by Lila Younger
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
Olivia
Olivia
Olivia
Silas
Olivia
Silas
Olivia
Olivia
Silas
Olivia
Epilogue | Olivia
Enjoy the first chapter of my book Taking his Virgin below!
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About Lila Younger
Olivia
Please let Terry be late for once, I pray to whoever might be listening as I run up the three flights of stairs in the Student Union Building to our headquarters. Please, please, please let him be late.
Today’s been awful and it isn’t even noon. I accidentally turned off my alarm instead of hitting snooze, I got rainwater splashed all over me by a passing car, and I almost ate a hair in my banana muffin (no more cafeteria food. Ever.). If the rest of the day could just run smoothly, that would be great. As I turn around the corner though, my heart sinks. Of course he isn’t late. Terry is never late. I puff the last few steps to the door, and he’s already clearing his throat.
“I’ve already been waiting here for twenty minutes,” Terry says peevishly.
My best friend Adaline, who’s standing beside him, rolls her eyes.
“We were only supposed to meet here five minutes ago. Why don’t you cut Liv some slack?”
“As editor-in-chief, she should be-”
“Yes, yes, we get it,” Addy says, waving her manicured hand dismissively. “You can do a much better job. We know that. But Steve promoted Liv to the job, so let’s just get on with it shall we?”
“I’m sorry Terry,” I say quickly as I pull out the keys. Not that it matters. The guy lives to find fault in me. I’ll probably be hearing him complain for the next hour or two. I can feel the headache pulsing at my temples already.
Once the doors are open, we quickly bring all of the boxes into the paper’s office. I’ve been here since first year and I’ve gotten to know these four walls pretty well. I know which chair is the annoyingly squeaky one. I know just how hard to bang the photo copier when it decides to stop working. And as editor-in-chief, I even know about the hidden compartment in the back of my desk, where we can store secret stuff. Well, maybe past editors did. I usually just stick a stash of candy bars for late nights that I don’t want to share with Addy.
Since I am technically late, I get down to business right away. We’re doing a fundraiser for the paper with candy flowers for Valentine’s Day. A local candy shop has graciously agreed to make them for us for a discounted rate. All we have to do is wrap it up nice with some red cellophane, tie on some cards, make up some bouquets, and sell them in a few places around campus. It was my idea really. The hope is that by fundraising a few times a year, we can put out an edition every two weeks instead of once a month, and make the paper more relevant to the students. The whole staff seemed pretty excited about the idea except for, surprise surprise, Terry.
Whatever. I push Terry’s opinions firmly out of my mind. I know that I’m doing a good job here at the paper. I’ve wanted to be a journalist all my life, ever since I was a little girl bothering my neighbors with “interviews”. I picked this university specifically because they had an excellent program for journalism. I even started up an unofficial blog for my high school reporting on games and events.
“Why don’t you get started on the signs for the tables Terry, while Addy and I work on wrapping up the flowers?” I suggest. “You can use my office. It’s got a bigger table in it.”
Terry glowers at me, but heads to my office, closing the door behind him.
“Thank God,” Addy whispers, tossing her honey blonde hair over her shoulder. “Don’t ever leave me alone with him again! I swear, he can find fault in anything.”
“Don’t I know it,” I say with a sigh. We gather up everything we need and dump it onto the computer desks. I pull a roll of cellophane to me and start cutting it out for the candy flowers. “Maybe I should just give him my job.”
“You can’t,” she says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You know he’s just going to find something else to complain about. The guy’s not happy unless he’s making everyone else unhappy.”
I shake my head.
“It’s not just that,” I say, pushing my glasses up my nose. Because I was so late, I didn’t have time to put in my contacts even. “I tried calling my parents last night.”
“Ah,” she says sympathetically.
“Yeah,” I say with a grimace. “They’re still upset that I chose journalism. They’re convinced I won’t find a job when I get out of school. If ever. And they’re mad that they paid for four years of school that’ll go to waste. I think maybe telling them wasn’t the best idea.”
She was the one who told me to tell them in the first place. Let’s just say it was not a very Merry Christmas this winter break. In fact, my parents and I barely spoke three words to each other after, including the goodbye when I left to drive back to school early. In fact, I don’t even think my parents hugged me, and they’re big huggers. Especially my mom. That’s when I knew that this was bad, even worse than the time I sneaked out of the house for Cindy Martin’s seventeenth birthday.
“Well not telling them in the first place wasn’t the best idea,” Addy corrected me. “But believe me, finding out at graduation would have been worse.”
“Maybe,” I say doubtfully. “I miss talking to my mom though.”
Despite our share of bad fights while I was a teenager, my mom and I are pretty close now. So it feels like I’ve lost more than just my parent. I’ve lost a close friend out of all of this too. And then I feel a surge of anger, because it’s not like I picked journalism lightly. I’m very aware that newspapers are going down the hole, that everyone reads blogs these days. But there’ll always be a need for the news, and people to find and report them. The fact that they treat me like a kid, as if I’m completely clueless about how the world works, is pretty infuriating. It actually just makes me that much more determined to become a successful journalist.
