Chapter One
Rosie
My best friend Owen stares at me with a slacked jaw. He’s the cinnamon roll type with sound morals, and I gather he’s never going to fully understand why I’d join a website like Fantasy Driver.
“What the hell were you thinking, Birdie? You can’t sell your virginity!” He scrubs his big, square hand down over his clean-shaven face as though I’ve stressed him to the max this morning.
It wasn’t my intention for anyone to find out about the auction. I told one friend in passing that I was thinking about it, but other than that I haven’t told a soul, and I wouldn’t have either. Turns out, sharing a computer means clearing the browser history.
Whoops!
“I know, but did you see how much these guys are willing to pay for a virgin? The bidding is up over a hundred grand. I can get out of your house, pay you back for all the help you’ve given me, and finally go to nursing school.” I grin and tap his shoulder playfully. “Or maybe I’ll make enough that I’ll never have to work again.” I know that’s not true, but a girl can dream.
Owen pinches his lips together and raises his brows before lowering his gaze toward me. “How do we get you out of this?”
“I don’t want to get out of it.” I smile, trying to lighten the mood. I’m most definitely not stopping this auction. The bidding is nearly to one hundred and fifty grand. That’s insane! It’s more than I made in years owning my flower shop, and like quadruple what I got from the sale of it, but I’ll humor his questions a little longer.
“What about weirdos?” He pours two cups of coffee and slides one toward me with a straight face.
“Weirdos are everywhere and they’re usually not paying me, so… no worries.” I shrug and take a sip of the warm liquid that steams in front of me. I know this conversation can’t go on forever because we have to leave for work in like ten minutes, but I also want to ease his mind. “It’s a onetime thing. One night, one stack of cash, and my whole life changes.”
He shakes his head and adjusts the Chevy cap he’s wearing before pulling out his wallet. “If you need money, I can help. It’s not a hundred grand, but I can go to the bank later and—”
“I don’t need your money.” I step toward him on the opposite side of the butcher block island. Owen and I have known each other since senior year of high school, and though our paths diverged here and there, we always stayed in touch and found each other again in this little mountain town a few years ago. I was lucky that he took me in when my shop was going under, and I’m lucky that he puts up with me every day. “I’m twenty-four years old. The fact that I still have my virginity is sort of… humiliating. I need the money, but it’s more than that. I want this over with. I mean, how did you lose yours?”
His cheeks turn pink as he brushes his hand across his forehead and darts his gaze to the side, as though he doesn’t want to have this conversation. “I don’t know… in the backseat of a station wagon.”
“Prom night, I assume?”
He nods. “I was a kid. Kids do dumb things.”
“Exactly,” I groan. “I should’ve done dumb things too because now I’m this weird, virgin girl who’s built this whole first-time thing up in her head, and let’s be real, nothing’s gonna live up to what I’ve imagined. I might as well make some money, do the deed, and move on with my life with the rest of the de-virginized world.”
“It’ll be special with the right person.” He crosses his arms over his chest, inadvertently flexing his inked-up biceps. We talk about nearly everything, but we usually leave sex out of the equation.
I think I’ve made things awkward.
A visible lump moves down the center of his throat as his hand grazes my arm. “Birdie, please. Let’s just talk about this. We can find another way to get you the money, okay? Maybe you could start drawing again. People pay stupid money for art online. You can advertise how exclusive the artwork is. That always gets these dealers hard.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. He’s called me ‘ birdie’ for as long as I can remember. He says my head is always in the clouds, but right now, I think it’s him that’s dreaming. “I haven’t drawn in like ten years, but I love the suggestions.” I tip up onto my toes and kiss his cheek, taking in the scent of patchouli on his skin. It’s the same smell I’ve enjoyed every morning for the past year. It’s become a comforting scent for me. “I’ve gotta get to the coffee shop or my boss will have my ass.”
His hands rest on my elbows and his gaze is knotted with what I suppose is worry. “I don’t like this. I think you should take yourself off the website right now.” His tone is more stern than usual and there’s a flatness in his stare that lets me know he’s serious.
“What? No.” I sigh and lean into his solid frame for a hug. “I love you. I know you’re worried, but I’m okay. Really.”
His neck is stiff, and his brows are wrinkled. He’s really not going to let up with this. “When does the auction close?”
“Tonight, at eight.”
“Then what?” he groans, rolling his head in circles.
“Then… I meet up with whoever’s won, and I give them what they paid for.”
“Jesus, Birdie!” His broad shoulders roll back before he clears his throat and checks the large circular watch on his wrist. He’s a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy, but he wears his grandfather’s Rolex with pride. I’ve never seen him take it off. “If I didn’t have a meeting this morning with the techs at work, I’d tie you up right now.” Owen owns the only repair shop in town, and he’s always swamped. Tuesdays are especially bad because he’s low on staff. “We’ll talk about this more tonight. Are you coming home for dinner?”
I nod and smile. “Every day. I took chicken out for quesadillas. I thought we could catch up on that stupid dating show and make fun of people all night. You in?”
He leans down and kisses my forehead gently. “Always.”
My heart warms and static rushes through my body as he stands in place, staring down at me. I’m not sure why Owen and I never dated. On paper, we seem good together. Better than good, we seem great. We know each other better than anyone else on the planet. Our demons play well together, and we’re always laughing. Not to mention the part where he’s insanely hot with biceps to spare.
