His Virgin Ward: And Older Man Younger Woman Romance

  Copyright

  © 2017 Lila Younger

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

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  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Isabelle

  Wyatt

  Isabelle

  Wyatt

  Isabelle

  Wyatt

  Isabelle

  Wyatt

  Isabelle

  Epilogue

  Enjoy the first chapter of my story Buying his Virgin!

  Other books by Lila Younger

  About Lila Younger

  Isabelle

  Today just might be the most miserable day of my life.

  Not the worst day, because that belongs to the day we lost mom, but it certainly is the most miserable. Chantal, and her friends poured a whole bottle of perfume onto my clothes during P.E and forced me to wear my gym clothes so I smelled like sweat all day. Then I got tripped while handing in my math test, and the whole class including the teacher died laughing. I mean, isn’t there a rule that teachers can’t do that sort of thing? There should be. And now it’s raining on my walk home. It just had to hold off another ten minutes, but nope, life decided that I really needed to have it today. I’ve got a hole in my sneaker, so of course, I’ve now got wet feet.

  Ugh. I’m used to the other stuff, since I’m always the new kid, but I really hate having wet feet. At least I remembered to bring my umbrella this morning. I try and hurry home, where I’ll finally be safe from the run of bad luck I’ve been having. I’ve just made it into my apartment building when thing’s take another turn for the worse.

  “Isabelle,” a wheezy smoker’s voice says to me.

  I turn slowly and yep, it’s Ronald, our super. He’s a nice guy, with crinkled eyes from smiling so much and a cloudy whisp of hair. He’s always fixing up stuff here and there on the old place. He really likes to read, and we’ve had some good discussions for my English class. He says I remind him of his granddaughter. You really can’t ask for more than that, especially since our apartment building is crappy. But today I’m filled with dread because we’re late on rent again. Really late.

  “Can I have a word with you?” he says, waving me over.

  My sneakers squeak noisily as I make my way over to his office. My brain works hard to come up with some kind of excuse as to why we’re late again, but I’ve got nothing. I’ve already used them all up the other five times we’ve been late.

  “What’s going on Ronald?” I ask, trying hard to sound chipper.

  “You’re late on rent again,” he says. “It’s happening too often. Boss doesn’t like it. Technically we could’ve kick you two out after the third time you know.”

  I nod quickly.

  “And I appreciate it,” I say. “But dad got paid today, so I’m sure he’ll have it for you tonight.”

  He grunts, shifting on his feet.

  “We’re not running a charity here Isabelle,” he says, but his voice has softened. “I can only hold the boss off for so long.”

  “I know,” I say. “And I do appreciate everything you’ve done for us. I promise that you’ll have the check tonight.”

  He nods slowly.

  “Tonight then,” he says.

  I paste on a big smile to show him that everything is fine and head towards the elevators. As soon as my back’s turned though, I drop the smile. Truth be told, I have no idea if dad’s getting paid today. I’m not totally sure he even has a job. He used to work in construction, but then his gambling took over, and we lost the house. My dad’s always had a problem with money, made worse when things go badly. He says he hasn’t been to the racetrack since, but he never looks me in the eye when he tells me and I’ve stopped asking.

  Once I’m in the elevator, I send my dad a text reminding him for the millionth time to drop off the rent check. He texts back saying I’ll have it for sure. Don’t worry. And I almost want to ask if that’s because he thinks his luck is turning but I don’t. Sometimes I feel like I’m the adult in our family and our roles are reversed. At least he can’t touch the money I make from my part time job. That mostly goes towards food and bills. I learned that lesson early on too.

  I let myself into our apartment and shiver. It’s colder here because I’ve had to turn off the heat while I’m away. There’s a new six pack in the fridge. Funny how there’s always enough funds for that. I tidy up the kitchen, I make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and head into my room to do some studying. I’ve got a chem exam, and I’m not sure I’ve got all the rules for reactions down pat. I know the only ticket out of here will be through scholarships, because there’s no way my dad has anything left saved up. I’m not the smartest kid in the room, but I make up for it in sheer determination. And compared to the rest of my classmates, I’m doing pretty well. Of course, it makes me an even bigger target for Chantal, but I just have to wait out five months to graduation. I can do that.

  After chemistry is English, and even if Ronald tries his best to make Shakespeare interesting, it’s like slogging through mud to get through his plays. At some point, I drift off in bed. The next thing I know, my shoulders being shaken. My eyes open wide with surprise, my heart jumping almost out of my chest until I realize that it’s just my dad.

  “What are you doing?” I yell at him.

  “Good, you’re awake,” he says, nonplussed. “You need to pack up your things.”

  “Why? What time is it?”

  He ignores my question. I can tell from the light in the hallway that he’s looking more disheveled than usual, and he’s got a nasty bruise under his eye. Concern overtakes the anger I feel.

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little roughing up. Nothing your old man can’t handle,” he assures me. “But come on. We can’t stay here.”

