiding me inside the car. His fingers strong and sure as if I'm a possession he needs to hold on to.

I haven't dared look at him, but I chance a glance at the mirrored walls of the car and his attention is on me. We're so silent, I can hear the crinkle of fabric as he moves his hand so it's more securely wrapped around my waist and I'm positioned in front of him when another couple enters the car, dressed to go to the pool on the roof. When he moves, I can feel his arousal dig into my back. A gasp escapes my lips, which only encourages him to pull me closer.

"See what you and that dress do to me," he mutters in my ear.

I gulp. I am way out of my depth. I knew he'd be more experienced, but this was almost too much.

The other couple oblivious to his words, chat with each other about the DJ playing the pool party on the roof.

He smells good, like bourbon and soap mixed with a hint of cologne. It's a clean masculine smell.

He feels good and warm next to me. I feel protected, even though I don't know him. Is this why he's high-end? He's so good he can make every woman feel wanted? I really need to keep my eye on the prize or I'm going to have a problem that I didn't anticipate, actually falling for him like some reverse Pretty Woman scenario.

Our floor dings, and I'm out the door and out of his grasp. I needed distance, but he's not easily fooled and is close behind me. He grabs my shoulders from behind, spins me around, and pushes me against the dimly lit wall of the hallway. His hands firmly placed on either side of me so I'm caged in like an animal.

His blue eyes lock on mine. "Don't run from me little rabbit. You should know now, I always catch my prey."

Jesus.

I swallow. "Are you a fox in this scenario?"

He shakes his head, tsking. His eyes flicking from my lips to my eyes. "Little rabbit, I'm the goddamn wolf."

Fucking. Hell.

His head dips down and claims my mouth, and holy shit I get this whole kissing thing. It is all consuming and all I can think about is how I want more and I want him closer to me so I can feel his heart and see if it's pounding as fast as mine. I thought I wouldn't know what I was doing. I thought my inexperience would prevent a guy from enjoying me or act as a block, keeping me from enjoying intimacy, but I was wrong. So wrong. It's like he awakened something in me. Possibly a beast. Forget seeing a psychologist, I think this prostitute cured me.

My legs are around his hips and he's carrying me through the hallway, bumping into walls, taking a few moments to grab at each other. Kiss various body parts. I think my dress is mostly unbuttoned, because the wolf has already moved the cup of my bra out of the way to suck on my nipple. God, I really hope this isn't a family hotel.

Taking the key out of his pocket, he fumbles to open the door while I remain propped against it, my legs locked behind his back, my hips rocking back and forth. "Hurry up," I breathe huskily.

He kisses my neck, sucking in just the right spot. I might have called him an Erotes, one of the gods of sex, but in my defense, I'm a librarian and he hasn't told me his name and I thought calling him a hooker would kill the mood.

The moment we're in the room, he throws me on the bed and takes off his jacket, while I sit up and watch, propped up in my elbows. "You like watching me?"

I bite my lip and nod. Yup. Yup, I do.

He smiles and takes his time folding the jacket over a chair and pulling at his tie before slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He stops. "This seems a little one sided," he nods his chin toward me. "You go."

Damn him. I kneel on the bed, unbutton the rest of the dress, and throw it on the floor, revealing the plum lace bra and panties. He just stares at my abdomen and I blush self consciously, covering up the small lines of scars that run along my lower stomach. "I probably should've told you," I try to explain, not knowing how. "It was from a car accident a long time ago," I gulp, not knowing how to tell him that Jessa may have told him I'm a virgin, but my hymen broke in the accident. "Don't worry, there won't be any blood," I try to joke.

He shakes his head like I'm crazy and kneels on the floor in front of me so his face is a mere inch from my stomach and kisses the scars, worshipping me, all the while holding my hips firmly with his hands. His fingers find the band of my panties and tugs, pulling them off.

It's another first, his knees in a prayer position while I sit perched at the edge of the bed, his mouth on me while my hands thread through his hair, groaning. I am completely exposed to him, and yet all I can think about is more. I want more of whatever he's doing to me. His fingers leave indentations on my hips as he lavishes me until I am a tightly wound coil waiting for release.

Please. Please. Please.
I plead with him, but he's not done. He takes short breaks to focus on my inner thigh or to position my legs over his shoulders so he can get deeper. It isn't until his finger slides into me that I start to come undone, falling back onto the bed with my arm covering my eyes. Goddamn. Explosive. More illuminating than fireworks because now I get it. I now I get why that guy from the X-Files had to go to sex rehab and I haven't even had actual penetration.

"That was…" I trail off.

He captures my lips with his own, shutting me up. His entire body blankets me on the bed, sweetly and lazily kissing me until I feel that need building back up. Clothes have been long removed and he's sheathed himself. I haven't dared look. I may not be blacking out or having panic attacks, but I'm still inexperienced. I mean, I just had my first kiss and orgasm within an hour of each other. But the rest of him is exquisite. He's broad shouldered and lean. He must be an active runner or cyclist, but he's also strong enough to toss me across the bed and lift me like I'm a feather.