He kisses me again. It’s an innocent kiss on the top of the head, but he usually doesn’t come back for seconds. “I love you. I’ll grab those churros you like at the bakery on my way home.”
“The ones with the chocolate?” I grin.
“The ones with the chocolate.” He steps away and back again, kissing me one last time before tucking his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and walking out the door.
If I didn’t know he was worried out of his mind, I’d think he was into me, which I’m not sure I’d hate. I’ve spent too many nights thinking about his hands all over me, wondering what it would feel like to cross that line with him, to feel his breath on my neck, to hear his deep voice rumbling in my ear.
My clit throbs as I get lost in the fantasy, which is a problem, because I’m already tracking ten minutes late for work.
I have no idea why I go down this rabbit hole. If Owen wanted me, I’d know it. We live together. Surely, there would be some sign that he was interested. Then again, maybe there wouldn’t be. I’m interested, and I keep those feelings, and any associated actions, safely guarded in fear of ruining our relationship.
Maybe he feels the same?
I can’t do this right now. Blowing out a breath, I grab my purse off the hook by the door and lock up behind me.
Thankfully, it’s not raining today, but spring in Colorado is about as bipolar as my mother. The temperatures range from freezing to sun blazing heat in the expanse of one day. You could also sweat in the snow, depending on the hour. Either way, I’m ready for something more stable. People hate winter, but at least you know what to expect. It’s going to be cold, it’s going to snow, and the roads are going to be slippery. Same goes for summer and fall. Spring, though, I don’t know. That season just never made sense to me.
Following the line of white picket fences, I walk down the sidewalk, soaking in the early morning sun and the scent of daffodils sprouting. I think that’s one thing we all can agree on. The scent of flowers blooming is a win. Though, small town living is always a win, no matter what the weather is like. Take this morning, for instance. It’s nearly nine a.m. and aside from a few cars parked on the side of the roads, and shop owners getting ready to start their day, there’s barely anyone on the street. Still, the one place there is a line forming is the coffee shop.
Ugh... I’m going to get reamed for this. It’s so hard transitioning into working for someone when I worked for myself for so many years.
I turn the corner down the side street near the post office where a massive cop stands on the corner talking to the crossing guard. I’ve seen him around town a few times before. My friend Jen and I used to call him ‘Wolfie’ because he’s giant, hairy, and scary… like a wolf. It’s not very original, but it’s the perfect description.
He glances toward me as I walk by, offering me half a smile and an obligatory nod, which I return. I wonder what his story is. Jen says she heard he had this tragic backstory where he lost his whole family in a fire when he was young, but we don’t know for sure. I make a mental note to look him up online when I get home tonight. Then again, maybe Owen knows. He’s lived in this town way longer than me.
A dark van with a cleaning decal on the window drives by slowly and a dog barks in the nearby yard as I press further down the street. It’s not uncommon for people to drive slowly here, but this person is driving extra slowly. I’m sure it’s because of the potholes on this street. They’re always bad post winter. I think the plows dig up the roads, and I think we need to use some of that tax money to fix them.
Listen to me, sounding like an adult. I wonder if I’ll talk about taxes more when I’ve officially had my cherry popped.
Scents from the bakery distract me from my nonsensical thoughts the closer I get to the coffee shop, whose line is only getting longer and longer by the minute.
Where are the people coming from?
I pick up speed, but judging by the fact that I’m out of breath, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to keep this speed up for long. The first thing I’m doing with the money from Fantasy Driver is buying a car. My body might be young, but I wasn’t built to walk these bumpy, cracked, uneven sidewalks at this elevation. I’m not sure who is.
Another dog barks as he digs beneath a white picket fence that he could easily jump over. I laugh to myself as life presents the perfect example of someone making things harder than they need to be. Maybe this is the universe telling me something.
“Excuse me,” a man’s voice echoes behind me.
I twist back quickly to see the cleaning van from earlier parked against the sidewalk with the window rolled down. The elderly driver is leaned forward with dark black glasses sliding down his bumpy nose.
“I’m trying to find Honeyville Street, but my GPS is taking me in circles. Can you point me in the right direction?” His voice shakes when he talks, as though his vocal chords have worn with age. I wonder why a man this old would be cleaning houses, but I don’t want to judge.
“Oh yeah.” I step toward the van. “It’s, ugh, you just go up to the—”
“I’m sorry, dear. I can’t hear you. Would you mind stepping just a little closer?”
“Sure.” I step closer to the van without thinking as the dog behind me continues to bark. “You’re going to take a right at the light up here and then a—”
The back door slides open, and I’m face to face with a massive man in black wearing a ghost mask.
What the hell is happening? My brain freezes and my body locks up. I never could comprehend how people got kidnapped, especially adults. It seemed so dumb.
How do you not see it coming? It’s a man with puppies in his van… duh! Well… I see it now!
The giant grabs my waist and tugs me into the darkness of the vehicle with a growl in his throat.
Wolfie! He’s not far, just a few hundred feet away. I try to scream, hoping he’ll hear me, but before I get a single sound out, the man has his gloved hand over my face, and I’m inhaling the sweetest smell until darkness takes over.