The Last Virgin in Texas

by Jennifer Woodhull

“How much is it?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Dollars? For lipstick?”

  She tells me all the benefits of the far-too-expensive for my taste makeup.

  “Plus, you can use your coupon so that makes it twenty.”

  I look at myself in the mirror again. Suddenly, the article from the tabloids flashes in my mind.

  I bet Marissa Benoit doesn’t flinch at spending twenty bucks on makeup, or ten times that, even.

  “Okay, I’ll take the lip gloss.”

  After I pay for the impromptu splurge, the woman hands me a bag that’s far too big for what I bought.

  “I went ahead and included the gift with purchase, even though you didn’t spend seventy-five dollars, and put a bunch of samples in there, too. Have fun with ‘em.” She winks as she hands over the bounty.

  I thank her and head up front to pay for my new Chucks. Standing in the checkout line, I decide I like the new pic, and change the profile picture on my social media apps.

  When I get home, I unpack all my shopping and head into my old room where I have my art supplies set up. After Mama moved out, I painted her room and bought a new bed. My old room has the same bookcases, same art, and same bed as it did when I was in school. The only thing that’s different is the drafting table that I put in place of my old school desk. Art has always been a stress reliever for me, providing me with an escape. My old room is the perfect space to do it.

  Sitting at the table, I flip open a fresh pad of watercolor paper and crack open the fresh palette of Staedtler pencils I’ve just bought. Inexplicably and against my will, Dillon’s words from the day before tickle at the back of my brain.

  Tucker Kane…He’s coming to town.

  I push the thoughts down, putting them in the box inside my brain where any hope regarding Tucker has been sent to die.

  Picking up my black, fine point pen, I bounce it off my lip for a moment, looking out the window. Glancing down, I see my phone alert with a text and swipe the screen to open it.

  MAISIE: Girl you look hot! We need to find a cute guy to ruin that lipstick for you.

  I laugh, then an idea hits me. I put pen to paper and draw a sweet little girl with a big bow in her hair, putting on lipstick in an oversized mirror. I add the coloring with the pencils and spritz it with water to activate the watercolor effect. When it’s complete, I take a wider-tipped black pen and write the saying across the top in fancy script.

  Find a man who will ruin your lipstick, not your mascara.

  I flip out the light and head to the bathroom to change. I deposit my uniform in the hamper and stand in front of the bathroom mirror, giving my made-up face one last look before I wash the glamour away. My green eyes are big, and my lashes are full—fuller with mascara. My lips are plump, and so are my cheeks. Mama always said the apple cheeks and plump features come from her German roots.

  Standing in my bra and panties, I pinch at my side, then smooth my palm along my hip as I turn to look at myself from all angles. I’ve probably gained five or ten pounds since I high school, but I still look pretty much like I have since graduation. My breasts, mercifully, stopped growing at the triple-D stage. The curve of my hips has filled out in the last couple of years. I may be shorter than the average girl, I’m not nearly as tall as Maisie, but I think I have the kind of figure guys would appreciate.

  Wouldn’t they?

  To be honest, I haven’t dated anyone long enough to know for sure. Not since Tucker.

  I breathe a sigh and grab a washcloth.

  Goodbye, glamorous Gretchen.

  I squirt some face wash onto the cloth and wash away my new face, leaving the old bare one in its place.

  I change into my nightshirt and get ready for bed. When I snuggle down into the covers, I hear a faint whimper from the floor beside me. I flip the lamp back on and look down to see Mr. Chips looking up at me, his puppy brows high, his head cocked to the side.

  I roll my eyes.

  At least one male wants to get into bed with me and actually loves me.

  “Okay, come on.” I pat the comforter next to my leg and his little tail wags back and forth impossibly fast.

  He hops up, and after walking the length of the bed and turning in circles over and over, he finally settles on the foot of the bed, near my feet, curling up into a little ball.

  Sleep doesn’t come as easily for me. When I close my eyes, the images that flash in my mind are of Tucker. Him and Marissa, smiling from the cover of the tabloids. The two of them frolicking on some California beach. The two of them kissing on their TV show.

