First Time: Penny's Story (First Time (Penny) Book 1) by Abigail Barnette Page A

a friendship or a dating
situation, when I felt that my virginity started to define me.
    “ Well, a lot of people
assume I’m a total prude when they find out that I’m a virgin. And
a few guys have called me a bitch when they realized I wasn’t going
to sleep with them.”
    “ They called you a bitch
because you wouldn’t sleep with them? That’s fucking terrible.” He
sounded more offended by it than I’d ever been. Probably because
men didn’t realize how often women heard that name hurled at
them.
    “ It might sound shocking to
you, but trust me, every woman on this planet has been called a
bitch enough that it doesn’t shock us anymore.”
    The elevator doors opened onto the
twenty-seventh floor, and we stepped out. Ian let me lead the way.
“What about you? What are some misconceptions about you?”
    “ There are some people in my
life who think I’m a bit of a playboy. I think I may have earned
it.” He said it like it was the most horrible thing someone could
think of him, and that didn’t seem fair. Men were expected to
embody that Heffner-esque mystique of the revolving bedroom
door.
    “ Now I’m imagining you in a
smoking jacket, surrounded by young, hot blonds,” I joked with a
sly glance. At least, I hoped it was sly, and not just like I had
something in my eye.
    It must have worked, because he winked at me
and said, “Half-true.”
    Someday, I would learn to take a compliment
without my whole head turning the color of a cooked lobster.
    As always, nobody was on guard outside the
locker rooms. Rosa said that she’d come here once, and a man had
asked for her room key, but she’d just pretended she’d dropped it
and made a big deal about having to go all the way back down to the
front desk. I think after that she’d gone to the Mondrian and snuck
in there. I’d never managed to get into that one.
    When you’re early-adulthood-poor in New York,
you have to make your own fun.
    I pointed to the locker rooms. “Here. You go
in there, I’ll go in there, and we’ll meet on the other side.”
    There was a baby changing
table in the largest bathroom stall, so I stuffed my purse,
clothes, and shoes in it after I’d slipped on my bikini. I stood in
front of the mirror and adjusted my straps, and checked out the
rearview to make sure the bottoms weren’t saggy. You’ve got to start working your lower abs
again, the snotty, critical voice in my
head that sounded a lot like my mother said, but I resolutely shook
that voice away. I looked fine. Better than fine. I looked
amazing.
    I would be lying if I said I didn’t like it
when men paid attention to my appearance. I’ve been called a tease
more times than I could remember, and it used to bother me. Then I
grew out of being embarrassed or apologetic for looking good. If a
guy could appreciate a car without driving it, he could do the same
with me. I took my hair down, because ponytail holders on wet hair
are a major no-no. I tried to shake it out to disguise the dent
left behind. I would just have to get wet right away to get rid of
it.
    I grabbed a towel from the stack provided at
the pool entrance and strolled out. The flooring had a super weird
texture that always took me by surprise. When I looked up from my
feet, I saw Ian standing in the water.
    “ You got in already?” I
asked. No, he materialized there. I could be so dense, sometimes.
    He turned around, and there was no mistaking
the fact he was checking me out. It was refreshing he didn’t try to
hide it. Men usually tried to hide it, and it was always
obvious.
    His gaze drifted over me from my toes up
before he said, “Stop showing off.”
    How could one person be so dorky but so
smooth at the same time? I looked down to hide the goofy smile I
couldn’t rein in and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Sorry. Somebody
has to be the prettiest girl in the room, though.”
    He looked around. We were totally alone.
“Let’s go for prettiest in this hotel. Or the city. That would