Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1)(16)

Maybe I was too picky. Maybe my sex therapist mother had driven me to insanity. Or maybe my expectations of waiting to do the deed with a man I had an actual connection with were unrealistic in this day and age. I mean, the plethora of dick and sac pics floating around social media could’ve been evidence of this.

Don’t even get me started on the reaction I received from men when they found out I was a single, twenty-six-year-old woman with an unclaimed V-card. I might as well have told them I was a unicorn who could shoot sparkles out of my ass.

And it wasn’t like I was averse to all sex. I was a big-time advocate for oral. Well, as long as there was a giving and receiving clause in the agreement. Call me crude, but if I’m going to suck it, you’re going to eat it. Period. End of story.

Despite the shocked reactions and stigma revolving around being a woman who had made it through college with her virginity still intact, I stuck to my guns, refusing to just give it up to whoever was hard and willing. It wasn’t a statement of abstinence or strong religious views. It was just me, being myself, and doing what I thought was right for me.

That’s the most important thing when it comes to a woman’s sexual prerogative. She should decide what she really wants without being influenced by social norms or penis peer pressure.

“You’re doing it again,” Cassie interrupted my thoughts.

I tilted my head, confused. “What am I doing?”

“You’re doing that ‘this is why I’m still a virgin’ inner monologue thing. Do I need to turn on the fireplace for a bra-burning ritual? Or should we throw out the razors and let our pit hair run rampant?”

“You’re a pain in my ass.” I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.

“I love you too, my beautiful, virginal best friend.”

I ignored Cassie’s shit-eating grin and strode for the fridge. Lord knew there was a giant glass of wine with my name on it.

“Let’s hear it,” she demanded, plopping down at the kitchen table. “Why are you a stupid hussy?”

Grabbing a bottle of moscato from the fridge, I filled a coffee mug to the brim. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s too embarrassing.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you don’t. That explains why you were just talking to yourself about it.” She eyed me with a pointed look. “Spit it out, Georgia Rose.”

I shook my head, taking a giant swig of sugary wine.

Cassie stared.

I shook my head again.

Her eyes did that scary death glare thing where I started to be concerned for my well-being.

“Okay,” I relented, holding both hands in the air like I was being held at gunpoint. “Okay. But you have to cool it on the creepy eyes first. You’re wigging me out.”

She smiled. “Works like a charm. Every. Single. Time.”

I groaned.

“So,” she encouraged, gesturing with her hand. “What has your panties in such a twist?”

“Kline asked me out.”

“Kline? Who’s Kline?”

“Kline Brooks…Mr. Brooks…” I offered, jogging her memory.

“Holy f*cking goat scrotums! Kline Big-dicked Billionaire Brooks? Your crazy-hot, super-rich boss?” she continued before I could utter a response. “Say whaaaaaaat? How in the hell did this happen?”

“First of all, what do you mean by ‘how in the hell did this happen?’ I might be a virgin, but I’m not a two-bagger. I can look pretty when I actually take the time to brush my hair.”

“Oh, cool your jets. You’re gorgeous and you know it. Kline Brooks would be one lucky son of a bitch to score a date with you.”

“And how do you know he has a big dick? You’ve seen him once. And it was a five-second ‘Oh, that’s my boss, Kline’ conversation while we were walking across the parking lot. You haven’t even met him in person.”

“Five seconds is all I need.” She tapped the side of her head. “You know my cockdar is off the chain. I can sense a giant swinging penis pendulum from at least ten miles away. It’s a God-given talent, Georgie.”

I choked on my wine. “Let’s not bring God into this.”

She raised an eyebrow. “God knows the G-spot needs a more than adequate-sized wiener to get the job done.”

“I’m pretty sure that comment just got you wait-listed for heaven.”

“Probably.” She shrugged. “Tell me you said yes to Big-dicked Brooks.”

“Stop calling him that!” I shouted, unable to hold back laughter.

“Oh, c’mon, Virgin Mary, you know your boss has that ‘Hello, ladies, I’m packing’ swagger.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Tell me you said yes to him. For the love of God, tell me you’re going on a date with him.”

“He’s not my type.”

“Georgie,” she groaned. “He’s handsome. He’s successful. He’s not propositioning you for a five-dollar blow job. What’s not to like? I don’t get it.”

“Five-dollar blow job? What are you even talking about?”

“Obviously, bad propositions.” She held out both hands, irritated. “Even the worst blow job—with teeth and chapped lips and poor suction—is worth more than five bucks.”