Twenty-Five Years Old Virgin

Valentina

"It's over."

Tristan doesn't even bother covering himself. Doesn't bother looking ashamed or guilty or anything a normal person caught cheating should look.

He's naked. So are the two women in bed with him.

My best friend and cousin.

Both of them look away from me, but he stares right at me with those cold eyes I used to think were beautiful.

"What?" The word comes out strangled.

"You heard me," he says, completely unbothered.

My hands clench into fists at my sides. "Repeat it again."

He scowls, finally showing some emotion. Annoyance. "It's over, Val. We're done."

I gasp, the sound bitter and sharp in the quiet hotel room. "It's a week until our wedding."

"So what?" He shrugs like we're discussing the weather. "I'm sick and tired of you. Tired of pretending. Tired of waiting."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" My voice rises despite my attempt to stay calm. "Before I wasted ten years on you? Ten years, Tristan! I spent most of my life with you!"

We were childhood sweethearts. Homecoming king and queen. The couple everyone thought would make it. Everyone said we were perfect together.

"I didn't ask you to waste anything on me," he scoffs. "That was your choice."

I turn to the women—the people I called my friends. My cousin, Maria, stares at me completely unbothered, like she's watching a mildly interesting TV show. My best friend since middle school, Ashley, at least has the decency to look guilty.

"After everything we've been through together?" My voice cracks on the words. "Ashley? Maria? How could you—"

"Oh please." Maria rolls her eyes, sitting up without bothering to cover herself. "Stop trying to gaslight us, Val. It's not our fault he doesn't want a twenty-five-year-old virgin."

They all snicker. Actually snicker.

Something inside me snaps.

I launch myself at them before conscious thought kicks in. My fist connects with Maria's face first—satisfying crunch of cartilage. Ashley shrieks as I grab a handful of her hair. Tristan is shouting but I don't care, I'm seeing red, I'm—

Strong arms wrap around my waist and yank me backward. Tristan carries me like I weigh nothing, throws me out of the bedroom and into the hallway.

I stumble but catch myself against the wall.

"You bitch!" he shouts, his face red with rage. "How dare you disrespect me like that? In front of them?"

"Disrespect you?" I'm laughing now, the sound unhinged even to my own ears. "You're going to regret this, Tristan. I swear to God, you're going to—"

"Regret what?" He's mocking me now, that cruel smile spreading across his face. "Regret finally getting rid of the frigid little girl who couldn't even put out after ten years? You want to know the truth, Val? You want to know why I'm doing this?"

"Tristan—"

"It's because you're a twenty-five-year-old virgin!" He's shouting now, loud enough that people in other rooms probably hear. "What kind of woman stays a virgin that long? What's wrong with you? Are you broken? Defective?"

Each word is a weapon designed to cut deep.

"I was waiting," I say through gritted teeth. "I was waiting for marriage. For you."

"Well I'm done waiting." He turns back toward the bedroom. "I'd rather fuck women who actually know what they're doing."

He leaves the door open.

Deliberately.

I watch—frozen in horrified fascination—as he climbs back into bed with Maria and Ashley. Watch as they resume their threesome like I'm not even there. Like I never mattered at all.

I bite back my tears with physical force, my jaw clenching so hard it aches.

I'm not going to cry. Not here. Not for him.

---

My apartment building looks worse than usual in the evening light. Cracked concrete, peeling paint, the smell of garbage from the overflowing dumpsters.

Home sweet home.

Except it's not even really home anymore because my family has decided—once again—that boundaries don't apply to them.

I can hear them before I even open the door. My parents' voices raised in their usual argument about money, responsibility, whose fault everything is.

I push the door open and they barely glance at me before continuing their fight.

"—couldn't even pay the rent again, Marcus! Again! What did you do with the money I gave you?"

"I told you, I had to help my brother—"

"Your brother? Your brother who hasn't worked a day in his life?"

I close the door and lean against it, exhausted.

"Val!" My younger sister Camila bounces out of my bedroom wearing my favorite dress. The red one I was saving for the wedding rehearsal dinner. "You're home! Can I borrow—oh wait, I'm already wearing it!"

She giggles like this is hilarious.

Normally I'd be annoyed but patient. Normally I'd remind her gently to ask before taking my things. But today—after everything—I just can't.

"That's my dress, Cami."

"I know! It looks better on me though, don't you think?" She does a little twirl.

"Take it off."

She pouts. "Don't be like that. It's just a dress."

"It's my dress. That I paid for. That you're wearing without permission. Again." I can hear my voice getting louder. "And knowing you, you're going to ruin it just like you ruined my jacket last month. And my shoes the month before that. And—"

"God, you're so dramatic." She rolls her eyes. "It's not like you can't afford another one."

"I can't, actually. Because I'm paying your tuition that you're wasting on drugs instead of going to class!"

Silence falls in the apartment. Even my parents stop arguing.

Cami's face goes pale, then red. "Fuck you, Val. You don't know anything."

She storms back into my room—my room that she's apparently claimed—and slams the door.

My mother sighs. "Valentina, really. Was that necessary?"

I stare at her. "Was what necessary? Telling the truth?"

"She's going through a hard time—"

"We're all going through a hard time, Mamá." I push off the door and head to my room. "But some of us deal with it without destroying other people's things."

I don't wait for her response.