He licks and kisses his way from underneath my breast to just below my chin, his hips grinding into me. He pauses and with those heated eyes that blaze blue fire, he sweeps the hair that's fallen over my face out of the way and locks eyes with mine. Are you ready? He asks with one penetrating look.

I nod, wanting this more than the breath of life. Yes. Yes. Yes. I repeat like a prayer. Yes. I want you. Yes, I want to feel you. All of you.

Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he enters me. I gasp and scream as my body adjusts to him. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his lips to mine, tasting him as he rocks into me until I'm ready. I suck on his lower lip as they part. "Get ready, little rabbit."

Like I'm a marionette, he positions me my arms are crossed above my head, elongating my body and moves my right thigh up with the palm of his hands and wraps my left leg around his body. He gently pulls out ever so slightly, and then thrusts that causes unintelligible expletives to escape my mouth. He utters strings of words like so fucking tight, perfect, made for him, but I'm too busy fighting for something to grasp on to. The feeling is so unreal, I need something, anything to ground me.

"I need…" I breath.

What…what do I need….how do I describe this building need inside me?

He pauses and looks into my eyes, trying to read me. "What do you need, baby?"

And in that moment, looking at his flushed cheeks and the tendrils of hair that have fallen forward, into his eyes that seem to know me, know who I really am, I understand what I need. "You."

He knows it too, because he releases my arms so I can wrap them around him and bring him closer to me and he gives me his mouth. With both my legs locked around him, he gently rocks into me until I'm ready for more and he gives me more, going deeper and deeper until my eyes tell him I'm spent and we both come undone.

He doesn't leave me, instead he kisses me all over, licking the sweat that's beaded up on my chest. I feel precious and wanted and it's the most foreign feeling I can describe because I suddenly realize that I've spent the better part of my life alone. Completely alone. Without even knowing what to call this.

I whimper, feeling emotion creep up in me, and when he looks at me with concern, I know that I have to suppress it. I need to regain myself because even though he's the only person I've tried to be intimate with that I've not had a panic attack with, he's also paid by the hour.

He slowly pulls out of me, kisses my forehead, and as he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, I hop out of bed and start to change with the speed of a superhero getting ready to fight an evil corporation.

"Where are you going?" he asks, as I'm heading to the door.

How do I end this? Is there proper etiquette for leaving a gigalo at the end of a sex session?

"Ummm," I utter, pointing to the door. "I'm going to go. Feel free to keep the room for the evening, just check out tomorrow morning by eleven."

He looks at me, flabbergasted. "You're not going anywhere."

Does he want more money? I could probably afford to be a regular customer, but I don't think that'd be healthy.

"This has been lovely," I say, waving my hand toward the bed like Vana White. "But it's been a long day and I need to get home."

"You're not visiting?"

I thought Jessa had filled him in. Maybe the use of a hotel threw him off. "No, I live a few miles away."

I probably shouldn't have said that to a complete stranger, but he had his mouth on my lady bits, so I think I can trust him to an extent.

His brows furrow. Thinking. I twist the nob, hoping he won't notice if I slip out mid-thought. "Just stay the night," he pleads. "You can't leave after that."

God, he's really trying to get more money out of this situation. He could probably tell that I am a desperate, inexperienced, and lonely loser.

I take one last good look at him. His defined torso, his lickable jawline, and his soft, perfect lips and flick my eyes up to his baby blues. Sadness. Probably because he's not getting paid for a full night.

"No," I state, and I walk out the door and practically sprint to the elevators. I make it just as the doors close.

I'm out the elevator doors and walking through the marble lobby when I feel an iron clad grip wrap around my wrist. "I don't even know your name."

Surprised, I turn around. He should know my name. Just my first, but I'm sure Jessa gave the service some sort of information on me. I glare at him and try to yank my arm away. "You don't need to know my name," I explain. "Because we're never going to see each other again."

I slip out of his grasp and continue to walk toward the exit.

"You can't tell me that what happened upstairs didn't mean anything to you," he yells after me, not caring that half the hotel can hear him.

Oh God. This is embarrassing. Hopefully no one I know from work is in the lobby.

I spin around to tell him that just because this was my first time having sex, doesn't mean I am magnetically drawn to the hooker that popped my cherry, when a guy with green eyes and amazing hair wearing a tux with a red rose on his lapel interrupts us.

"Goddammit Damon, I can't believe you skipped out on my reception to fuck some girl," he yells.

"Don't fucking talk about her that way."

And we have officially caused a scene, because at that moment I put it together. The tux. Reception. The rose on the lapel. Being in a hotel bar.

"You're not a prostitute!" I shout at my hooker.

Both heads turn completely to me. Jaws dropped.

"No!" Damon replies incredulously. "You thought I was a hooker?"

"What did you do, Damon?" The other guy asks.

Holy fucking hell. I just picked up a complete stranger, took him to a hotel room, and slept with him. I let him do things to be because I thought it was in exchange for monetary funds and now, now I feel sick. I should be relieved that I technically didn't commit a crime, but it just means that what transpired this evening was real, not an event just to help me overcome something that was keeping me from having a real life.

I look into Damon's confused eyes, slightly shake my head, and leave.