  “Is this about the rent?” I ask, still confused. I didn’t think Ronald was the kind of person to shake a man down, but maybe his boss is.

  My dad laughs, but there’s no joy in it.

  “That’s the last thing we need to worry about,” he says. “Come on. You’ve got thirty minutes and we’re leaving.”

  Dad leaves, closing the door behind him, and I force myself out of bed. I’m still foggy with sleep, and I have to rub my eyes a few times before I’m really awake. It’s only 10 p.m., but it feels like much later. Come on, I think. You can process this later. Right now you have to pack. I know my dad wouldn’t leave me behind, but his whole demeanor bothers me. There’s more he’s not telling me, I’m sure of it. I quickly grab my duffel bag and begin dumping my clothes into it. I don’t have a lot, but I have to remember to grab the money that I’ve hidden behind one of the drawers.

  I pick up a simple wooden frame, the only picture of me and my mom. We look almost identical: same chestnut hair, big smile, and short stature. And of course, there are the things beneath the surface. We both love lemon poppyseed, according to my dad, and I have the same laugh as hers. We lost her when I was only five years old. My mom and dad were high s
chool sweethearts. He got her pregnant accidentally, but he did the right thing by getting a job and marrying her. I still have flashes of memories of her, and I hold onto those tightly. We both miss her like crazy I think, because whenever we go to the cemetery, my dad would cry. I hug the picture to me for a second, then carefully put it between two sweaters so it doesn’t break. It’s all I have left of her, along with a necklace she used to wear. I grab my school bag, and that’s it. I’m all packed. My dad knocks.

  “Ready?” he says.

  I sling my backpack over my shoulder and open the door.

  “I am,” I say.

  He’s got a wheelie suitcase, and together we make our way out of the apartment. I don’t look back. It was never home for me. The only thing I feel bad about is Ronald, because of how much he’s helped us. I hope he doesn’t get in trouble with his boss. We throw our things in the back, and drive off, keeping the lights off until we’re out of the parking lot.

  “So are you going to tell me where we’re going to go at least?” I ask.

  “We’re staying with... a friend,” my dad says. “You’ll like it. He’s got a fancy house with a pool. You used to love to swim.”

  I frown. He’s anxiously looking around, as though he thinks we’ll be followed.

  “Something’s wrong, isn’t it. Do you owe money to someone again?” I say, putting the pieces together. I see him flinch. “You do. You’ve gone gambling again haven’t you?”

  “I can explain.”

  Frustration and anger, all that I’ve tried to keep down, comes bubbling over. Why would he do this? Why wouldn’t he go get help? He’s a father, he should know better! I shouldn’t have had to grow up so fast. I’m almost eighteen, yes, but everyone else around me is worrying about what dress to get for prom and which new purse they want to buy, not whether or not they’ll be able to keep the lights on until the end of the month.

  “Izzy,” my dad says, using my childhood nickname, but I turn to face the window. I don’t want to hear it. I know I’m being childish, but for once I don’t care.

  We drive, the streetlights washing over me now and again. We’re slowly making our way out of the city. Apartment buildings give way to smaller houses, and the houses get bigger and nicer. Then we turn off the main roads, to the quiet streets. Big, old trees stand over the sidewalks, and the houses are set back from the roads on large lots. This is a nice neighborhood, the kind with basketball hoops in driveways and pools in backyards. Our crappy car sticks out like a sore thumb. Finally we turn into one of the driveways.

  “Are you sure this is the place?” I ask.

  The house is gorgeous, a white Colonial with blue shutters lining its windows. It’s one of the nicest houses in the neighborhood, and I’m totally amazed by it. What would it feel like to live in something so grand? To never have to worry about life and just be able to enjoy it for once? I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away. It doesn’t help, and who knows how long we’ll be able to stay here before we go. Best not to even think those kind of thoughts.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone is home,” I say doubtfully as I lift up my duffel. “Are you sure this is the place?”

  “He’ll be here.”

  My dad sounds so sure of it as he walks up the driveway towards the door. I rack my brains to try and think up who on earth could be inside. A friend? I didn’t think my dad had any. The sound of the doorbell echoes.

  “Nobody’s here,” I say to my dad. “Come on, let’s go.”

  But then the door opens, and my eyes connect to blue eyes so piercing that I shiver.

  I’ve never been in love. When I read about the whole heart thumping, hand shaking, breath catching in my books for class, I’ve just dismissed it all as stuff the author made up for a good story. But it’s happening to me as I take in the man’s handsome features and strong body. He’s tall, taller than my dad, with broad shoulders and rippling muscles meant to intimidate and protect. There’s strength in his squared jaw, but that softens as soon as he sees me. My whole world shifts, as though I’ve been pushed onto a different path in life.

  One that would be twined with the man before me.

  Wyatt

  Of all the people that I know, the last person I thought would ever show up on my doorstop at night would be Jerry Wilson. Life hadn’t been good to the guy, and in addition to the shiner he’s sporting, he looks at least a decade older than he is. Twitchier too.

