I had my suspicions, and they’ve been slightly confirmed by her reaction just now.

Prynne is still a virgin.

Or maybe just really inexperienced. Or maybe she’s only been exposed to really bad, really bland, really non-orgasmic sex. Christ, for her sake, I almost hope my first assumption is correct.

That would partially explain the old-fashioned name. Maybe her parents were the overly religious types. In which case, what is she doing writing romance? The kind that certainly doesn’t fade to black, even if those parts do need a little work. It hints at something else about her that I’ve suspected since last night. Despite that front she puts on, I sense a bit of adventure in her. She might even be open the same thing that I’m into. Why else would she choose this hotel?

I’ve ditched the towel and I’m lying on the bed on my back. I let the idea of her unconfirmed virginity roll around in my head. I can’t tell if it’s a turn on or turn off. The way she looks in nothing but a pair of shorts and t-shirt doesn’t help my objectivity. I’m not opposed to deflowering, even though the sex is usually too awkward and “momentous” to be worthwhile. But I’ve found that newbies tend to make up for it with their pliability, perfectly happy to follow my lead.

I wonder why I’m even pondering this idea. Prynne leaves today, disappearing into the millions of souls that inhabit this city. Hell, she may not even live in New York. This is a hotel after all.

I sit up and stare at the wall that separates us. I can’t let her get away without seeing her once again.

It’s around nine o’clock in the morning when I hear her door open and close. I’ve been up since the sky started changing colors about three hours ago.

I quickly throw on another pair of jeans and a Metallica t-shirt. I rush out the door without putting on shoes so I can catch her before she makes it to the elevator.

“Hey,” I say, poking my head out the door.

Prynne has already started walking down the hallway and spins around at the sound of my voice. I can tell she hasn’t had much sleep. Her hair is still wet from the shower she must have taken this morning. She’s wearing a light blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans with flats. She hasn’t bothered with make-up, not that she needs it, even with the slightly darkened circles under her eyes.

“Let me buy you breakfast?” I offer teasingly.

She gives me a wan smile. “Maybe you should think about some shoes first.”

“Give me one second,” I say, holding up a finger and rushing back in to put on some socks and my Chucks.

“Okay,” I say, pleased to find her still waiting for me as I exit my room. “Shall we?”

“If you’re planning on ripping my book apart some more, please don’t.”

“No more critiques this morning. I promise,” I say as I begin walking down the hall with her. I look at her sideways. “Bad night?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

“No, you had some good points,” she confesses, her face coloring a bit.

That makes me revisit my suspicions from last night. I observe her without trying to make it so obvious.

She’s a perfect puzzle. And I can’t help but want to figure her out.

“So why do you write romance?” Prynne asks before putting a corner of toast in her mouth.

I finish the sip of coffee I started and take a moment to fill in the blanks of the lie I first told about being a romance writer.

“I’m good at it and it pays well,” I say with a shrug.

“Obviously,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “But I mean how did you get started? Don’t tell me you grew up reading Nora Roberts and Danielle Steele.”

“No, nothing like that,” I say with a laugh, before the rest of the lie unravels in my head. “I was dating a girl, who had shelves filled with the stuff, couldn’t get enough of it. I grabbed a book one day while she was in the shower. It was so ridiculous I couldn’t keep from laughing. You can probably guess how the story went from there. One of those ‘I can write better crap than this’ situations. So I did.”

It’s actually not far off from the truth. I’ve spent many a night at a woman’s apartment where romance novels lay facedown on nightstands or earmarked on coffee tables. Out of curiosity, I’ve picked up one or two to browse through. It’s all ranged from the cringeworthy, to the intriguing, to the surprisingly deep.

“And you?” I ask, turning the focus back on her.

“My story?”

“Yep, how’d Prynne Dawson get into romance?”

Her face actually colors. I don’t even have to guess. No doubt she was one of those girls who hid underneath the covers with little paperback romances stolen from her mom’s dresser, but I want to hear her tell it.