  I can’t help but wonder if his kiss is the same as it was when we dated all those years ago.

  He’s older now. He’s more experienced.

  When we were dating, his kiss was soft and sweet. It was strong and tender. It made my skin tingle all over every time he pressed his lips to mine. I can only imagine what it must be like now. It would probably devastate me.

  Just seeing him might.

  As much as I dread it, I’m afraid I’m about to find out what effect seeing Tucker in person has on me sooner rather than later.

  Shiner’s a small town. Avoiding its favorite son won’t be easy, but that’s exactly what I’m planning to do.

  Eleven

  The woman at the car rental counter at the airport is trying with all her might to see behind my shades and figure out if I am who she thinks I am.

  I am, of course.

  Trying to do me a favor, no doubt, she hands me the keys to a Mustang. “I went on ahead and gave you an upgrade, Mr. Kane.”

  The last thing I need is to roll into Shiner in a muscle car when I’m trying to fly under the radar. I look around, and I’m the only person anywhere near the rental counter. I press my forearm to the counter, lean forward, and dip my shades.

  “Listen, darlin’,” I meet the rental clerk’s eye, pouring on all the Southern boy charm I can muster. “I’m headin’ home for a few days to spend some time with my family. I’m tryin’ to be discreet. That upgrade was real sweet of you, but if you could see your way clear to give me one them pickup trucks instead, I’d be mighty grateful.”

  She’s grinning from ear to ear and doesn’t even realize she’s leaning forward, edging closer as I speak. When I give her a wink, I think she might fall over.

  “So you really are that Tucker Kane, aren’t ya?”

  “Yes ma’am, I’m afraid so.”

  “My Mama and I watch your show every week.” She says, practically giddy as she pounds away on the keyboard, changing my reservation to a pickup.

  “Why, that’s real kind of you.”

  She suddenly looks past me, then whispers. “Is Marissa with you?”

  “Sadly, she had to stay in California this time.” I take the keys for the truck and touch the brim of my ball cap. “Thank you for your help.”

  “Could I…” She says the words loudly, then looks around as if she startled herself, and speaks more softly. “Could I get an autograph? I mean, for my Mama. Not for me.” She giggles uncontrollably, her full cheeks growing pinker by the moment.

  “Sure thing, darlin’. Who should I make it out to?”

  She is giddy as she slides a piece of paper and a pen across the counter. “To Donna!”

  As I glance down to the piece of paper, her nametag catches my eye. It reads, Donna. I make the autograph out To Donna, with thanks, your friend, Tucker.

  By the time I pull into my parent’s driveway nearly two hours later, it’s a relief to be home. I grab my bag from the back of the cab and walk up the three broad steps, stepping across the front porch. I hear the floorboard just to the left of the front door squeak loudly and smile, thinking how many times it alerted my Mom and Dad to me sneaking in after curfew when I was in high school.

  I rap twice on the door, then open it. “I’m home, ya’ll.”

  Dad is sitting in front of the television, so wrapped up in the baseball game he almost doesn’t notice me walk in. He glances
up and his eyes get big as he jumps up from his favorite recliner.

  “Tuck! You made it.” He throws his arms around me and wraps me in a hug.

  “Good to see ya, Dad. How are the Frontiersmen doing tonight?”

  “Damn bullpen can’t throw for shit! They put this rookie in…they oughtta put Bright back in there. We paid a damn fortune for him this season.”

  “You be sure to tell the coach that the next time he calls you for advice.” I laugh.

  “I wish he would. It’d be a damn improvement.” He shakes his head. “Your Mama’s in the kitchen. You want me to…,” he points his thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen, but his attention is already back on the game.

  “I got it. You want me to bring you a beer?”

  “Thanks, that’d be great, son.”

  I walk toward the kitchen, and Mama has the music cranked up on the Amazon device I got her for Christmas. She’s singing along with Patsy Cline, swaying back and forth as she dips a scoop into cookie dough and doles it out onto paper-lined baking sheets.

