“I’m not Christian! I’m Catholic!” Abby complained hotly over her shoulder at the teenaged missionary boys who’d dared edge towards her on the crowded sidewalk. She was in one heck of a hurry and didn’t have a spare second to accept their pamphlet or subtle criticism, though she managed to hold up the silver cross hanging around her neck to prove they would’ve been wasting their time on her. Turning the corner, she flipped her brilliant, auburn hair off her shoulder, narrowed her piercing green eyes, and grumbled, “Irish Catholic, can’t they tell?”
Not that she’d ever been particularly religious, but her Ma and Pop certainly were and the way they’d raised her certain values had become ingrained. If anything, however, Abby had been trying to work against that fact. In high school, she’d been rebellious in her own way, tailoring and accessorizing her Catholic schoolgirl uniform to make it unique, befriending the public school kids much to her Ma’s displeasure, studying to the deafening sounds of heavy metal music, not because she liked it but because it was her way of asserting her individuality and it had the added benefit of drowning out the rattling ruckus of the F train flying past her bedroom window—her family’s cramped Brooklyn apartment had left much to be desired, or rather fantasized about. As soon as she’d shed her Catholic high school uniform and set off for college, she really spread her wild-child wings. Ditching class at times. Exploring Manhattan with her girlfriends to see how the other half lived. Learning how to hold her liquor. Becoming an expert flirt. But after four years of college and an intense year scrambling financially while she hunted and—thank God!—landed a temping position at one of the top marketing firms in the city, Abby still had not managed to shake the most ingrained value of all…
Saving herself for marriage.
Yup, Abby Gallagher was a virgin.
And though she was actively looking to change that status, she knew deep down that she wasn’t going to give it up easily or to just any guy. Ma and Pop and her strict Irish Catholic upbringing held the reigns to her conscience. That’s just how it was. How it always had been. But a girl could dream, right?
The subway from Brooklyn had been a nightmare. The passengers had been packed like sardines in the stuffy car when she’d forced her way in, determined not to be late. As soon as she’d bounded up the subway steps and, bursting into the fresh and crisp autumn air, emerged onto 5th Avenue, she’d begun hustling across three wide avenues, which only worsened the slick film of sweat coating her chest and back.
She seriously hoped she hadn’t stained the peach blouse she was wearing. She knew her hair had frizzed out a bit, but she could tame the auburn waves with a comb once she reached Tate & Cane and ducked into the privacy of the elevator. At least the flared skirt she had on was black and hard to muss.
Abby had only been temping at Tate & Cane as one of the CEO, Olivia Cane’s executive assistant for a few months, but she’d gotten the rhythm and routine down pat; not only the office’s inner workings and her temporary boss’s highly organized and even more highly perfectionist ways of doing things, but also in regards to Olivia’s personal preferences. The most important of which was her morning coffee. The woman loved a large cup of inky joe and Abby loved the look on her boss’s face when she presented the steaming jolt of java first thing.
Abby also loved that she’d gotten Olivia hooked on The White Rabbit’s dark roast. It was certainly a gourmet coffee shop and ordinarily Abby wasn’t one to splurge on a five-dollar cup, but the expense was easy to justify between her decent temping rate and the fact that her new boss—a woman who Abby greatly admired and sought any and every opportunity to bond with, even if only over their shared love of radically overpriced dark roast—had grown accustomed to her morning cup.
Though Tate & Cane was across the street, Abby slipped inside the bustling, gourmet coffee shop and glanced briefly at her delicate wristwatch. Five of, she noticed. She would be right on time. Or so she thought. When she lifted her gaze, she discovered a long, inching line at the counter.
Shoot.
Well, an addiction was an addiction, and neither her or Olivia would be in a very good mood if they didn’t get their fix.
She joined the line of customers and began absentmindedly fidgeting with the cross around her neck as she idly glanced around The White Rabbit at the overall ambience of the place. The rustic wooden tables. The potted orchid centerpieces at each one. The large scale, black and white photographs mounted on the walls, their images boasting both artistry and humor since they were all of fluffy bunny rabbits. The famous actor, Zach Canning sitting at one of the tables in front of the large, picture windows—
Wait, what?
Abby did a double take, her eyes rounding as wide as saucers, as she stared shamelessly at the heartthrob, who, much to her utter shock and pulse-racing, heart-fluttering, mind-bending excitement, also happened to be staring right back at her.
Was she breathing? Had she stopped breathing? Why didn’t it feel like air was hitting her lungs anymore?
He must be looking at something or someone behind her, she reasoned, toying with her cross necklace more and more nervously as doubts commingled with what felt like a thrilling surge of unbridled hope inside her tightening chest.
She diverted her gaze in an awkward attempt to get ahold of herself and it was then that she was able to fully process what had been the dead-sexy sight of him.
Those tight, green eyes of his. So intense and just as piercing as they’d looked on her flat screen TV. Even more so, she realized, because he’d been boring his smoldering gaze right at her. His nearly black hair was bedraggled and though he certainly had a pretty face, the light dusting of dark stubble across his jaw gave him that bad boy edge that had become his signature look whenever he wasn’t filming.
Classic Irish good-looks.
It was so her thing, and even though she was well aware that #Blessed was aimed at a much younger audience, Abby had been watching the show—religiously—season after season. Yes, it was a bit of a guilty pleasure, but hey, pleasure was pleasure, right? And her sole reason for tuning in, week after week, was now staring at her from across a crowded coffee shop.
She peeked over her shoulder at him—yup, still staring!
What. Is. Happening? she thought, unable to get an actual grip. Every time their eyes touched and his perfect mouth quirked from a mischievous grin to a suggestive one, Abby felt a light bout of dizziness sweep through her otherwise racing mind.
Was she swooning?
Was this what swooning felt like?
Should she smile back instead of looking slightly nauseous and completely terrified? Or was the whole deer-in-headlights thing working for her?
Her finger was so badly entwined in her cross necklace at this point that the chain was now cutting off circulation and her hand was trapped awkwardly beneath her chin.
The one thing saving her from having an actual star-struck induced heart attack was the fact that Zach seemed tethered to the conversation he was having with the polished looking woman sitting across from him. She was feeling fairly certain that if he wasn’t actively listening and rarely replying to the woman who was seated with her back to Abby, he might actually get up from his table and approach her.
Braving it yet again, as the line of customers she was sandwiched in continued to inch along at an actual snail’s pace, Abby lifted her heart-shaped face into a shy smile and peered coyly at Zach across the bustling coffee shop.
He shot her a thousand-watt smile, indicated her cross necklace that was practically strangling her, and mouthed the word, Nice! while nodding his approval.
She didn’t have a full-blown heart attack in that moment, but if her pulse rate climbed any higher, she’d definitely drop like a sack of potatoes.
With her eyes locked on Zach, she beamed what she hoped looked like a kittenish yet confident smile, and mouthed, Thank you!
In response, his gaze turned smoldering and the crooked grin on his sexy face pulled straight as an air of seriousness took hold. Lingering, he didn’t break eye contact, and neither did she.
This was a moment, right? They had a connection, that’s what this was, wasn’t it? It felt like the coffee shop was disappearing and Zach and her were the only two people in the universe.
As questions swirled through her mind, holding his unwavering gaze, and as the annoyed barista tried to get her attention over and over again, the line in front of her having finally disappeared, Abby was completely certain of only one thing:
If ever there was a man to lose her virginity to, it was Zach freakin’ Canning.
And if that happened, Abby Gallagher would feel seriously hashtag blessed.