Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Wow.
“And how much are these tender virgins selling for?” I ask her.
“Depends on the quality of the virgin. But, up to a quarter million,” Jules replies on a shrug. “Maybe more.”
Hang on, now. Hang on. “A quarter million what?”
Emily elbows me. “What do you think? Pesos? Don’t be dense, Lexie. Dollars. I heard about it myself on Reddit yesterday.”
Another grumble from Gina. “Why the hell can’t I figure Reddit out? Why?”
Nevermind about Reddit.
“Wait. Everybody just wait a freaking minute here,” I practically bark, wiping my hands on my napkin then leaning forward, finger pointed. “You two are telling me that there is an auction, right here in Dallas, where I could sell my cherry for a quarter million bucks?”
“Yeah,” Emily says. She glances down at my lady parts with a smirk. “You got a gold-plated man eater? Maybe you’d go for a cool half mil.”
I lean back in my chair, taking a slow, deliberate sip on my strawberry shake in the way mobsters sip bourbon in sketchy back rooms, fighting off the urge to rub my chin and twirl my invisible mustache.
A quarter million dollars in exchange for something I’d be giving to someone anyway one day? Which means I’d be giving it to some guy who could afford to pay a quarter million for it?
I look Gina in the eye. “If a guy can fork up that kind of dough,” I pause, grinning, then finish, “I think we’ve gotten beyond dad bods and Subarus, haven’t we?”
She offers a conspiratorial nod, bordering on supportive in a sort of let’s rob a bank together kind of way.
And God, the money.
If I had money like that, I could study what I want.
Do what I want.
Be what I want.
Because I love my parents, I do, but I feel more and more like I am living for them, not myself at all. Their life is less and less true to me every day; study something sensible, keep up appearances, marry up.
But that isn’t me. Marrying up just is such a grotesque concept. Keeping up appearances, too. And as for studying?
As if on cue, a bumble bee flies onto the patio, as big as a black olive. In his wake, people flail and duck, ruthlessly swatting at his chubby fuzzy body.
But not me. Because to me, bees are magic. They absolutely fascinate me. Always have. Always will.
No matter how stupid my parents think it is.
The bee bumbles off toward a pretty row of verbenas and I refocus on the table. And on the auction, and all it could mean.
Gina’s pretty eyes narrow; my frenemy is back. “You’d never have the guts, though. Ever.”
Oh ye of little faith. She has always underestimated me, always.
I nibble on my straw before throwing down the gauntlet. “Who says?”
“I say. I know you pretty damned well, Lexie Sayre’s. You’ll talk a big game about this, that and the other thing, but when it comes down to it? When that hotel room door swings shut? There’s no way. No way. You’d turtle up faster than a prairie fire with a tailwind.”
Emily sighs. “She’s right. I love you, but you’ll lose your nerve. And take it from me, you’ll regret it.”
And Jules? This is just about too much for Jules, who clasps her hands together, almost in prayer.
“Lexie. You can’t.” Jules’s voice shakes and I think she’s about to cry for my poor, pagan hymen.
Oooh, all this bugs me. All this doubting me. All this assuming that just because I’ve always been a good girl that I will always be a good girl.
All these shoulds and shouldn’ts and oughts and ought-nots.
To heck with all that. I’m nineteen and if my virginity can set me up for my future, I’m damned well going to go for it. I want to be a rebel for once. This once. Finally. The time to seize the day is right-freaking-now.
“Wanna bet?” I deliver the clear challenge, slapping my palm on the table and making all my friends jump.
A chilly silence takes hold, then they look at each other, nod, and it’s game on. The waitress takes our plates as we work out the terms of this little bet of ours. Gina and I have been making bets like this since the day we got our first Barbies.
“If I back down, I’ll buy each one of you a brand-new phone. And don’t you dare tell me that you don’t need one.” I glance at the three cracked, shattered and pitted screens scattered around the table.
“I’m in,” Gina says, with zero hesitation. “Totally. Sign me up. One terabyte of storage for me, thanks.”
Emily looks more tentative, in a protective best friend kind of way. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”
“I get that. But this is a chance for me. And a new phone for you if I wimp out. One that won’t slice your finger every time you check your email.”