by Avery Aster
“Or?” I hated the sound of that.
“Two, seeing as how I’m single, live alone, and love curvy girls, I want you to live out my biggest fantasy.”
“Why should I?”
“We just lived out yours. Didn’t we?”
“What are you talkin’ about?”
“When I pulled you over on the FDR and your mind went off into la-la land, what were you dreaming about?”
“Nothing.”
“Remember, if you lie to me, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“You fucking me on a motorcycle.”
“I thought so.”
“What’s your fantasy?” I asked, pulling on the straps of my overalls.
“Me taking you to a place I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Upstairs?” I said, looking around.
“Nope. It’ll require your passport.”
I gasped. “For how long?”
“I’m off work for the next four days.”
“No.” I didn’t know him well enough. Heck I didn’t know him at all. But I did just give him my Lady V. It might be nice to go on a real date and get to know him better.
“You’ll sleep in bed with me, bathe with me, and spend every minute of the day with me.”
“Maybe,” I said, feeling my lips curve into a smile. I liked the sound of that. I kept thinking back to what he’d said moments ago about his love for curvy girls. How could I pass this up? “Where?”
“Paris. We leave tonight on the last flight out.” Ford eyed me warmly. He knew I my plans were cancelled. He must’ve. It was on the news that my friends and I had plans to leave the country.
How would it look if I went to Paris, tonight?
I didn’t care. Mom was in rehab. Dad would be gone a few days getting her situated. Vive still needed time to cool off. And I needed Ford. I wanted to wake up in his arms, and learn more about him. “Deal!”
I got my l’amour with Officer Ford Alessandro-Vollero-Gotti. We rented a room overlooking the Champs-Élysées. We ate chocolate cake for breakfast every morning and I said goodbye to Lady V over and over again.
Taddy landed the magazine gig. Vive, Blake, and I were joining her in the Caribbean. Let’s face it, Taddy Brill and modeling didn’t exactly gel together. She was gorgeous but none of us wanted to pose for some silly photo shoot. Regardless, Taddy needs the money for her college tuition, and she wasn’t taking any handouts. We’d all tried to give her money, and she refused. I admired that about her.
Before heading to the airport, I wrote Birdie a letter on pretty stationary from the Sherry Netherland. It read:
Mom,
Dad says your therapy is working and that you’re doing great. Yay! Before returning to Tokyo, we spent a few days together. He met Ford, the guy that I went to France with and am now officially dating. Dad liked him and invited us to Japan for Christmas.
College starts soon. Can you believe it? I’m nervous. I’m excited. I’m off to the Caribbean. Thank you for getting Taddy the modeling contract.
You and I have a long road ahead in mending our mother-daughter relationship. Dad shared with me that your substance abuse was more than pot and booze, but pills and other things. My heart hurts for you. Please for Daddy, me, and yourself, get better. I’ll be waiting for you Mommy when you get out.
Love, Lex
PS, Yesterday, Ford and I took my new motorbike that Daddy bought me for a ride. You’ll never guess who we passed, peddling his BMX bike on Madison Avenue. Kelle! Seems his DUI conviction cost him his Ferrari. Hahaha.
Join the buddy read on Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/1701357-love-lex-discussion-group-buddy-read and get the dialogue going by asking the following questions:
How would you have handled Kelle Sterling Dolley if you were in Lex’s situation?
Would you ever tell a lie to keep your friends out of jail?
What’s your fantasy? Is riding a motorcycle? Or would you like to go to Paris?
Be sure to leave your review at: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20567976-love-lex
Aren’t you dying to know who Lex Easton got her happily ever after with ten years later? Gurl, I thought so. I’ll give you three clues. He’s hung like an Evian water bottle, one of the richest men in the Mediterranean, and a real life, royal prince. Find out how Lex met her fiancé in my erotic romance novel Undressed (The Manhattanites #1): http://averyaster.com/undressed
This novel goes to Lauren Hawkeye—a dear friend, mentor, and a constant inspiration. I adore you to Reese’s Pieces. Thank you for bringing The Undergrad Years to fruition. XOXO, Avery
Huge hugs to my family George, Pauline, and Adam for loving me. Thank you to my friends; Shane, Julie, Sara, Kelly, Shari, Edward, Manuel, Brenda, Holly, Michele, John, Nicole, Nackie, Bailee, Hector, and Lynn for not taking it personally when I’m locked up in my cave writing.
