top-notch surgeon in the
social order. Perfection could clearly only be achieved under his skilled
knife. Lowly women like her hadn't the willpower or the ability to transform on
their own, and he couldn't share the perfection of himself with anyone who
hadn't attained a similarly exalted status.
For his parting shot, he'd offered her a discount if she
decided to have any work done.
The bastard.
After so many years, she'd been dying to throw off the
chains of her virginity. She'd put up with a lot of crap from Mr. Perfect to
get through those three months, just to get it over with, and all for nothing.
That thin little membrane might flash 'Loser' like a neon
sign to the males of the species, but she was suddenly, fiercely glad she
hadn't wasted it on Barry. She'd keep it forever if it meant taking back the
last few minutes, keeping Derrick. She didn't see how she could ever face him
again.
Unless. . .
Maybe if she caught up to him, told him she'd only been
kidding and made a joke out of it, maybe he'd believe her and they could get
past it. It was a long shot, but once the idea took hold, it shone like a
candle flame in the darkness of her mind, growing steadily brighter.
It was worth a shot.
Leaping to her feet, Mia left her gear behind and raced
toward the condo, ignoring her twingeing ankle, hope giving her speed. But when
she burst in the front door, she knew. She was already too late.
He was gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Derrick wasted about three seconds collecting his stuff from
Mia's house before blowing out the back door and slamming into his car. He tore
through the neighborhood, faster than he should have, rage and yes, damn it,
hurt goading him on.
How could she do this to him? After holding onto her
precious virginity for twenty-five fricking years, putting innumerable guys through
their paces, testing them to see if they'd stick with her. After holding that
badge of honor close to her chest for as long as he'd known her, she'd suddenly
decided, nope, not worth it. Time to throw it out with the rest of the garbage,
and oh, by the way, Derrick, can you pop it for me, be a pal? Thanks so much.
Fucking-A.
He'd finally gotten up the nerve to tell her how he felt, to
try to make something worthwhile and meaningful between them, and she'd treated
him like a stable stud, a service provider. He never would have believed Mia
capable of such utter idiocy.
Whipping the car through side streets and onto the freeway,
he pushed the ancient BMW to its limits. It was early enough that the traffic
was still light, by southern California standards. No one got in his way.
The rhythm of the car's wheels spinning over rough pavement
gradually soothed the worst of the anger, but the hollow ache in his heart
continued to grow. Never in a million lifetimes could he have imagined that
conversation.
What should he do now? He frowned at the car in front of
him. Hurt-fueled anger had filled every pore in his body in the heat of the
moment, but he needed to set all that aside now and think.
Think, damn it.
He loved her. He loved her so fucking much, she had him tied
in knots. That much he knew. Angry or not, she was his best friend. He couldn't
imagine his life without her. How could he reconcile those truths with what
just happened?
And what the hell had come over her to even suggest such a
thing? Had the breakup with Barry warped her mind? He'd never really understood
her compulsion to adhere to that rule of hers, even knowing her mother's
history, but he had come to respect it and her dedication to her ideals.
But now. . . She wanted sex. Just sex, thank you very much.
He wanted sex and more.
How could he convince her of the 'more' part? If he agreed
to her proposition, would she agree to date him instead, to give it an honest
try for something real?
Shooting the car across three lanes of traffic to the next exit,
he threw it into park along the side of the road. He dropped his head to the
steering wheel, his hands
social order. Perfection could clearly only be achieved under his skilled
knife. Lowly women like her hadn't the willpower or the ability to transform on
their own, and he couldn't share the perfection of himself with anyone who
hadn't attained a similarly exalted status.
For his parting shot, he'd offered her a discount if she
decided to have any work done.
The bastard.
After so many years, she'd been dying to throw off the
chains of her virginity. She'd put up with a lot of crap from Mr. Perfect to
get through those three months, just to get it over with, and all for nothing.
That thin little membrane might flash 'Loser' like a neon
sign to the males of the species, but she was suddenly, fiercely glad she
hadn't wasted it on Barry. She'd keep it forever if it meant taking back the
last few minutes, keeping Derrick. She didn't see how she could ever face him
again.
Unless. . .
Maybe if she caught up to him, told him she'd only been
kidding and made a joke out of it, maybe he'd believe her and they could get
past it. It was a long shot, but once the idea took hold, it shone like a
candle flame in the darkness of her mind, growing steadily brighter.
It was worth a shot.
Leaping to her feet, Mia left her gear behind and raced
toward the condo, ignoring her twingeing ankle, hope giving her speed. But when
she burst in the front door, she knew. She was already too late.
He was gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Derrick wasted about three seconds collecting his stuff from
Mia's house before blowing out the back door and slamming into his car. He tore
through the neighborhood, faster than he should have, rage and yes, damn it,
hurt goading him on.
How could she do this to him? After holding onto her
precious virginity for twenty-five fricking years, putting innumerable guys through
their paces, testing them to see if they'd stick with her. After holding that
badge of honor close to her chest for as long as he'd known her, she'd suddenly
decided, nope, not worth it. Time to throw it out with the rest of the garbage,
and oh, by the way, Derrick, can you pop it for me, be a pal? Thanks so much.
Fucking-A.
He'd finally gotten up the nerve to tell her how he felt, to
try to make something worthwhile and meaningful between them, and she'd treated
him like a stable stud, a service provider. He never would have believed Mia
capable of such utter idiocy.
Whipping the car through side streets and onto the freeway,
he pushed the ancient BMW to its limits. It was early enough that the traffic
was still light, by southern California standards. No one got in his way.
The rhythm of the car's wheels spinning over rough pavement
gradually soothed the worst of the anger, but the hollow ache in his heart
continued to grow. Never in a million lifetimes could he have imagined that
conversation.
What should he do now? He frowned at the car in front of
him. Hurt-fueled anger had filled every pore in his body in the heat of the
moment, but he needed to set all that aside now and think.
Think, damn it.
He loved her. He loved her so fucking much, she had him tied
in knots. That much he knew. Angry or not, she was his best friend. He couldn't
imagine his life without her. How could he reconcile those truths with what
just happened?
And what the hell had come over her to even suggest such a
thing? Had the breakup with Barry warped her mind? He'd never really understood
her compulsion to adhere to that rule of hers, even knowing her mother's
history, but he had come to respect it and her dedication to her ideals.
But now. . . She wanted sex. Just sex, thank you very much.
He wanted sex and more.
How could he convince her of the 'more' part? If he agreed
to her proposition, would she agree to date him instead, to give it an honest
try for something real?
Shooting the car across three lanes of traffic to the next exit,
he threw it into park along the side of the road. He dropped his head to the
steering wheel, his hands
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