Maybe he did it all the time without thinking about it.
I turned it over in my hand as I walked to my car. They were supposed to be good luck or something, so I set it on my dashboard. I didn’t really believe in superstition, but you could never be too careful. I didn’t want to risk any bad mojo.
“I’m back,” I said as I unlocked the front door to my craptastic apartment. I shucked off my heels and sighed in relief. There was nothing quite as nice as taking your heels off at the end of a long day. Men could just never understand that.
“How was work?” My roommate, Hazel was hovering over a pot of something in our microscopic kitchen. This could be bad.
“Fine. What are you making?” I said, setting my bag down and trying to avoid going into the kitchen, in case this turned out to be one of her experiments.
“Relax, it’s from a box.” She held up an empty box of mac and cheese. I didn’t breathe easier, because she’d definitely messed that up more than once. “And I bought a pre-made salad and there is ice cream. So we’re good.” Only then did I let out a breath. She held the spoon out and I took a bite. Phew.
“I swear, every time I cook you act like I’m feeding you poison.” Hazel and I had become friends two years ago when we’d lived next door to each other in the dorms. She’d had issues with her roommate, I’d had issues with mine and we ended up moving in together halfway through the year and we’d been living together ever since. We were both poor as all get out, but we’d managed to find an apartment in Deermont and it hadn’t fallen apart yet, although it was held together with duct tape and staples.
As much as we got along, Hazel and I were visual opposites. Her skin was gorgeous and dark and she got a tan within twenty seconds of standing in the sun. Her hair was long and curled in perfect rings, unlike mine that tended to do it’s own thing and be curly on some days and not so curly on other days. She was tall and had the kind of figure that made guys eyes pop when she danced. I would hate her for it, but she was always saying how jealous she was of my body and my “cute and perky” boobs. She had some delusion that her butt was flat, but at least hers was in proportion to the rest of her body. There was a reason I wore a lot of black on my bottom half.
“You going to work?” Hazel had gotten herself a job as a bartender a few nights a week at the campus bar. It was a little bit classier than some of the college establishments, but the tips sucked, so it was a trade off.
“Yeah, in an hour. Remind me why I didn’t sell my organs online to pay for my education?” I grabbed a fork and started stealing bites of mac and cheese from the pot. I was starving.
“Because it’s illegal?”
“Right. That. They might frown upon that at law school, yes?”
I nodded and she got a fork too. We often ate dinner like this. Less dishes to wash.
“Usually.”
We finished off the pot and then shared the salad from the plastic container as we sat on the couch and worked on our various never-ending homework assignments.
“So it’s going to happen tonight,” Hazel said as she put on the tight shirt she always wore to work. It showed a lot more cleavage than she was comfortable with, but she got better tips that way. I didn’t hate the player, I hated the game in that instance.
“What’s going to happen?” I already knew the answer.
“I am going to find a nice young man to pop that cherry of yours.” She jabbed her fork at me and I backed up so she didn’t stab me with it. There it was again. The reminder that I was a card-carrying member of the Virginity Club. I wish I had some good reason, that I was like, saving myself for Jesus, or my parents had put the fear in me, or told me that if I had sex with a boy that my ears would fall off and I’d gain forty pounds, but I had no such excuse.
The truth was, boys were gross. Part of me was still semi-convinced they had cooties. I’d sort of dated, but every time I thought about getting physical, or close to a guy, he smelled weird, or had hair on his knuckles, or burped or did something else to completely turn me off.
I’d been on a few dates here and there, but usually I’d have to send out an emergency call to one of my friends. Sooner or later, rumors went around my high school that I was a lesbian, and I went ahead and let them spread. Of course, then girls started hitting on me, but they were easier to fend off.
I thought that in college, I would have the chance to maybe meet someone. Someone who wore a tie every day and expensive cologne and had a 401K. Yum. But, here I was, well into my junior year and that fellow hadn’t shown up yet. Sure, there were plenty of guys on campus, but a lot of them were taken. Or gay. Or taken and gay. Or total and complete douchebags. Or budding alcoholics. Or gay, taken douchebag alcoholics.