“I’ve always loved reading, living vicariously through characters in books. Even tried my hand at writing stories. I’ve always preferred more romantic reads. It wasn’t until I came to New York that I realized how…how much more there was to romance than what I grew up on.” The color in her cheeks explains what “much more” means.

“Now, that sounds intriguing,” I say, grinning as I lean in to learn more. “Religious upbringing? Strict parents? Naughty teenager going behind the back of mom and dad?”

She laughs. “If you experienced my life, you’d know how impossible it was to keep anything secret. Though it was almost as impossible to be naughty at Bluett University.”

“Wait, you went to Bluett? Isn’t that the school that—?”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” she interrupts with a slight roll of the eye. “Or rather, no, no, and no. No, we weren’t allowed to have off-campus dates. No, we weren’t allowed to listen to pop music, or rap, or country for that matter. No, we weren’t allowed to leave the campus after nine p.m. without prior approval. No, they certainly didn’t have romance novels in the main library, at least not the kind with any sex in them. Any other morbidly curious things you’re dying to know about the place?”

I back off with a smile, raising my hands apologetically. “I didn’t mean to offend, I’ve just never met anyone who actually went to a place like that. Sounds like perfect hell to me.”

I think about what it was that got me kicked out of Princeton University. It could have never happened at a school like Bluett, simply because I probably wouldn’t have had any opportunity to get that close to my female classmates. Maybe there is something to having such stringent rules.

“Sorry,” she says, drawing her claws back in. “It’s just, it wasn’t a bad place, you know? It’s just very Christian and very traditional.”

“Very,” I say. “Though it does explain a lot.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can’t imagine many opportunities for…uh…passion in a setting like that.”

“I’ll have you know that my first book actually did quite well, despite the lack of, quote, passion. I even made it into the top one hundred of my subcategory on Amazon.”

“Very good,” I say, trying to keep the patronizing tone out of my voice.

She still manages to squint her eyes at me, then straightens up in her seat proudly. “I’ve made $3500 in the past three months, for your information.”

“Enough to splurge on the Sexton Hotel, I see,” I say earnestly, raising my coffee mug in salute.

“It’s a bit too much of a splurge, really,” she says with a frown. Then she brightens back up. “But it’s also kind of a birthday present to myself. I told myself that so long as I managed to put a dent in the next book while I was here, it would be worth it.”

“Hold up, let’s backtrack a little. Did someone say birthday?”

Her eyes go innocently wide. “What about it?”

“How could you leave off that important detail? When’s the actual day?”

“Wednesday, but—”

“Oh, we definitely have to celebrate, Prynne.”

She laughs. “Actually, no we don’t.”

“Do I at least get to know if you’re legal or not?”

She crinkles her nose at me. “Don’t be silly. I’ll be twenty-four.”

“Are you kidding me?”

She starts in surprise at my enthusiasm.

“Twenty-four? Twenty-four? That’s a huge milestone!” I’m loving this reaction I’m getting out of her. Her look of stunned pleasure is positively delicious.

“Ah the memories I have of that age,” I say wistfully as though I’m more than a mere four years older than her.

“Stop it,” she laughs, realizing that I’m teasing her.

“No, seriously. We definitely have to get year twenty-four off to a great start for you. Saturday, I’m taking you out. I won’t take no for an answer…unless you already have birthday plans?”

Her face tightens up with embarrassment. “No, I’m not doing anything.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“Rhys, don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who’s being ridiculous if you don’t let me show you a good time. No hidden innuendo there, before you say anything.”

She laughs, then gives me a sly look. “That’s a very clever way of asking me out on a date.”

I give her a look of pure guile. “Why Prynne, I can’t believe you think I’d use something as special as your twenty-fourth birthday as an underhanded way of getting to see you again.”

This causes her to laugh a bit louder this time. She falls back into the seat of the booth and gives me a grudging smile. “Okay, fine. Saturday it is.”

“Trust me,” I say with a wink. “You won’t regret it.”