  I silently walk up behind her as she sings along about a weeping willow.

  I grab her hand and twirl her as I join her, singing the next line of the song.

  “Tucker!” She laughs as I put my hand on her waist and glide her through the kitchen. She puts her hand on my shoulder and plays along.

  When the song finishes, she hugs me tight, then grabs my face and pulls it down toward her to deposit half a dozen kisses on my forehead.

  “I didn’t think you’d be in until later. It’s so good to see you, honey.”

  “I got an earlier flight. Couldn’t wait to see my best girl.” I wink at her. “Are those your famous Toll House cookies I see?”

  “They are indeed! I was gonna make cherry pie but mine’s just not as good as…” She freezes and looks up to meet my eye, then tries to play it off. “Well, mine’s just never gonna win any prizes, is all.”

  Nice save, Mama, but you saying her name can’t make me think about her more than I already do.

  We chat while she finishes the cookies and throws a few burgers on the flattop. Dad joins us to eat dinner, then we head to the back porch to catch up a little more. I get out here every few months, and they come visit, but it never seems like enough, especially lately.

  I can hear crickets, and the chirp of peepers, the little frogs down by the pond. It’s still warm, now, and an occasional lightning bug glows as it floats by on a late summer breeze.

  “Damn it’s quiet. I forget how quiet it is here.” I take a sip of iced tea and grab another cookie.

  “I know it doesn’t seem like much when you’re growing up here, but once you leave, I guess you appreciate it a little more.” Dad taps the rim of his glass to mine.

  “You can say that again.”

  “So, when does the circus get to town?” Mama asks, giving me a sideways glance.

  “Few days. I thought I’d come hang out with ya’ll a bit before the chaos starts.”

  “You gonna catch up with any of your old friends while you’re here?” She asks, sipping her tea so innocently, an onlooker might think it wasn’t a loaded question.

  “I might run into a few of the guys.”

  “Mm-hm.” Her chair rocks back and forth and she takes another sip of tea. “You might.”

  “We’re gonna be filming over at the Dairy Gem. Jimmy runs it these days so I might swing by before the crews get here.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Mama agrees.

  “For God’s sake, Mary. Just ask what you wanna ask him and be done with it.” Dad chuckles.

  “Have I ever told you that you are short on subtlety, Henry?” Mama narrows her eyes at Dad, dipping one brow.

  “Just a few hundred times in the past thirty years,” he replies with a chuckle.

  “Alright, fine! Are you gonna go see Gretchen, or not?” Mama rolls her eyes and shakes her head in a move we affectionately call the shake, rattle, and roll.

  “She might not wanna see me.”

  “But she might.” Mama counters and I remember how hard it is to win an argument with her when she has her mind set.

  “But she might not.” I stand and pace the length of the porch. “Maybe her…husband might not like it.” I raise a brow in Mama’s direction. She shakes her head back and forth, eyes locked on mine, a smirk tugging at the corner of her red painted lips.

  “Her fiancé might not…” Before I can finish, Mama is shaking her head again.

  I touch my fingertips to the beam across the porch ceiling and lean forward. “Her boyfriend?”

  Mama’s smile is full blown as her head glides slowly back and forth. “No, honey. No man anywhere in sight.”

  “Huh.” I tap my tongue against the roof of my mouth and make a knocking sound.

  That seems hard to believe.

  Then, another thought occurs to me. “So, is she…”

  Mama cuts me off before I can finish. “Tiny as a bird and pretty as a picture.” She shakes, rattles, and rolls again. “Just go see the girl for Heaven’s sake, Tucker. You been hidin’ from her for five years. Go see her and get it out of your system, whatever it is that’s eating at you.”

  Jared told me all those years ago she didn’t want to see me—didn’t want to talk to me. That was a long time ago, though.

  I nod and sit back down. “Alright then. Maybe I will.”

