I offer a small smile and nod, not quite meeting his eyes, then I grit my teeth. This right here is exactly why I’m still a virgin. I’m barely able to look at a guy, much less speak. Flirting is entirely out of the question.
“You sure?” He quirks a dark eyebrow at me, a cocky smirk spreading across his face—his gorgeous, make-me-sin face. “You look like you’re ready to jump off this train while it’s still moving.”
“That obvious?” I ask, finding my voice.
He shrugs. “Maybe it’s the way you’ve nearly chewed your finger off since I’ve been sitting here watching you.”
Watching me? How long has he been watching me? I look down at my fingernails and cringe. So much for that manicure. Now I get to be an awkward as fuck virgin up on stage in addition to having mangled nails.
“I’m Wes,” he says, that smirk still in place.
And damn it, if he doesn’t have my heart stuttering again. His eyes are an unusual greenish-grey, and they have me hypnotized.
The smirk grows wider. “And you are?”
“Oh,” I say, my face flushing as I jerk my gaze from him. “Celine. I’m Celine.”
I look all around the train, trying to focus on anything but Wes. He has me totally flustered. I just don’t know how to act around men.
So why the hell are you about to sell yourself to one?
I press my lips together, wishing for the millionth time there was another solution. But this is it. If I want to stay in New York and have a real chance at the life I want, I need money.
It’s not like the first time is supposed to be special anyway, right? It’s just an initiation. Like jumping into a freezing pool. You acclimate, and things get better after that. Best to just get it over with so I can move on to the fun part.
Except I can’t even hold a conversation with Wes here, so I don’t know that the having fun part is coming my way anytime soon.
“What are you doing tonight?” Wes draws my attention again. Apparently, he isn’t catching on to the fact that I can’t seem to form a coherent sentence.
I shift uncomfortably. “Just going to this club,” I mumble.
That seems to interest him. He leans in closer. “Me too. What club?” There’s a spark in his eye.
Shit. Why did I have to say that? Like I really want to tell this stranger that I’m going to some underground club where they auction off women for sex.
Wes seems really nice. Someone that I might like under another circumstance. You know, if I wasn’t trying to psych myself up to hand in my V-card. Or if I didn’t become a bumbling mess in the presence of his kind of sexiness.
“What do you do, Celine?” He changes the subject, obviously aware that I don’t feel comfortable telling him where I’m going. But that question isn’t much better.
I don’t have a job. This is my last ditch effort to make enough money to go to school at NYU. And if things work out well enough with the auction, the lady I spoke with said there were other exclusive opportunities to make money. Whatever that means. I was afraid to ask.
“Your mother must have really drilled it into your head not to talk to strangers,” he teases, flashing a lopsided grin that makes his entire face look less intimidating. He reaches down and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger.
Even though I would normally be even more freaked out than I already am by his attention, I can’t help smiling back at him this time. That smile is totally disarming.
“You’ve got me,” I say, laughing. “And I’m nothing if not a good girl that follows the rules.”
He hums. “Just what I thought.”
I think I see a flicker of something in his eyes, something heated and greedy, but it’s gone in a flash.
“College student,” I blurt out, then want to smack myself for being so inept at simple conversation. Again, no surprise here that I’m still a virgin.
His eyebrows lift in amusement, and I continue. “That’s what I do. You asked what I do,” I add awkwardly. It’s almost true. It will be after tonight.
“What do you study?”
“Screenwriting.” I don’t know why I tell him that. I don’t usually tell anyone that, afraid they’ll think it’s ridiculous.
Wes smiles again. “You know, Celine, I’d love to take you out for coffee sometime. Get to know you better.”
I shake my head quickly. “I can’t. I have to be somewhere.”
“Me too,” he says, almost regretfully. “How about tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I find myself saying before I can think better of it. God, what am I thinking? I can’t go have coffee with this guy. After tomorrow I may end up being some kind of escort or something.