In my room—well, half my room since Cami has taken over the other half—I dig through my closet until I find it.

The dress.

Tiny. Black. Almost transparent. Sleeveless and backless and the kind of thing I would hardly normally wear.

I bought it on impulse six months ago. Some fantasy of surprising Tristan, of being spontaneous and sexy and everything I thought he wanted.

I was going to wear it tonight. Was going to give him my virginity in that hotel room, make our wedding night something we'd already experienced, show him I wasn't 'frigid or broken or defective.'

Instead, I walk in on him fucking my best friend and cousin.

The universe has a sick sense of humor.

I strip out of my sensible jeans and sweater and pull on the dress. It clings to every curve—and thanks to my genetics, I have plenty of curves. Big ass, big boobs, tiny waist. The kind of body men stare at even when I'm trying to hide it under baggy clothes.

Tonight I'm not hiding anything.

I redo my makeup. Red lipstick—the expensive kind that doesn't smudge. Pull my red hair into a messy bun that took me twenty minutes to make look effortless. My hazel eyes are glassy, threatening tears, but I pinch my nose and tilt my head back until the feeling passes.

I am not crying tonight.

When I walk out, my parents have resumed arguing. They don't even notice me leave.

---

The club is packed and loud and exactly what I need.

I'd reserved the hotel room for tonight. Had planned the whole evening—dinner, champagne, finally giving Tristan what he'd been asking for.

But then I saw him entering a different room. With Ashley. With Maria.

And the rest is history.

I find an empty stool at the bar and flag down the bartender. "Something strong."

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't question it, just pours me something amber colored that burns going down.

Good.

"At least I found out before the wedding, right?" I say to the person sitting next to me. "I mean, that's the silver lining here. Could you imagine if I'd married him and then found out? That would've been so much worse."

The person doesn't respond.

"I mean, ten years is a long time," I continue, the alcohol already loosening my tongue. "But it's not as long as forever. So really, I dodged a bullet. Right?"

Still nothing.

I turn to look at them properly and realize they're not even listening. Just staring at their drink like it holds the secrets of the universe.

"Are you going to drink that?" I ask.

No response.

"I'm taking that as a no." I reach over and grab their glass, downing it in one go. Definitely whiskey. Expensive whiskey.

That's when he turns to look at me.

And oh.

Oh.

He's... stunning.

Dark blue eyes like the ocean at night. Sharp jaw that could cut glass. Full lips that I immediately imagine doing things they definitely shouldn't be doing. Blonde hair messy in that deliberate way that probably took him no time at all because of course it didn't, he's probably perfect.

He's the kind of hot that makes you stop and stare. The kind that makes your brain short-circuit.

He scowls at me.

"You're hot," I blurt out.

His eyes widen slightly.

Oh God. Did I just say that out loud?

"I mean—" I try to backtrack but my brain is fuzzy and my mouth won't cooperate. "You are though. You're like, really hot. Has anyone ever told you that? They should tell you that."

I'm rambling. I never ramble. But alcohol and heartbreak have apparently destroyed my filter.

He turns back to his drink.

"Are you deaf?" I ask, then immediately wince. "Sorry, that was rude. I didn't mean—are you actually deaf? Because if you are, I apologize for being insensitive, that was—"

He nods.

I blink. "Oh. Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

He turns back to me and there's a ghost of a smile on those perfect lips.

He heard me.

"Very funny," I say, but I'm smiling despite myself. "You're hilarious. A real comedian."

My gaze drops to his body—I can't help it. His shirt clings to him in all the right places, showing off muscles that definitely didn't come from sitting behind a desk all day.

He works out. Obviously.

God, he's gorgeous. Pretty and handsome at the same time. The kind of beautiful that makes you forget how to form coherent sentences.

I'm definitely staring now. Definitely checking him out. And I definitely don't care.

"Are you in a relationship?" The question comes out before I can stop it.

He pauses, something flickering across his face. Pain? Regret? Then: "No."

The word comes out bitter. Harsh.

There's a story there. A painful one.

But I'm mostly thinking about how his lips would feel against mine. How his hands would feel on my body. How his voice would sound saying my name.

When did I turn into this person?

I frown, pressing my thighs together slightly.

Am I... turned on?

I've never been turned on before. That was part of the problem with Tristan—he'd kiss me and I'd feel nothing. He'd touch me and I'd feel uncomfortable. I thought something was wrong with me.

But looking at this stranger, I'm definitely feeling something.

Heat. Want. Need.

He turns to me again like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. Like he can read my mind. There's something almost predatory in the way his eyes travel down my body and back up.

"See something you like?" His voice is deep. Smooth. With just a hint of amusement.

"Yeah," I breathe, then bite my lip because what am I doing?

His gaze drops to my mouth, tracking the movement. His jaw clenches.

When he starts to look away, I do something crazy.

I reach out and cup his jaw, keeping him looking at me.

We're close now. So close I can smell his cologne—something expensive and masculine that makes my head spin. So close I can see the flecks of lighter blue in his dark eyes.

"We both seem to have a lot we want to forget," I whisper.

His throat works as he swallows. "Yeah?"

I hum in agreement, my thumb brushing against his jaw. His skin is warm beneath my touch.

Then I lean in even closer, my lips almost brushing his ear.

"Do you want to sleep with me?"