“I think so. I hope so. And no one seems to have figured out you write The Virgin Club.” But Blanche clearly has. I shouldn’t be surprised though. She’s a woman who does her research. “Has word gotten back to you?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Not a peep.”
“Good. And while I’m here, I need to get a special birthday gift for my sister.” Once more, she sweeps the store for spies. “In the same vein as the helper you suggested for me.”
I rub my palms. This is a job for a sexpert.
But before I can get more deets on my next superheroine assignment, the bell rings, and a new customer strolls in. “I’ll email you specifics,” Blanche chirps. “By the way, I tell all my girlfriends to read your column. They love it.”
“I’m so grateful for that.” Her visit is a shot of vitamin D on a cloudy day. “Thanks, Blanche.”
She leaves, and after I help a few more customers, I grab my phone from my pocket to tell Milo about the big order. He’ll be happy to hear that, and it’s the right thing to do. Clearly, he loves check-ins.
But when I click on my texts, there’s a message from him waiting for me, timestamped five minutes after he left this morning. My heart skips happily. Dammit. I half wish I didn’t have this reaction to him when I have no clue what he wants. I open his note and read. Hey! I didn’t want Zara to catch on. But can I call you tonight?
Ugh. Just tell me what you do want, Milo. Why can’t he be direct and say he’s dying to see me again?
I respond with a simple of course.
I say nothing about the big order. Maybe I’m being petty. I don’t care. I want plans. Not texts.
When I arrive home that night, there’s a package from Just for Her waiting for me in the mailroom. Weird. I didn’t order anything, but when I go into my apartment and rip it open—eagerly—I squeal.
We thought you might want to try our new Butterfly! Let us know what you think! Love your column!
Xoxo
Angelica, Lark, and Christine
(AKA, the gals at Just for Her)
I pump a fist, then show it off to my pets. “Look who just scored a free gift,” I say.
StudMuffin spins in a circle, although that just means he needs to pee. But I know he’s secretly excited for me. I take him out for a walk, and when I return, I focus on the job hunt, sending the email to Tiffany at TJ’s publishing house, then firing off emails to Peterson Books, Dunbar and Loraine, Reiss and Reardon, and my sister’s contacts at Lancaster Abel. I answer Blanche’s note, putting together a virtual gift basket of recommendations for her sister. Amelia hasn’t reached out yet, but there’s a note from Bellamy asking if I can interact with readers again, since they’re salivating for me.
Her words.
I laugh, then respond with happily, and pop over to The Dating Pool to answer questions. This is another shot of delicious adrenaline. I am in my element here, talking to other women.
Then, feeling energized, I grab my phone, and head to my balcony. I’ll brainstorm ideas for my next Virgin Club column tonight. I’ve gotten ahead of schedule since I wrote three columns last week, and Bellamy is stockpiling them to release each week. But thinking ahead will keep my mind exactly where it should be—on my career.
Interesting topics about dating and virginity could be . . . How to Break the News to Your Date, or Wear Whatever You Want, or Other Things You Could Be Doing Tonight.
I like the first one, and I bet Bellamy will too. As I open the email to suggest that topic, my gaze catches on a flash of white in the corner of my balcony. Is that a paper airplane?
Quickly, I bend down and grab it. It’s so intricate. It’s not a third-grader’s flying machine at all. It’s origami level, with delicately folded wings, like it was engineered to reach a certain altitude.
Maybe three stories up from the street?
My heart skitters. Hope flashes bright and hot as I turn it over. The name on the side says Miss Cute Devil Butt.
I gasp with excitement, then set a new speed record for unfolding. There’s a note on the inside.
Hi there. What are you up to tonight? Have I told you I make excellent sandwiches? If you want one, call me.
20
The Price of Admission
Veronica
* * *
Twenty minutes and a quick shower later, I’m rushing to the door to answer Milo’s knock.
When I open it, he’s looking like he freshened up too. The ends of his hair are wet. His dark blue eyes lock with mine. I stare at his inviting mouth for a beat, but my eyes are eager to check out all of him, so my gaze takes a stroll. He wears a trim maroon T-shirt and skinny shorts that make me want to rename him Mister Sexy Shorts too. But off with his clothes, I say! I am going to strip him naked so damn soon.