  I get up early on Monday—earlier than usual. I hope to slip into town unnoticed. I throw on a t-shirt and jeans, a pair of aviators and pull my Cowboys ball cap down low before I head out. On the two lane that heads into Shiner proper, I pass an old farmer in a pickup. His hand never leaves the steering wheel as he lifts two fingers, to acknowledge me with the country salute. I return his greeting as I breathe in a deep lungful of fresh air and push it out again.

  Damn, it’s good to be home. Too bad all Hell’s gonna break loose in a couple of days and fuck it all up.

  When I drive to the far end of the street, I don’t park in front of the diner. Instead, I park a few stores up by the beauty shop which isn’t yet open at this early hour. I walk around the side of the building so I can get a look at the house. The window at the back-left corner, which I can just see from my place beside the diner, was Gretchen’s room. I remember that last night I was there like it was yesterday.

  I was hard as a steel rod with Gretchen under me. She looked so damn good, felt so spectacular in my arms, and all I could think of was sinking into her perfect, tight little pussy. It almost happened, too, until her Mama came home and ruined everything.

  I shudder at the memory of that broom coming down on my backside. Fortunately, it also kills the boner I was starting to get remembering how perfect eighteen-year-old Gretchen was.

  I look across the front of the house, and there’s a truck in the driveway which I’m guessing belongs to her. I step forward a little and smell fresh baked biscuits wafting from the back of the diner. I realize, then, that the back door is open.

  I quietly make my way around back and peer through the weathered screen door. The sun is shining brightly, but when I shade the side of my face with my palm and squint, I can see her in the distance, moving back and forth behind the counter, filling cups of coffee.

  And goddamn if she doesn’t look like a dream.

  I duck when she steps into the back room. When she turns her back to me, I carefully open the screen door and catch the edge of it with my fingertips, so it closes softly against the frame. I shove my hands into my pockets and lean against the wall, watching her for a moment.

  Her pale blonde hair is piled high on her head. When she steps from side to side, reaching across the counter to wipe it down, she has to tiptoe. Her skirt sways with her, the back of it creeping up to reveal a little more of those strong, shapely legs she’s always had.

  I can’t stand it anymore. I take a step forward.

  “Hello, Gretchen.”

  She turns so fast I barely see the coffee cup leave her hand.
I duck just before it crashes into the wall behind me, shattering into a thousand pieces as it makes contact.

  Twelve

  I knew the voice as soon as I heard it. That’s why I threw the coffee cup.

  “Gretchen! It’s me, Tucker.”

  My heart drums in my chest as every laugh, every touch, every kiss comes flooding back, washing over me so fast I feel like I might drown.

  I spin to face him, expecting to see the same handsome boy I knew five years ago. Instead, I see the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  He’s still Tucker. He still has that thick, dark hair and those dark blue eyes. Now, though, the world’s sexiest stubble peppers his jaw, and his body…Christ, almighty what happened to his body? His shoulders are broader, his forearms thick and muscular. His size make him look even taller than usual. The sight of him makes my heart beat a mile a minute, and my mouth is literally watering.

  My body wants desperately to be on his. Luckily, my brain remembers him walking out five years ago, and instead of attacking him with my lips, I attack him with my words until I can find something else to throw.

  “I know it’s you, ya sorry piece of shit. Why do you think I was aiming for your head?”

  “What the hell has gotten into you, girl?” He steps forward, waving one palm toward me as he shifts his weight.

  “Nothing. Not a damn thing, as a matter of fact.” I stand with hands clenched at my side, scanning the countertop with my peripheral vision, looking for more ammo.

  He looks so shocked, standing there, looking me up and down. I can’t help myself. A tiny snort of a laugh slips out, then another creaks through from deep in my throat. I laugh hard and I don’t stop until tears are streaming down my face.

  He stands there, hands on his waist, head cocked to the side and looks at me like I’m completely insane. Maybe I am, but if that’s true, he’s probably a big part of what drove me over the edge.

  After a minute he shakes his head and chuckles. “Okay. I been home twenty times in the past five years and I never came by, so maybe I deserved that.” He steps closer and lowers his voice. “You look good, Gretchen. You look incredible.”