Virginal Headlines: Love Between The Headlines Read online

  Football was more important than the love of his life.

  Than me.

  Meet-Cute

  I woke on the cusp of a dream to the shrill sound of an orchestra blaring next to my ear. Dark, symphonic notes beating angrily at the air.

  It was Symphony Number Five by Beethoven—the anthem assigned to my eldest sister.

  Scrambling, I fumbled for the phone, answering with a grim, “Hello?”

  “Jesus, you sound like you swallowed death.”

  Rolling my eyes, I sat up. “What do you need, Sarah?”

  She let out her usual chastising huff. “I haven’t talked to you in days, and that’s how you greet me?”

  “I had a rough night.”

  “Fun. Listen, I know you have a lot on your plate, but I really need you to pencil in the appointment for trying on dresses. We’ll be flying in and staying at the Regency. You’ll be able to come to the fitting in August, won’t you?”

  As if she’d ever let me say no. “Of course,” I said, making a mental note. Lord knew I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of her wrath—because her war path was littered with the bones of all who stood in her way.

  “Good. I’ve already confirmed it with everyone else.”

  “How is everyone?”

  “Well, you’d know if you’d actually call once in a while. You do have four sisters, you know. Not everyone is responsible for always checking in on you.”

  There was the acrid bite I’d been waiting for.

  “Sorry, Sarah. I’ve just been—”

  “Busy. Yes. You keep saying that as if life only happens to you.” A short-lived pause. “Anyway, I have to go. Max is waiting. Kiss, kiss.”

  And with that, she hung up.

  I stared at my screen for a second. It didn’t matter how far away I flew from her—she still had the ability to get right up under my skin, pressing with the sharpness of a thousand rusty nails. I loved my sister. All of my sisters for that matter, but I sometimes felt like I might have been adopted. Sarah was the lead in her ballet company, which traveled all over the world. Olivia was drafted to a women’s basketball team for Spain. My two younger sisters, Hazel and Emma, both followed in Sarah’s footsteps and were currently enrolled in the American Ballet. All with the perfect boyfriends. All with perfect groups of friends.

  I, on the other hand, lived alone with my lizard, Newt, and could count my friends on one finger.

  I knew my parents were proud of me. They worked hard for all of us to be able to chase our dreams. I just didn’t have much to show for it.

  Not yet, at least.

  Fried as I was from the night before, I managed to crawl out of bed and start the shower, only to scream when I realized I had no hot water.

  Shards of icy cold sliced at my skin. What kind of hell is this?

  Doing the bare minimum, I finished within record time. I still had an hour before I needed to head to work, and no clue as to what I was going to wear. Everything in my closet reflected my inexperience. Skirts that hung well past the knees. Blouses I kept buttoned to the neck. Boots. Converse. Ballet flats. The only pair of heels I owned were bright red, and that was because they’d been required for the bridesmaids when my cousin got married.

  Pulling them from the box inside my closet, I set them in front of the mirror and stood back. What the hell would go with them? Black? Black was always a safe bet, but the only black thing I owned was a dress I’d worn to my grandpa’s funeral, and I couldn’t wear it again.

  With a sigh, I pulled out a pair of blue jeans and a white cardigan with a red camisole underneath, then slid into the heels.

  It would have to do.

  Remnants of last night replayed like a flip book inside my head. How easy it was to talk to him. When he pinned me against the wall, tempting me with those luscious lips. The crescent shape of confusion marring his brows when I mentioned leaving things to fate.

  I could chalk it up to the alternate side of myself as the culprit behind using Serendipity as a means to keep him guessing, but with the alcohol in my system, his confession over the many women who’d used him, and his belief I could be the one to help him, things became blurry.

  I couldn’t tell if it was me talking or her.

  Pulling out my journal, I sat at the kitchen table and purged my guilt over the situation. Doodled the sign from the Risky Hearts bar, a small caricature of Quinn screaming into a phone, and the tattoo on the base of Grayson’s neck.

