The Kingmaker (All the King's Men, #1)(17)

“Ugh,” Kimba groans from the lower bunk. “Did he watch Taken again?”

“I know. I told him to stop. Anyway, he assures me that I’m probably not asexual.”

“Was that a serious thought?” Vivienne asks. “I mean, it’d be okay if you were, but you’ve had boyfriends and seemed to like all the pre-game activities. I bet you’ll like dick once you get some.”

“I’m just not a dick-for-the-sake-of-dick girl, I don’t think.” I bury my head in the cool pillow and breathe in clean linen. “I trust myself to know when and who.”

I’ve never been ashamed of my virginity; I’ve never avoided discussing it if people asked either. Both my parents taught me to know what I believe, to articulate it first to myself and then to others. If it’s any of their damn business, that is, which in most cases, it’s not. But nothing is off-limits between me and these two girls.

“You’re in no hurry,” Kimba says from down below, “because you haven’t had it. Once you do . . . whew, child. Hard to go without.”

I’ve never liked the idea of my body making decisions my head and my heart don’t cosign. I’ve seen both of my friends crying, depressed, or dejected after some man disappointed them. No dick is worth that.

“Hmm-mm,” Kimba breaks the sound into two syllables and bites her bottom lip. “One taste, one good taste, and you’ll be hooked.”

“God, there’s nothing like really good sex,” Viv groans, closing her eyes and tipping her head back. “Even going a week without Stephen . . . ugh.”

“A week?” Kimba scoffs. “Try months. I’m in a drought, but I’ve read the weather forecast, and it’s raining in Amsterdam, honey!”

The three of us laugh and shift into planning for tomorrow. We have a week in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and we want to take full advantage of it.

“So I know we’re all a little jetlagged,” Viv says, her voice drowsy, “but will you be refreshed enough after a power nap to go out?”

“Sure.” I yawn and tuck my arm under the pillow. “A few winks and we’ll be ready.”

“Good,” Viv mumbles. “Aya says we’ll start off nice and slow tonight. Just hit a brown bar, eat, drink. Maybe you’ll pick up something nice and blond to bring home, Kimba.”

“Fingers crossed,” Kimba says. “Legs open.”

“Oh, my god,” Viv groans. “Hussy. We need to establish mating rules. You better not be fucking some huge Norseman in the bunk below.”

Our drowsy chuckles intermingle and fade.

“We’ll work out a system,” Viv says. “Well for you, Kimba. Ms. I’m Waiting For Mr. Right Dick over there won’t need a system.”

I’m used to the teasing, but is it so wrong to wait until it feels right? To wait until you feel like you’ve met someone you want to share your body with?

My mind wanders back to my Sunrise Dance. The whole ceremony leads to that point when the spirit of Changing Woman supposedly inhabits you, even just briefly. For a slice of time, you take something holy into your body, and it changes you forever. I’m not saying sex will be holy, but the first time I share my body with someone, it will be special.

And I think it might change me forever.





7





Maxim





I need new friends.

The three with me tonight don’t make the best companions.

“Fuck,” Hans mutters into his beer. “I’d do all four of those at the bar.”

“Oh, yeah.” David Barnes, whom I know best of the trio, agrees, assessing the four women in question. “At the same time, if they’d all have me.”

“I think you overestimate your stamina,” I tell him, sipping my beer. “And your appeal.”

David snorts and sends me a sidelong glance tinted with the good-natured humor I’ve appreciated so much over the last four years. We both just successfully defended our dissertations, and for the first time in what seems like forever, I’m not a student.

“You have to admit, those four are lookers,” Oliver says. As British as they come, before starting his master’s at Utrecht University where we all met, he attended Oxford. He was Eton educated before that. Parents of the peerage. There’s a seat in the House of Lords waiting for him one day. Not that he’s interested in politics, but his parents hold the purse strings, and thus, sway over his life.

Not me. I’ve cut all the familial strings. Apron strings. Purse strings. Heart strings. I’ve only seen my mother and brother a handful of times in the last four years, and my father not at all. I took for granted what they meant to me—the place they occupied in my life, even though I saw them infrequently.

“The blonde is hot,” Oliver says. “Wonder if she’s actually Dutch? Can you believe I’ve been in this country four years and have never fucked someone actually from the Netherlands? I have to before we leave next week.”

Next week.

It took some finagling, several glowing letters of recommendation, and a ton of personal training to physically prepare, but I’m leaving next week to winter over in Antarctica. I secured a spot on one of the few wintertime research expeditions. Not what most guys my age are clamoring to do when they finally finish school, but Cades have never been most guys. In this, I’m no exception.