Author-sub-love to Mistress Mel from S&M’s Book Obsessions for cheering me along, and Mistress Eagle, for reading an advanced copy. I’d be lost without my beta-readers Nicole and Miss Diamond, I love you. Much praise to Alex who edited this novel, you are the best in the industry, and I worship the ground you walk on. Cookie praise to Lee at Ironhorse for formatting this book, you’ve got the patience of a saint. Lastly, to Arijana at Cover It! Designs, you’re soon becoming an icon in the publishing industry, and I’m blessed to have you in my corner.
Avery Aster
Jetting to Martinique for a modeling assignment with three of Europe's hottest magazine photographers--Gustave, Fabian, and Leon--should've been easy, breezy beautiful. Never did I expect to look up and see a hole in the ceiling of our plane that was bigger in size than my Birkin bag.
Shit! We're nose-diving toward Eden Island. I pictured how my New York Times obituary might read when I'm gone, "Taddy Brill, Manhattanite, dethroned descendant of the Austrian House of Brillford royalty, dies at age eighteen, penniless, unloved, and a virgin." I swear this crap only happens to me. Suddenly, Leon pulls me with Fabian and Gustave. Adrenaline racing through me, our bodies clung as one. We prepared to...crash.
Copyright 2015 Avery Aster
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Go to Table of Contents
Dedication
Cast of Characters
Part One: I blame it on Lex’s Xanax
Prologue: From the Desk of Avon Porter Academy
Chapter One: Three Men and a Virgin
Chapter Two: Candy Castle
Chapter Three: Move Over Brooke Shields
Part Two: Forget You SeaWorld!
Chapter Four: Wavegasm
Chapter Five: Jaws Syndrome
Part Three: So Screwed!
Chapter Six: TMI Moments
Chapter Seven: Princess Lolly
The End
Get Unscrupulous
To Julie, who…
This book is for the student who I met in the back of a police car during my freshman year of high school. The girl who during my sophomore year served me my first lemon drop, telling me, “You’re gonna love this!” The best friend who during my junior year set me up with a guy that changed my life—in ways I’d never imagined. The woman who gave birth to my god-daughter after we’d graduated, and the reader who, two decades later, roots for the Taddy Brill in all of us. I double-heart you Julie K! Thank you for everything. I’ll see you in St. Tropez.
Love,
Avery
My novels are escapism in the purest form. They are romantic, snarky, hot, and a li’l cray-cray. Events in this story take place in 2002 and are a figment of my imagination. Have fun!
Tabitha Adelaide “Taddy Brill” Brillford (18): Broke but determined, Taddy accepts a job as a fashion model to pay for her college tuition.
Alexandra “Lex” Easton (18): Daughter to famed rockers Eddie & Birdie Easton, Lex and Taddy have known one another their entire lives.
Blake Morgan III (18): Prada fanatic and out of the closet since the day puber
ty struck, Blake is the clique’s gay bestie.
Viveca “Vive” Farnworth (18): Lhaso Apso lover and heiress to Farnworth Firewater Liquor Company, Vive is a party girl who met Lex, Taddy, and Blake while in boarding school.
Gustave Le Cartier (21): France’s leading fashion photographer. He’s a dominant alpha in bed. His famed celebrity photographs are praised by the world.
Fabian Henri (20) Flirtatious and alluring he works as Taddy’s stylist helping her get dressed.
Leon Lartique (19): Set and lighting designer Leon works with Gustave and Fabian trying to get Taddy to loosen up a bit for the camera.
I blame it on Lex’s Xanax
“My bestie Taddy Brill should’ve taken the handout we’d offered her. But nooo, she had to let her pride get in the way, accepting a modeling gig in the Caribbean to pay for her college tuition. Lex, Blake, and I jetted along for moral support. If we knew then, what we know now, we should’ve stayed home on the Upper East Side, where we belonged.” —Vive Farnworth, wealthiest teenager in New York, socialite and aspiring gossip columnist.