  Pieces from the craziest day of my life.

  After locking up, I made my way to the station with a cup of coffee in my hand. I liked to stare out the subway window at the city below before the train went underground. At the many people walking the streets. The cars honking at one another.

  And I always looked for my good-luck sign.

  She was a woman sitting outside of a climate-controlled storage locker four floors up I’d noticed on my first-ever train ride. Every morning, like clockwork, we’d pass by and she’d be sitting there in front of her unit with the door rolled open. The small space brimmed with clutter as she sat in a chair reading something.

  On the days when she wasn’t there, I began to notice I’d run into bad luck, so I developed this sort of OCD need to check for her to get my day started off right.

  By the time I made it into the office, I’d downed half the coffee I bought and felt like a walking, talking live wire. Today was going to be a wonderful day. I could feel it.

  “Even if he built the Taj Mahal with his bare hands, I still don’t give a flying fuck.” Quinn walked past me, voice booming throughout the office as Poppy followed closely behind. “It’s trash, and he posted it specifically to piss me the fuck off.” Her door slammed behind her, but it didn’t stop the sound of her voice from piercing through. “I want that article done and posted today. Do you hear me? He wants to come after me, then fine! I’ll show him what a real man-hater looks like.”

  Poppy was rushing down the hall when she noticed me standing there wide-eyed, and she waved me on.

  “What was that all about?” I asked, holding my coffee out so it wouldn’t spill in the rushed pace.

  “Remember the guy I told you about? Harrison over at Stud?”

  I nodded as we took our seats across from each other.

  “Well, he posted an article about women in their forties being more prone to hating men due to a lack of self-esteem. And, of course, he posted it right before the charity gala, no doubt as a jab at Quinn.”

  My jaw dropped somewhere close to hell. “No way.”

  A derisive snort bubbled up with the shake of her head. “He’s suicidal, I swear. But I have to hand it to him… he’s smart. He does it for the clicks. Even bad press is good press. It keeps their name fresh. Keeps people talking. What’s worse is that it’s the first piece he’s written in years. The last was a guide to dealing with women with a strong sense of self. Quinn had to have her office revamped by the time she was done with it.”

  “Why does she let it get to her?”

  Poppy spun a fraction. “Truth? I’d say she’s still in love with him.” She lifted a little in her seat, peering over the top of the cubicles. “But she’d kill me if she ever heard me say that. Don’t repeat it.”

  I ran a finger over my lips. “Scout’s honor. What’s the article?”

  Her grin curved with a wicked slope. “She wants a list of facts about men in their mid-forties and what to expect sexually. A sort of limp move if you ask me.” She chuckled.

  Swiveling around in my chair, I opened my laptop, ready to type up my encounter from the night before and the seeds I’d set in place. When I heard someone sniffling, I spun around to find Poppy staring at me.

  “I didn’t introduce you to our lead editor, did I?”

  “No.”

  Her grin grew. “Come on. It’s time you meet her.”

  Two cubicles over, I noticed a woman hunched over her desk, the soft sounds of tears coming from her.

  “This
is Brinley.” Poppy swiped a box of tissues off someone else’s desk, then handed them to the crying young woman. “Brinley, say hi to Prim. The new blogger.”

  Brinley pressed the tissue to her nose and blew. Her eyes were swollen and red. She had a refined look to her, like she’d just stepped out of a Victorian novel. Strawberry hair and a poised face smattered with freckles. A long, elegant neck shown by the blush-hued cardigan she wore over a silk beige blouse.

  My heart ached for her, not only for the pain that was clearly flushed across her neck in angry red splotches, but also for the way Poppy so mindlessly chose this very moment as the right one to introduce us.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “She’s fine.” Poppy dismissed it as if this type of thing always occurred. “Who was he this time?”

  “Daniel,” Brinley said with a sniff. And then she returned to a full-blown crying fit. The kind that made me squirm because I never knew what to say or do. Hug or be the sturdy presence? Offer words or let her cry it out? The only saving grace of having four sisters was there were plenty to handle this type of situation when one of them got hurt. I’d never had to.

