Up close, he’s hotter than I thought.

Maybe several years older than me. Thick brown hair I could lace my fingers through. Lips that are perfect for kissing and…

I felt my stomach flip and my body clench the first time he shook my hand. The second time he shook my hand, I felt my head swim. Because the first time he shook my hand, he was just being polite. The second time, he didn’t have to do it. He didn’t have to be polite.

And right now, I want him to be anything but polite.

Something tells me he can be rough. Dirty. Bad.

It’s the spark of something rebellious and forbidden in his eye. It’s the way he towers over me.

Oh, and it’s the fact that I am a virgin standing in front of a man who exudes sex.

It’s kind of ironic, and kind of fitting, all at once. The dress is real, but the reason I’m wearing it is completely for show. Technically, a woman should be wearing a wedding dress on the first day she has sex, right? All that waiting for marriage stuff and all.

But that’s not why I’ve waited. It’s just never happened for me. I don’t know why. It hasn’t been on purpose. It just hasn’t gone that way for me yet.

So it’s not really like I’ve waited at all. It’s like something out in the world is waiting for me. I haven’t felt like I’ve had much control over it.

It just hasn’t felt right yet.

It’s just been happenstance. Coincidence. And the fact that I’ve never had a boyfriend.

So with Liam standing over me, all sexy and big, with his eyes piercing into mine, all I can do is try to breathe.

“I’ve never heard someone say they were happy it wasn’t someone’s wedding day,” I manage to say, swallowing thickly.

“Let me clarify,” he says, his chin tipped down as he looks at me. “Have a drink with me tonight at Raines. I’ll pick you up with my driver. I have an important question I want to ask you.”

When he speaks, I feel a spear of heat between my legs.

“Why can’t you just ask me now?” I say.

“I want to take you out first,” he says.

Liam takes a card holder out of his pocket and slips out a business card, handing it to me as he begins to back up and walk away from me.

Liam Harmon, the card reads. Harmon Media Group.

“Just so you have my information,” he says. “Text me your address. I’ll pick you up tonight at eight.”

He starts to jog away down the sidewalk, and the group of women follows him. Just as he ran up to me, he runs away.

This man was hot. And it was definitely strange that he asked me out. And what was the question he wanted to ask me?

I look down at the card and take a bite of one of the pretzels, growing cold in its wax paper. Still tastes good, though.

Harmon Media Group.

Oh...that’s how I know who he is.

He isn’t just on social media. His family is in all media.

Which means I just came face to face with one of the most elite, sought-after men in Manhattan.

And the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

* * *

I didn’t tell Maggie about my date. I didn’t know how. I wouldn’t know what I’d even say.

When I got back inside the dress shop, the bride’s tears were dry. Her stomach was rumbling. We ate our pretzels with enthusiasm. Maggie didn’t want to share mine with me - she’s too concerned with remaining thin for that - though she did have a few things to say about the prospect of me getting bright yellow mustard on the dresses, even if they are samples.

Maggie pushed the original dress, and the bride happily purchased it. In two sizes bigger than she thought it should be.

I went home in a daze, and I think Maggie knew I was distracted for the rest of the day. I don’t know how she didn’t see the cacophony outside the shop, between the Vespa and Liam and the girls, but I guess she was just too busy doing a good job calming down her client.

As she should have been.

As soon as I got out of work and walked the four blocks to the subway, I texted Liam my address. I got a response back from him quickly.

West Village, it reads. You’re an artist on the side in addition to being a model?

No, I reply. Not a starving artist. Just poor.

I do make a decent salary, but between the insanely high rent in the city and my student loans, it’s hard not to feel poor. It might not be for everyone, but for me, it’s worth it to live in the best city in the world and have a job that’s mostly very fun.

And now I have a date. It’s just a date. It’s not a big deal.

Except that he has a question to ask me.

I get ready quickly when I get home from work, choosing a slinky, curve-skimming black dress that I save for special occasions like this. I don’t wear it often, but I think this qualifies.

It’s just a date, though. It’s not that big a deal.

Sure.

It’s almost time for Liam’s driver to pick me up - I never thought I’d have a driver picking me up, unless it was an Uber driver, and even those little indulgences are few and far between - so I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I live in a small, unrenovated, old apartment. It’s not bad, exactly, but the plaster around the sink is cracking and the tile floor in here is always ice cold in the winter, even with the window closed and the heat on.

It’s like a miracle of nature, how cold the tile floor gets in here.

In the mirror, my reflection looks puzzled as she peers back at me. I push my hair away from my face and tie it up in a ponytail, picking a few strands around my face out so they frame my cheeks, making my look slightly more elevated than just a simple ponytail. I just don’t really know how to do much else, and the hairstyle Maggie gave me this morning became so messy and unkempt by the end of the word day from all the poking and prodding and peeling dresses off and shimmying back into them, I couldn’t just leave it the way it was.

My hair looks alright, but I still have that puzzled expression on my face, one that I just can’t make go away. Because I am puzzled. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and it’s written all over my face.

I hear my phone ding in my room, so I rush out of the bathroom to grab it. It’s probably Liam, or his driver. It’s just about time for this to happen.

To say I’m nervous would be an understatement. Even though I keep telling myself it’s just a date. And that question he wanted to ask me? He probably wanted to know if I prefer boxers or briefs. He’s clearly someone who can have any girl he wants, so he probably just used that question line on me as a ruse. He probably just wanted to pique my interest and get me curious about him.

But Liam Harmon, I am already plenty interested in you.

And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say no to you.

I wouldn’t want to.

I don’t want to get my heart broken, but he’s just too damn sexy to say no to.

It’s just a date.

I keep telling myself it’s just a date.