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Dear Wes, let’s skip pleasantries.
I’ve looked at all the men in my life, made a list of pros and cons, found you the most suitable.
Losing It is a standalone first time romance with the perfect mix of heat, humor, and emotion. Come see why readers say “no one writes broken bad boys like Crystal Kaswell.”
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I don’t want to go to med school a virgin.
I don’t want to screw a stranger.
I don’t want to find a boyfriend.
Westley Keating, will you please do me the honor of taking my virginity?
I swallow another sip of gin and tonic. Fail to find liquid courage.
Wes is right there. On the couch. A mere ten feet away.
But he might as well be on another planet.
Dear Wes, I’ll cut to the chase. Will you please take my virginity?
It’s two sentences.
I mean, if I were a completely different person.
If I were Wes, maybe.
He laughs at something. The pretty blonde sitting next to him.
She smiles and paws at his forearm.
He shrugs her off. Runs a hand through his sandy hair.
His blue eyes scan the room. Catch mine.
He holds up his drink. Come here or hey or I hope you’re having fun.
Hell, knowing Wes, it could very well be what are you doing after this? Want to help me celebrate my birthday in style? And by “in style” I mean in my bedroom naked?
He’s not shy.
Fuck, my cheeks are burning. My chest is burning. My everything is burning. Anyplace capable of blushing—it’s red.
The curse of auburn hair and fair skin.
God, he’s still looking at me.
I hold up my drink. Nod… something.
I must get the point across, because he nods back.
Then he turns to his friends and launches into a story.
The women laugh.
I need another drink.
Then I’ll be able to do this.
I move to the counter. Refill my glass. Add another ice cube. More gin. More tonic water. Even more gin.
The room spins with my next step. But that must be my imagination. Alcohol doesn’t absorb this quickly.
I turn back to Wes. Plaster on my best woohoo, let’s party smile (it’s not great).
He doesn’t see it.
He’s moving. To the balcony. With a friend.
No, that’s his brother, Chase. He’s equally tall and broad, but he’s dark in all the places Wes is light.
They’re having a private conversation.
I shouldn’t interrupt.
I should think up another twenty excuses for why I can put this off.
I swallow another sip. Recite my request. Follow Wes and his brother across the crowded room.
The speakers boom with a song from high school. It’s good, catchy, jazz inspired. But way too familiar.
It threatens to drag me back to prom night. To my date’s awkward dancing and the stuffy hotel ballroom and a kiss with too much tongue.
He wasn’t sexy.
Prom sure as hell wasn’t sexy.
Wes is the hottest guy on the planet.
God, just watching him lean over the balcony—
I’m doing this.
I can do this.
Deep breath. Steady exhale. Long sip.
I step onto the balcony.
Wes’s head turns. His lips curl into a smile as his eyes meet mine. “Hey Quinn.”
“Hey.” My fingers curl into my drink. The glass is too slick. I can’t get a grip.
Wes’s brother Chase nods a hello. “Can you give us a minute?”
Wes shoots him a dirty look. “Not doing it. Stop asking.”
“I, uh…” I’m interrupting. I think.
“Chase was just leaving.” Wes motions something to his brother.
His brother shakes his head your funeral, but he still steps away from the balcony.
“It’s nice to see you.” Chase nods a goodbye as he passes. “Have a good night.”
Wes waves his own goodbye. There’s something in it. A friction. But I can’t quite place the nuance.
I take another step toward Wes.
Until I’m next to him.
My hands find the smooth metal railing.
It’s a beautiful night. Clear. Warm. Dark.
The sky smells of salt. And Wes’s sandalwood shampoo.
Fuck, he smells good.
“Sorry about Chase.” He turns so his body is facing mine. “He always has a problem.”
“Did I interrupt?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Just work stuff.” Frustration flares in his bright eyes. Then he blinks, and it’s gone. “I like your dress.” He gives me a long, slow once-over.
“Thank you.” My blush deepens. This is the sexiest thing I own—a black swing dress and red wedges—but it doesn’t feel like enough. Not for this.
“How have you been?” He takes a long sip.
God, what a question. I don’t have time to answer. I don’t want to think about the answer.
I need to cut to the point.
I’m not usually this nervous. I mean, I’m usually nervous. But not this nervous. It’s just that I’m working up the courage to ask you to screw me.
“Quinn?” he asks.
“Must be a lot, starting med school next year,” he says.
“Yeah.” I swallow another sip, but it does nothing to dissolve the tension in my shoulders. “Next month.”
“Fuck. What’s that like?”
Uh… No comment.
“You okay?” His bangs fall over his bright eyes as he tilts his head to one side. “You need more alcohol or less?”
“What if I needed less?”
“Then I’m shit out of luck.” He moves closer. Brings his fingers to my wrist.
My heart thuds.
My stomach flutters.
My limbs get light.
Wes is touching me.
Wes. Is. Touching. Me.
“If you want more—” He turns to the patio chair, pulls back the Kelly-green fabric to reveal a bottle of brown liquor.