  “Daniel.” Poppy’s lips twisted with disdain. “What a shitty name. You agree?”

  She raised an eyebrow at me.

  My father’s name was Daniel.

  I stuttered, hands twisting.

  “Oh, never mind.” Waving me off, she returned her full attention to Brinley, who was now working through a brand-new tissue box. “You’re going to be all right, Brin. The right one is out there.” With a subtle pause, a slither of a smile snaked across her lips. “It’s like I always say… take it one dick at a time.”

  I think my jaw fell to the floor.

  “Come.” Poppy turned toward our desks, leaving me to fend for my jaw. She was ludicrous. Quite possibly the most insane person I’d ever met.

  Yet, I was pretty sure I loved her.

  With a quick, regretful goodbye, I left Brinley and clamored after Poppy, trying to remain upright in the pair of heels I hadn’t worn in over six years.

  “She’s okay. Really,” Poppy said the moment I caught up. “This is Brin’s norm. She’s just waiting for her meet-cute.” Poppy stared at me for a moment, her head falling to the side, then she pushed off the edge of her desk, rolling next to me. “So… about Grayson.”

  My eyes fell to my keyboard, and I busied myself with logging in. “What about him?”

  The amount of emotions that slid over her face was comical. “What do you mean ‘what about him’? The date. How did it go?”

  “As expected—he tried to take me home.”

  “And?”

  “And I shut him down.”

  She held her hand out for a high-five. “Good girl.”

  “He followed after me. Asked to see me again.”

  Her fingers came together, wiggling impishly. “And just like that, the web was spun.” She chewed her lip and added, “Did you say yes?”

  “No. I said serendipity.”

  It took her only a fraction of a second to grasp what I meant. “And you’re a virgin? Girl… for someone with little experience in the dating field, you sure know how to work this angle.”

  I did, didn’t I?

  I didn’t know how to feel about that.

  I gave a subtle shrug. “If you read enough romance novels, you’re bound to learn something.” I peered down to my laptop and paused when an article moved across my screen. It wasn’t the words that stopped me. It was him… Grayson.

  “Poppy.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Come here,” I said, unable to remove my eyes from him. “Look.”

  “Oh, that? Yeah. That’s what I was talking about. Stud is hosting a charity event for a woman’s shelter at the aquarium next week.” A grin the size of New York curbed her tone. “And that is where you’ll make your first serendipitous move.”

  “How? I don’t even have a ticket.”

  Her shoulder nudged into mine. “You work for Virago now, Prim. Getting a ticket is not a problem.”

  The excitement that rushed my system was soon overcome by a whisper of doubt, blocking the emotion before it could reach my nervous system. “And then what?” I pulled my gaze from him, fastening it on her. “What if he asks why I’m there?”

  Her shoulders lifted with indifference. “Blow it off. Make something up. Or better yet, bat those pretty lashes at him. I bet he’ll forget what he asked.”

  So basically, lie. I barely came away unscathed last night when he asked where I worked, and I’d nearly choked on the answer. Lying was one thing I wasn’t good at. I studied his picture. At the meticulously placed cockiness swirling in his cursed eyes.

  “What if I can’t go through with it?”

  She spun me around in my chair, hands pressed on either side. “What’s more important, Prim? One guy’s little ole feelings or your career?”

  I didn’t even blink before answering. “My career.”

  She patted me on the cheek. “That’s my girl.”

  “Do you like almond milk?” Poppy called from the cold-case door she held open.

  “It’s all right.”

  “Yeah. Me neither.” She paused, eyes twinkling with humor. “What’s it they say… they call it almond milk because no one can say nut juice without laughing?”

  And down Poppy went, sliding to the floor in a fit a laughter.

  We were inside a small shopping mart near my apartment. The night before, we’d discovered we only lived a couple of blocks away from each other, then decided to pick up groceries on our way home.