From the Desk of Avon Porter Academy
January 4, 1999
Dear Countess Irma & Joseph Graf Brillford,
We enjoy having your daughter, Tabitha Adelaide, in our school. She is an exemplary student who goes out of her way to help others and is a role model among her peers.
It’s unfortunate that you didn’t send for her during the Christmas break. Our Avon Porter staff can board the students only with advanced noticed. She stayed with our gym teacher Mrs. Pringle who stated that Tabitha Adelaide is under the impression she will never see you again. At only thirteen, I wonder where she’s getting these outrageous thoughts. Please call us at your earliest convenience so we may help set your only daughter’s mind at ease.
Yours fondly,
Emily Garrett, Headmistress
March, 5, 2000
Countess Irma & Joseph Graf Brillford,
Our infirmary has diagnosed Tabitha Adelaide with mononucleosis. Her recovery may take up to two months. We have tried to contact your Manhattan and Frankfurt residences and have been unsuccessful. You have not seen your daughter since you dropped her off last year. The doctor mentioned quality time with you may expedite her recovery. She is very sick. Please call us.
Take Care,
Emily Garrett, Headmistress
February 18, 2001
Irma & Joseph,
Our accounting office reported that you haven’t paid Tabitha Adelaide’s tuition for the last two years. We asked fellow Avon Porter parent, Birdie Easton, to check-in on your whereabouts. Mrs. Easton lives in your building and mentioned you have extended your African safari and are unavailable.
Mrs. Easton has offered to pay the outstanding balance under the condition that we do not discuss this with your daughter. I understand Tabitha Adelaide has filed for emancipation in the family courts. This letter will also serve as notice we will be a witness for the prosecution in this case, speaking on your daughter’s behalf. The Avon Porter staff is appalled at your behavior.
Goodbye,
Emily Garrett, Headmistress
Three Men and a Virgin
Bermuda Triangle, August 2002
Up to this point, the only thing that had kept my mind off this horrific flight was staring at the cute little ears, broad shoulders, and wavy-haired heads of the three hottest men I’d ever worked with in my entire life.
That’s right. I, Taddy Brill, sat behind un, deux, trois of Europe’s finest. They were hunky, lean yet muscular, and just about the sexiest specimens of male, ever.
Good Lord. I wanted to rip my sundress off and scream, “Take me!”
But I didn’t.
Not once this week had the boys given me the time of day, let alone a flirtatious glance, leading me to believe that I didn’t have a chance.
If I thought about them too much I’d get depressed. Instead I closed my eyes and tried to figure out how we were going to get through this one-way flight to hell.
I hate airplanes, especially tiny ones that I can’t stand up in without hitting my head. You wouldn’t believe the problems that come with being six-feet tall. My friends call me a glamizon. Trust me, there’s nothing glamorous about freakishly towering over people.
Before anyone asks, no, I didn’t play women’s basketball at the Avon Porter Academy. And yes, my date to prom my senior year was much shorter than me. The poor bastard had such a Napoleon complex that I’d even worn flats.
It’s not like I can wear my Manolo stilettos when flying. Knowing this, I’d picked up these tacky-ass, bedazzled flip-flops from some overpriced gift shop on Collins Avenue before we left for Martinique. I had to watch every penny until I got paid by my agent. Buying these overpriced flip-flops had made me rather angry. Surely I didn’t sport footwear like this back home in New York City. Not unless I wanted to have the dirtiest feet on the planet, even if they did have a gazillion Swarovski crystals glued to the top of them. Recently I’d been riding the subway to get around town. No limos for moi. Not anymore.
I sat in 12B next to my gay best friend (GBF) Blake Morgan. His legs are longer than mine. We must look like two giraffes crowding under a tree.
Blake resembles a younger version of Jude Law meets Matt Damon. When we went to the premiere of The Talented Mr. Ripley a few years ago, I couldn’t decide who Blake looked more like.