  My eyes flicker over to the girl beside him. That has to be his daughter, I think. She looks exactly like her mother. I feel a pang of shame and regret. It almost makes me want to close the door, but I know I can’t. Not after what I had done. She flushes and looks down and I realize I must have been staring.

  “Come in,” I say, stepping back.

  I bump into Charlie, whose tail is already wagging at the sight of visitors. The two of them come inside and I close the door. The girl perks up when she sees Charlie, kneeling down and extending a hand. He goes to sniff it immediately, then gives her a smile and a nudge.

  “What’s his name?” she asks softly.

  “Charlie,” I say. “Watch out. He’s going to want pets from you all the time now.”

  “I don’t mind,” she replies, giving the old golden retriever a scratch behind the ears. “I love dogs.”

  “Do you guys want to come into the living room? I can get everyone some drinks?”

  “Izzy and I need a place to stay Wyatt,” Jerry says, cutting straight to it. I stop walking and turn back to look at him.

  “Stay?”

  “For a bit,” he clarifies.

  I open my mouth and close it. I have no idea what’s going on, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to say in front of Isabelle. So I just nod.

  “There’s a guest bedroom upstairs on the left, and a pull out couch in the living room,” I tell them. “It’s yours for as long as you need it.”

  “Thanks,” Jerry says with relief. He turns to his daughter. “Why don’t you get settled in?”

  Isabelle looks uncertainly between us, but shrugs and heads up the stairs. I walk through into the kitchen. Charlie needs to be let out, so I open the sliding doors for my old buddy. Once the doors close, I turn to face Jeff. He’s opens up the fridge door.

  “No beer?” he grunts.

  “I don’t drink,” I say shortly. He accepts the information.

  “So what’s going on here?” I ask him. “Why are you here?”

  “I need a place to lay low, somewhere nobody’s going to think to look. I heard that you’d done pretty well for yourself, and thought it was time to cash in.” The way he looks at me tells me he blames me for what happened. So do I. There hasn’t been a day where I don’t think about it.

  “You can stay as long as you need,” I tell him. “But isn’t Isabelle in school still?”

  “She can transfer,” he says. “She’s only got a few more months left. I’m sure you can figure something out. You’ve got enough money to shut up any questions.”

  “Sure, whatever you need Jerry. I can do that. But I need to know why you need to lay low. That you still haven’t told me.”

  Jerry puts his hands on his hips.

  “You sure you don’t have any alcohol in here at all?” he asks.

  “I have a bottle of bourbon someone got me one Christmas,” I say at last. “It’s somewhere in the pantry maybe.”

  He heads straight for it, and I follow, arms crossed.

  “I lost my job. The boss was an asshole anyways, always cutting corners. It’s not right, not when you’re building homes for people. I told him he was a fucking idiot and he fired me,” he explains as he roots around. “It’s hard with a kid. I’ve got nobody to lean on, and with the economy all busted, it’s been hell trying to get a job. I thought I got a good tip on a horse, but that was just all bullshit. So I owe people some money. I’ll pay it back of course, it’ll just take a little more time than they’re willing. Bunch of stupid fuckers would never connect you to me tho
ugh.”

  I take in his words. That’s not what I heard from my sister, who’s tried more than once to reach out to Jerry and his kid.

  He pops back out of the pantry with the bottle. I point towards the cupboard where I keep the glasses, and he whistles when he catches sight of the label.

  “Fancy stuff,” he remarks.

  “It’s a gift,” I say tightly. “I was going to give it away.”

  He opens it up, pouring himself two fingerfuls. Lifting up the glass, he toasts me and downs it in a gulp. Acid rises in my throat. I don’t know how he can drink the stuff after what happened. I turn away from him and open the door up again for Charlie.

  “You can keep the rest of it,” I tell him. “I’m going to bed. There’s extra pillows and a blanket underneath the window seat in the living room.”

  I head upstairs, Charlie at my heels. At the top I pause, then go over to the guest bedroom and knock. Isabelle opens up the door a moment later. I can see her unpacking her stuff into the closet, a picture frame put up on the bedside table.

  “Do you need anything?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, but then she stops.

  “I’m a little hungry,” she confesses.

  “Help yourself to anything you need in the fridge. It sounds like you’ll be staying a little while, so I want you to make yourself at home, alright?” I say softly.

  I feel bad for her. To be uprooted room home because your dad can’t control himself, can’t think beyond the next bet. I can only imagine what her life’s been like. And what part I’ve played in it.

  “Thanks,” she says. “But I didn’t catch your name.”

  “It’s Wyatt.”

  “Well, thanks Wyatt. I don’t know what you’ve done, but I appreciate you taking us in.” She pauses. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but if you have anything valuable, it might be a good idea to put it somewhere safe.”

  She says it in a pained voice, like she wishes it wasn’t the case. I feel an anger at Jerry building up again. I’m no father, but I do have two nephews, and I would never put them in a position where they would have to worry over me. Charlie plods past me to nose at Isabelle’s hand again, and I have a sudden thought.