  Reaching for her hand, I hauled her back onto her feet as her giggles tapered off. Grabbed a couple of bags of Hot Fries, then dropped them into my basket.

  “I tried being vegan once,” Poppy continued, opening and closing each door down the line in a lackluster pace.

  “Oh yeah?”

  She reached for a package of hamburger meat. Placed it in her basket. “Yeah. Lasted all of two hours, then I got a craving for beef tacos.”

  I burst out in song. “Tacos are life.”

  “Tacos are life,” she harmonized in a pitch above me.

  With a grin, I put a six pack of Dr. Pepper into my brimming basket.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Did a double take before saying, “You eat all that shit?”

  I peered at the few items in my basket. A couple of yogurts. Some frozen dinners. Gummies, chips, and soda. All the essentials. “Yeah?”

  Her head tilted to the side. “I’m just trying to understand how you’re so skinny.”

  My cheeks blazed. “I’m going to check out now.”

  “Be there in a sec.”

  Once I was done, I waited outside for Poppy so I could say goodbye since we had to walk in opposite directions. When she emerged, she stopped in front of me. “Hey, I wanted to thank you again for helping me with the charity thing.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Want to meet for coffee in the morning?”

  Her face screwed up. “I don’t touch the shit. But I can wait with you.”

  “Okay.” After waving her off, I started in the direction of my apartment, intent on binging on Netflix, only to be lured by the greasy scent of pizza. I peered at my thermal tote. It would hold long enough for me to order a few slices.

  The bell on the door jingled as I entered the small parlor. After placing an order, I found a table by the window and put my tote down. Pulling out my Kindle from my purse, I opened my latest read, content with immersing myself inside someone else’s world.

  But I guessed serendipity had other plans.

  Closet Nerd

  “Do you have plans tonight?” Fin asked on the other end of my cell phone.

  “Nah. Was going to work some more on the roof renovation. You?” I was already shutting down my laptop, ready to get out of the office before rush hour began.

  “Yeah. There’s a pop-up art thing I wanted to check out. Totally your
vibe. Want to join?”

  “Since when do you care about art?”

  “Since my dick cried with loneliness.”

  My head shook, a hearty chuckle rumbling in my chest. “You know, you keep that mentality and you’ll never find yourself a good one.”

  “Says the notoriously branded serial dater.” He paused. “Come on, man. I need my wingman.”

  I could almost envision his twisted ass on his knees, groveling for me to come. With a groan, I said, “Where is it?”

  He gave me the directions, his tone lifted with excitement, and then hung up. I knew Fin had been a wreck since he and Poppy had called it quits. The slew of women he brought through the apartment in the beginning was a testament, followed by a sudden abstinence that had me worried.

  Maybe all he needed was a wingman.

  “We set for this weekend?” Harrison asked as I headed toward the elevator.

  “Yep.”

  Once outside, I paused and tilted my head, taking in a whiff of city air riddled with the savory scents of hot dog and halal carts. This was home. Where I was raised. Where everything felt right.

  I decided to walk instead of taking the subway since I had time to kill. Nights in the city were vastly different from the days. It was as if everyone had finally let out the big breath they’d been holding in all day. The flow of traffic moved like fish in a stream. All in step with one another. All keeping to themselves. I glanced into the shops I passed, thinking about Prim and the round shape of her inexperienced eyes when my lips were so close to hers. A ghostly echo of a kiss I never tasted. Lips I could spend an entire evening exploring if she’d let me.

  As I passed a hot dog vendor, my stomach gave its first real growl of the day. Though I had breakfast, I never got around to lunch due to a meeting over the finishing touches for the charity event. Harrison asked me to keep an eye the PR team, wanting to ensure everything went smoothly.

  Peering into another window, I stopped short when I noticed a small frame hunched over a Kindle. Hair tied in a thick bow on the crown of her head. Her slender neck covered with wispy brown strands.