*Reese

V card? His V card? At twenty-eight?

Reese's brain was stuck on repeat.

A twenty-eight-year-old virgin.

A twenty-eight-year-old virgin.

Kenneth might as well have been a unicorn. When her brain finally became unstuck, it was completely off track.

There is a solution to his problem and I could participate, sang an off-tune voice in the back of her mind.

"You have your V card?" she whispered, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. This was a matter of her client's privacy. "What—how did that happen?"

"Of course." He reached for his back pocket and flipped open a frayed, slightly decaying wallet.

She stared, utterly speechless as he found a sky-blue card among the one hundred assorted cards he had squirreled away.

"I keep everything," he said, holding it out to her. "The Vulcan Fan Club of Higher Falls membership card, otherwise known by the 'V card.'"

A huge V decorated the background, and his signature graced the bottom in thin scrawling letters.

Reese took a deep sigh in relief. The outlook was decidedly less bleak for the future of her rush job with Kenneth. He had some experience and was half-way there in the dating scene. He wasn't a virgin.

She handed the card back, chuckling. "Thank goodness, just some goofy Star Wars thing." She patted his shoulder, intending to grab a coffee on the way to the One Hour Lens shop. "You had me scared there for a moment, I thought you were well on your way to being a thirty-year-old virgin."

"Virg—" He coughed halfway through the word. He cleared his throat and carefully replaced the card in his wallet. "Actually, it's a Star Trek fan society and, um, very technically, you could say, about me being a..."

Reese turned to him, studying his face.

He was.

He couldn't be.

He was.

"You're not, are you?" she asked.

"Very technically, I am." He ducked his head, breaking eye contact, and pushed his glasses in place. "I am."

Reese sat down at someone else's table. "How did that happen? You seem to be a nice guy. Surely, there was someone, one time..."

"Nice guys finish last, isn't that the saying?" A nervous chuckle accompanied his answer. "I guess you could say, it never happened. And I know you are coaching me on how to seduce a woman in order to have a relationship, and I respect that. I want—I want very much to have a relationship. As soon as possible. Maybe multiple relationships. One after the other, of course. But I'd start with one."

Kenneth frowned, musing over his words, then nodded in agreement with himself.

Naughty thoughts crept back into her mind. She couldn't stop them.

A virgin.

A real-life virgin.

He could be all hers. He would never forget her.

Come to mama, my sweet boy. I'll make everything all right.

Reese held up her hand to stop the stream of images of his naked body based on what she had already seen. All the erotic positions she could show him. All the different ways she could run her lips and tongue over his body.

No. He had just given her a hefty-sized envelope with three thousand dollars in it. She couldn't have sex with him now.

"Virginity is by no means a showstopper, but right now this conversation is neither here nor there. We must shop." She motioned for him to follow, but Kenneth remained planted in his spot, arms crossed.

"Shopping is right up there with getting my wisdom teeth ripped out. Could we do this online? I get two-day delivery—"

"I can't guarantee there won't be any pain, but it will the good, growing pain. You are learning. I will walk you through every step."

Reese grabbed his hand. Shopping. The only things they would do together would be getting him ready for his date. That was the job.

The glasses shop was less horrible than she feared. He had a current prescription for the lens and could pick up his new pair of glasses after work. The shoe store went quicker than she hoped. Three pairs—work, weekend, and evening.

That left clothes.

"We'll stick with what you need most," Reese said. "One set for work, and a few things for going out, especially for your date."

His phone in one hand, Kenneth scratched his chin. "I'm supposed to be at my desk in two minutes and thirty-three seconds."

"Call them. This is an emergency." She marched toward a rack of sweaters to the left of the store entrance. "Wait, what's your size?"

He glanced down at himself, confused. "I'm six foot four inches."

"Good enough. I'll get started. Go get..." The memory of Kenneth's hard abs and smooth skin rushed to her mind. Reese shook her head to clear it. Being a professional meant not imagining the client's naked body, and she was a professional. "Go undress in the cabins and I'll be right there. What are your feelings about this shirt?" She held up a wine-red cotton sweater for chilly weekends.

"Brown is not really my thing," he said.

She chewed her lower lip for a second. So he was color blind, at least partly. That explained a lot. She would have to put together a system for him, but later. "Got it. Nothing close to brown. How are you on suits for work? You should have a nice suit and tie to wear."

Kenneth crossed his arms. "I wear a tie for meetings, that's as close as I get to a suit."

He was anti-suit, which was too bad. They were delicious on tall, lean men with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, which an Italian-cut demonstrated to perfection. Tousled bed-head hair would contrast the serious business look, and a light-gray material would highlight those Nordic blue eyes. He'd be the heartthrob of the entire company, setting panties on fire on his way to the water dispenser.

Maybe his pride would be his downfall. She wanted to see him in a suit. "But what about preparing ahead in case you get a promotion?" she asked.

Kenneth chuckled. "A promotion? Good one. That's not something I have to worry about, fortunately."

He thought she was joking. Why would he never be up for a promotion? He didn't want to work the help desk for the rest of his life, did he?

Reese shrugged in defeat. "To discuss another time. I'll be right in with some things."

Jeans, chinos, slacks, a leather jacket, basic tees, dress shirts, flannel shirts, merino wool sweaters—skip the Italian-cut wool blend suit in charcoal (sigh)—cashmere coat for work, and matching ties. And a belt. He would need a belt for his slim waist.

Arms loaded, she hurried to the changing cabins. "Kenneth?"

"In here," he said. A hand appeared at the top of a door. "I was getting worried."

"What's your budget for wardrobe?"

"I usually budget a couple of hundred a year, but I could make an exception to impress the woman of my dreams."

"Here." She tried to lift several things over the door but was too short, and she groaned.

"Wait," he said, and the hand disappeared. "Let me logout of my account." From inside his cabin, his phone cover snapped shut with a smart click. He opened the door a crack. "Do you need help?"

"Here," she muttered through clenched teeth.

She held up her armful of clothes, accidently pushing the door wide.

*** An accident? I wonder... ***