Tapping The Billionaire (Bad Boy Billionaires #1)(25)

BAD_Ruck (2:48PM): This scenario deserves a prayer. Hell, it deserves an airplane banner with the words, “Get your shit together, men, because dreams can come true. There are still gorgeous, sexy, intelligent women out there who are saving themselves for the right guy.” Christ, I think you might be the last twenty-something virgin in New York.

The last twenty-something virgin in NYC? Gah. That did not make me feel better. That made me feel a hell of a lot worse. I sounded pathetic.

TAPRoseNEXT (2:50PM): That’s one crazy long banner. And thanks for the vote of confidence. I feel even worse about it now. I’m not a total prude, by the way. I’ve been with men. I know what a penis feels like in my mouth. I’ve just yet to find the right penis I deem worthy of sex.

BAD_Ruck (2:51PM): You’re killing me right now. Do you even realize how rare you are, Rose?

Now, I do. I was the last twenty-something virgin in New York! I might as well have offered up my vagina to the Museum of Natural History. Surely, it would be shown in the fossils display. I could already picture it, right beside Tyrannosaurus Rex’s teeth.

The Last Virginal Vagina in New York.

Georgia Cummings 1990-2080

Died happily in her Chelsea apartment, surrounded by all sixteen of her tabby cats.

TAPRoseNEXT (2:53PM): Yeah, I’m the last single virgin in NYC. I might as well start stocking up on cat food because my future is looking very glum at the moment.

BAD_Ruck (2:54PM): Rose. Listen to me. This is not a bad thing. You’re funny, intelligent, and obviously beautiful. And you’re confident enough to know what you want and how you want it. Your confidence and self-respect are sexy as hell.

TAPRoseNEXT (2:54PM): Well, when you put it that way, I sound really awesome.

BAD_Ruck (2:55PM): Because you are. So, tell me why your sexual history is even factoring as a problem in your mind?

TAPRoseNEXT (2:57PM): My experiences in telling a guy I’m a virgin have never ended well.

The reactions I received were not usually great. I either became a challenge, where getting into my pants became their sole purpose in life, or treated like some pariah, as if my virginity was a problem that needed a solution. Sometimes, I wondered if it would be easier telling a guy I had crabs.

BAD_Ruck (2:58PM): I can imagine. Most of us are just grunting cavemen.

TAPRoseNEXT (2:59PM): Exactly. And I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I told this guy I’m a virgin. He has potential. He could end up being more than just one date. I’m just worried if I tell him, I’ll end up being a challenge instead of something more.

Wow. Even I was surprised by that response. Did Kline Brooks really have the potential to be something more?

BAD_Ruck (3:01PM): If he’s worth your time, he won’t see you as a challenge. Of course, he’s going to be silently thanking God you’re willing to give him the time of day, but he won’t make a one-eighty and just focus on trying to get in your pants. And from what you’ve told me, he doesn’t seem half bad. He apparently knows how to separate his personal life from business. And he doesn’t have a reputation of screwing all of the women in your office. This isn’t the New York norm.

Everything he said was true. Kline’s track record was a good one. He wasn’t plastered all over Page Six with a different woman on his arm. He wasn’t known as some playboy. He was just Kline—handsome, attractive, and all-business Kline Brooks. Which only made me more curious what he was like outside of the office.

TAPRoseNEXT (3:04PM): So, let’s just act like you’re him for a second. When would you want the whole “I’m a virgin” bomb to be dropped?

BAD_Ruck (3:05PM): Before it got to the point where our clothes are off and I’m sliding a condom on.

TAPRoseNEXT (3:05PM): LOL. Obviously.

BAD_Ruck (3:07PM): If you’re asking me when to bring it up…I don’t really have an answer for you. It should come up organically. You know how dates go. Eventually, the whole sex topic does come up. Your being a virgin isn’t a f*cking crime, so don’t feel like you have to confess it the second the date starts.

TAPRoseNEXT (3:07PM): Good point.

BAD_Ruck (3:08PM): Feel better?

TAPRoseNEXT (3:08PM): Consider me officially off the ledge.

BAD_Ruck (3:09PM): Fantastic. Good luck tonight.

TAPRoseNEXT (3:10PM): Thanks, Ruck. Enjoy your date with whomever the lucky woman may be.

BAD_Ruck (3:11PM): Dirty talk and a compliment in one convo? You’re too good to me. And listen…

TAPRoseNEXT (3:12PM): LOL. Yeah?

BAD_Ruck (3:12PM): If all this advice turns out to be shit, I might be able to help you out with the cat acquirement. I know a guy.

TAPRoseNEXT (3:13PM): And that’s my cue to officially end this convo. Bye, Ruck.

BAD_Ruck (3:12PM): Bye, Rose.

I hopped off the subway way uptown, and instead of heading to my apartment, my legs strode for the one place that always helped take my mind off things. It was a quarter after three. I had four hours to get my hair done, get ready, and meet Kline at the event.

If there was one thing I was good at, it was choosing a kick-ass hair color to suit my mood.

And if there was one thing Betty, my hair stylist, was good at, it was fitting me in last minute. She was a genius when it came to color and cut. If I told her blonde, she’d find the perfect shade to match my skin tone and have me trimmed, dyed, and out the door within two hours.