Since my friends had always struck out when it came to setting me up with a boy in order to make him my boyfriend, they’d lowered their expectations to just getting me laid. I didn’t exactly advertise my virginity, but it always seemed to come up when people were drinking and swapping stories and I got red-faced and ran away to the bathroom when everyone started talking about their first times.
“How many times have I told you, I’m set. It will happen when it’s supposed to happen.”
“Don’t give me that fairy godmother, dreams come true shit. We don’t need to find your prince charming. Just a non-skeezy guy to do you a service. Think of him as… a plumber. For your vagina.” She scraped the bottom of the container for the last few croutons.
“A plumber? Have you ever seen a sexy plumber? Outside of a porno?” One of the other things my friends had done to try and make me want to have sex was make me watch it. I’d only lasted about five minutes when I had to run away and beg them to shut it off. Seeing other people… doing things like that? I didn’t understand how anyone could find that sexy. Plus, the girls were like, unbelievably flexible. No way I could contort myself like that.
I’d been branded as a prude from then on.
“Why are you so hung up about it? I know you have a little battery friend.”
“Yeah, so? Just because I’m a virgin, I’m supposed to not know about my own body?” Hazel had also surprised me a time or two when I thought I was alone. “I have a sex drive, Haze. Being a virgin doesn’t stop me from having sexual feelings.”
In fact, I probably had more than the average girl, just because they were so… pent up.
“We just need to take those sexual feelings and transfer them to something with a penis. A real life penis. With a boy attached to it.”
I shook my head and went to take a shower.
About the author:
Chelsea M. Cameron is a YA/NA New York Times/USA Today Best Selling author from Maine. Lover of things random and ridiculous, Jane Austen/Charlotte and Emily Bronte Fangirl, red velvet cake enthusiast, obsessive tea drinker, vegetarian, former cheerleader and world's worst video gamer. When not writing, she enjoys watching infomercials, singing in the car and tweeting. She has a degree in journalism from the University of Maine, Orono that she promptly abandoned to write about the people in her own head. More often than not, these people turn out to be just as weird as she is.
Other books by Chelsea M. Cameron:
Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book One)
Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo
Nightmare (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book Two)
Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo
Neither (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book Three)
Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo
Neverend (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book Four)
Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo
Whisper (The Whisper Trilogy, Book One)
Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo
Deeper We Fall (Fall and Rise, Book One)
Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks
Faster We Burn (Fall and Rise, Book Two)
Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks
My Favorite Mistake (Available from Harlequin)
Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo
My Sweetest Escape
Sweet Surrendering
Find Chelsea online:
chelseamcameron.com
Twitter: @chel_c_cam
Facebook: Chelsea M. Cameron (Official Author Page)
For Real (Rules of Love, Book One) is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are use fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this sample may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2013 Chelsea M. Cameron
Cover by Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations
Sneak Peek of WICKED THING by Angeline Kace
New Adult, Available Now
“What gives you the right? We are not together. Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Carmyn’s forehead creases, and if I were a fool, I’d say it was in pain.
Her face flushes with anger. “You’re right, Dallas.” Her words are clipped and cold. A stark contrast to the heat radiating from her. “We’re not together and I had no right. I’m sorry.” She snatches her purse off my dresser and turns to leave.
“Carmyn, wait.”
She stops but doesn’t turn around.
I’m confused. She won’t let me tell her how I feel, but I’m supposed to allow her to fix the most broken part of my life? A part of me wants her to. For her to be the one who makes the broken things work. But not like this. Not when she insists on keeping things the way they are. I can’t give myself to her if she won’t accept my heart, let alone give me hers.
She marches to the door and flings it open.
I want to tell her to wait, but I still don’t know what to say. I got what I wanted; she won’t try to push me about Denton anymore. Was it worth losing whatever part of her I had?
I’m not sure it is.
***
Meet Dallas and Carmyn in WICKED THING by Angeline Kace. For more details and teasers, visit her website at http://www.angelinekace.com.
A Risk Worth Taking Page 25