“I know just what you need,” Addy says confidently.
“You do?”
“Sure. We should go to that speed dating event down at Ol’ Tav,” she says.
I shake my head immediately.
“No way. I don’t need that in my life at all.”
The Ol’ Tavern is the student bar on campus. They’re hosting a speed dating night as a counterpoint for those who aren’t dating someone on Valentine’s Day. It actually is a pretty good idea, and I really wish I had thought of it myself, but there’s no way I want to go to one. Speed dating is for people like Addy: blonde, tall, gorgeous as a supermodel. It’s definitely not for people like me. I don’t even know how to curl my hair without that horrible singed smell. The only reason someone like Addy and someone like me ever got to be friends was because we ended up in the same dorm room in first year. Underneath all that mascara and hair spray was an awesome,
funny girl who loved Gilmore Girls just as much as I did. Addy even agreed to come with me to the paper in first year, although her goal is to become a fashion editor for Vogue.
“Wait. Hear me out first okay,” Addy says. “When was the last time you dated?”
“There was Josh-”
“Josh doesn’t count,” she says. “You bailed on that date thirty minutes in. No, the last time you had a date, a real date, was before I knew you back in what? Tenth grade? That’s crazy.”
I sort of take that with a grain of salt, because Addy has never been without a boyfriend. She somehow manages to move from one to the next, not quite cheating, but definitely sort of hanging onto one man until a new one has been secured. It’s been a point of contention between us, but at this point, we’ve agreed to disagree.
“I don’t need a man,” I say, my stock phrase whenever we get into my love life. “I’m so busy with the paper, and school.”
“But it’s nice to have a man,” she goes on. “It’s nice to have a warm body to cuddle with in bed, and share your thoughts and feelings with. You’d feel much better about the situation with your parents if you’re getting laid on a consistent basis. More relaxed at least.”
I can only laugh at how ridiculous that is.
“Addy, that’s the most illogical reason to date I’ve ever heard.”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Come on, it’ll be really fun I think. I’ll even come with you so you don’t feel alone okay? We can make it a girls’ night out sort of thing.”
“You’re coming to a speed dating event? You mean Chad or Brad or whoever you’ve got right now won’t mind?”
Addy puts down the candy flower she’s working on and holds a hand over her heart.
“I’m hurt that you’d think I’m using you to try and find a new man,” she says dramatically, then drops the act and grins. “Besides, Thad and I aren’t exclusive.”
Right. Thad, as in Thaddeus, as in Thaddeus III, which is the most ridiculous name I’d ever heard, but anyways.
“Okay. I’ll do this for you,” I say with a sigh. “I mean, it would be nice I guess to have someone.”
Addy grins. “Don’t sound too put on about it. Most people would be thrilled to fall in love.”
Most people would, but then again, most people have by the time they’re twenty-two. I haven’t ever met a man that I felt that pull for, that head over heels in love feeling that Addy always talks about. Sometimes I wonder I ever will. But I won’t find that out if I don’t even try to put myself out there. Right? And what better time than Valentine’s Day, with all that love in the air?
********
“Well that was a fail,” I say with a sigh.
It’s almost midnight, and Speed Dating night is officially a bust. I’m not sure what I was expecting when I walked into Ol’ Tav, but I definitely didn’t get it. Out of almost thirty guys, exactly one of them even had the potential to be a boyfriend, and he paired up with someone else as soon as the event ended. The event wasn’t terrible though. I thought they did a pretty good job with having some questions laid out. I’m pretty bad at flirting, and having something to go off of set me much more at ease.
Addy waves the bartender over and orders two drinks for us. I shift from my left leg to my right. These heels are killing me. At Addy’s insistence, I had put on something ‘sexy’, which in my case was a fluttery, silk camisole top and miniskirt with knee high heeled boots. She wanted me to go amp it up a little more, but even this was a bit much for me. I’m not built like Abby. I’m curvier, shorter, and it makes me uncomfortable to be showing too much. The fact that I’m wearing a mini and a cleavage baring top is a lot for me. Add to that the smoky eye and bouncy curls (courtesy of Addy) and I almost feel like a pinup. I wish I brought along a sweater now to cover up a bit. I’m a wallflower and I always have been.
“Oh come on,” Addy says. She’s wearing this gorgeous red slinky dress, and she looks exactly like Taylor Swift. I’d be jealous if she wasn’t my friend. “It wasn’t that bad. What about that one guy, uh Mark something or other? He seemed nice.”
“You mean the guy who wouldn’t stop railing against the commercialization of holidays as a Hallmark conspiracy? No thanks. I mean, I don’t like being single on Valentine’s Day either, but he took it ten steps further. I’m not even sure he wants to be in a relationship he seemed to hate it so much.”