Next to us in 12C was my best friend forever (BFF) Lex Easton. Famed daughter to rockers Eddie and Birdie Easton, she’d recently discovered her submissive side with a dominant she’d referred to fondly as Master Ford. Right now, Lex was zonked out on anti-anxiety medication. Let’s pray she doesn’t end up like her pill-popping mother. But I don’t think that’ll happen. She just hates the idea of being cramped on this flying tin can as much as I do. Her curvy caboose barely fits in the seat.
To top it all off like a vodka floater shot, my very best friend (VBF) Vive Farnworth sitting in 12D is buzzed. Ever since our recent incarceration over an accidental explosion at Lex’s penthouse, Vive’s been tossing ‘em back, more than usual.
We’d only been locked up for a day or so. Not six months, like the time before when we’d all been accused of murder and spent a semester in juvie. I’ll get into that, much later.
In addition to my flip-flops wanna know what else I hate? The Caribbean! For reasons I’ll elaborate on in just a second. However, I’ll give ‘ya a clue. It starts with the letter “c” and sounds like “trash.”
Now, if someone, anyone, maybe even you, had told me that by the time I turned eighteen my parents, Countess Irma and Joseph Graf Brillford, would’ve disowned me as their only daughter—leaving me unable to pay for the Ivy League education I’d busted my boarding school ass to get into—I’d roll my green eyes, chug a can of Redbull, and offer, “May you never drown in a vat of dog semen, thank you and buh-bye.” And by never, I mean forever and always.
Sure I’m pissy over my folk’s wrongdoings. One might say, since the age of thirteen, after my father’s DNA test didn’t match my own, I’d seen that shizzicane coming. So did my BFF.
Once Lex and I were shipped off to boarding school, we were out that door quicker than a yellow cab gunning it down Park Avenue. But being without any family never gets easy.
Who gets comfortable with having no parents?
The less than über wealthy call it being orphaned. My folks had used boarding school at Avon Porter as foster care when they gave me away. Whatever!
The school’s therapist had suggested, “Tabitha, forgive and forget. That’s what you need to do in order to move on with your life.”
Kinda hard to do when your parents never asked for, nor did they ever want, forgiveness.
And how could I forget?
College starts in less than a week. If I don’t get the money, Columbia University won’t allow me in class with my besties. I can’t imagine not going to school with them. I’ll die.
Lex, Blake, and Vive know th
is, and offered to help. They all have buckets of money. Always have, always will.
I’ve got nothing but my pride. I can’t take a hand out. Instead, I took this job, and they came along. We do everything together.
If someone, anyone, maybe even you would’ve also told me that I’d turn to the mind numbing job of fashion modeling to make my tuition payments, jetting on a twin-turboprop aircraft from Miami to Martinique for Europe’s snootiest magazine, Claire La Femme with three of the hottest Frenchmen I’d ever met in my entire life, I would’ve puffed on a cigarette, still sipped that can of Redbull and said, “Get the hellaboo outta here!” I certainly would’ve thrown one of these hideous flip-flops at ‘ya too.
Modeling, sounds like fun, eh? That’s what they all say.
I loathe models, let alone me modeling. I’m no dummy.
Sweet brainy Jesus, this past June I graduated top of my class from Avon Porter. My name is Taddy Brill. Teachers hadn’t called me Taddy Brilliant for nothing. Wink!
I’m sure if I hadn’t spent six long months in juvie my junior year, taking the blame for my VBF’s mistake, I would’ve gotten a scholarship for college. Ha! That would so never happen now. Not with my name attached to my group of friends. In the eyes of the press, we’d been labeled tabloid girls, spoiled brats, and troubled teens. We’d heard it all.
None of it was true. Well…not entirely.
Notably, there’s only one thing I dislike more than these itty bitty planes, flip-flops, the Caribbean, and the world of fashion modeling.
Take a guess.
It’s the high-flatulent Frenchmen with their noses stuck up in the air, talking with thick accents sounding like some Grey Poupon commercial. I’m speaking about Gustave Le Cartier, Fabian Henri, and Leon Lartique who are seated inches away from us in 11A, 11B, and 11C.