“Okay, maybe you’re right,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
I lift up my drink to her. I don’t want my friend to feel bad for wanting something good for me. I mean, I’ve been single for so long already, and I’m used to picking myself back up. Tonight’s no different.
“Don’t be. Let’s just have a few more drinks and dance okay?”
“Sure thing,” Addy says.
The bartender comes back and I slide a bill over to him. We pick up our drinks and make our way slowly toward the dance floor. I’m surprise by how packed it is tonight. The whole bar is decorated with red and white balloons, and a lot of people have followed the theme, putting on red tops and dresses. I guess Valentine’s Day is as good a day as any to hook up after all.
Addy and I get to the floor just as a Lady Gaga song starts blasting over the speakers. I sip the rest of my drink, dump the glass onto a table, and bounce along to the beat. That’s the one nice thing about coming to a bar. The music is loud enough to override everything else, all the thoughts in your head are quieted, and you can just dance along and forget about everything. Addy’s in front of me, swishing and sashaying like a professional dancer. I don’t know how long we stay there, maybe four or five songs? Before a guy comes up to Addy.
She gives me a look, and I give her a smile. It’s almost impossible to hear anything, so I just wave and mime taking another drink. She nods and turns to the guy, and I squeeze back through the crush of people. Usually that’s my cue to find some of my other friends or head home. I’m debating what I should do when my clutch vibrates. I pull out my phone, surprised to see that my mom is calling, especially after the fight we had.
I push through the crowd and manage to get out on the patio where people are chatting. I move towards a corner, and sit down onto a bench.
“Hello?” I ask cautiously. “Mom? What’s going on?”
All I hear are sobs. Immediately, I sit up, dread creeping over me.
“Mom? What’s going on?”
“It’s your dad,” she manages to say, her voice cracking. “Oh Olivia, you need to come home.”
Olivia
“What is going on?” I ask, trying to keep the rising panic out of my voice. “What happened to dad?”
“He’s, he was coming home from work,” my mom says, breaking down into sobs again. “He got hit by a truck. They don’t know- they don’t know- Oh, you have to come home Livvy.”
The fact that my mom is using my childhood nickname sends another bolt of terror into my heart.
“I’m coming mom. I’m coming,” I tell her as I get up and start running back towards home. I’m so glad that I only had that one drink. It doesn’t take me long to get off the patio and out of the Ol’ Tav. I live on campus, in one of the upper-class dorms. It’s fantastic, complete with my own kitchenette. And it means I’m only two minutes away from any building on campus. As soon as I get to my car, I dig for my keys and get going. I don’t have time to worry about packing, not when I don’t know what’s going on. What if my dad’s... dying? I push that thought out of my head. I can’t think about that, otherwise I won’t be able to drive home at all.
It’s a straight drive as soon as I get on the freeway. My brain is whirring, trying to process everything at once. Work? What does she mean work? It’s midnight. How could she be telling me this now, so late? It didn’t make sense. But dad works as an account manager for a pharmaceutical company. They don’t have late nights. I’m more and more confused as to what’s going on. I can’t just go round and round like this. I’ll drive myself crazy. So I turn on the radio a
nd let that distract me from the long, six hour drive.
My dad is at Memorial Hospital, a stark concrete building with several different wings branching off the main tower. I park as quickly as close to emergency as I can, grab a hoodie so I’m a bit more covered up, and rush through the doors. It’s almost six in the morning, and I’m shaking from the amount of caffeine I’ve drank to stay awake. I know it was stupid and dangerous of me, but I had to get here fast. The place is surprisingly quiet, but I spot my mom right away and run straight into her arms. She looks like a mess. My mom is the kind of person who dresses up in coordinated clothing even if she doesn’t plan to leave the house, but right now she’s wearing a blue cardigan over a purple t shirt and crumpled slacks. It’s like she got dressed in the dark. That more than anything shakes me to the core.
“I tried to get here as fast as I could,” I tell my mom. “What’s happened?”
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says sniffling. “The doctor says that he’s been stabilized. They’re still working on him.”
She brings me over to the plastic bench she’s been sitting on. It’s cold and hard, but if someone’s in here, chances are they aren’t trying to get any sleep.
“Mom, why was dad out so late? You said he was getting off work?”
She looks at me, and tears fill her eyes again.
“Oh Livvy, we didn’t want to tell you. Your dad lost his job. He had to pick up two other jobs so we could keep you in college. I’m working part time now too. It’s hard, but we wanted you to have the best. We didn’t want you to have to worry about getting a job so you could focus on school.”
There’s a lump in my throat, making it impossible to swallow. Could it be true? Because of exams, I only got home on the 23rd. And I left the morning of the 26th because of what they said to me. I was barely there at all for Christmas break. I spent most of it hanging out with my friends, catching up, staying out late, especially after I told them about my journalism degree and we stopped talking. Guilt surges over me. So this is why they were all worked up about my degree. They’d worked so hard, and they thought I was throwing all of it away. Understanding made my heart hurt so much, not because of what they said, but from how I reacted.