The Gift that Keeps on Giving
Sunday
Today’s To-DoList!
Mail stuff for giveaway. (Maybe keep the Too Faced blush in the heart-shaped thingy? It is freaking cute. Toss in some perfume samples instead! Ha! Hatethose.)
Avoid and evade Trixie Toberman. She will not like #3. But tell her all about it in the morning over coffee at Hallowed Grounds—sans any dirty deets. (My God! There will be dirty deets!GAH!!!)
Find a hot frat boy to stomp out yourvirginity.
Avoid all texts, phone calls, or potential meals with any male family members for at least a week. Any hint of #3 is just cause to commit a felony. (Better yet, don’t make eye contact with them for the better part of a year—orten).
Look cute for said fratparty.
Bring acondom.
Double down on whatever they’re filling those red Solo cups with. (You will not let Serenawin.)
Look in the mirror and say the words,“You are notboring!”
Do not let Serena know she has led you into the murky waters of sexual promiscuity. (She will roll her eyes, and you know you can’t standthat.)
Don’t forget to go to the party—and DO NOT ride the fence. (Grow some lady balls for once, wouldyou?!)
Lists. I make them. I keep them. I love them. It gives me orgasmic-like pleasure to cross off one accomplishment after the next as my day progresses. And just the same, it makes me feel like less than a loser who is destined to live under a bridge when I don’t. But never mind that—because at the top of tonight’s delicious string of things to do is planting my feet right where they are, in a frat house just south of Whitney Briggs University. Beta Kappa Phi is a den of depravity on this the final night prior to winter break, and it’s the precise depraved environment a girl like me is looking for to end a nineteen-year sexual drought. Okay, so I’m almost twenty, and the drought is virtually nonexistent because, technically, I would have had to have already partaken in the—oh, screw it. I’m not getting into that. Instead, I make a beeline over to the refreshment table, snap up a red Solo, and fill it to the brim with the beer on tap from the massive keg taking up residency on thetable.
Gotta love these fratparties.
I make a face as I study the dizzying crowd. The music is so loud it gyrates through my chest with its hard backbeat, its screaming vocals. It seems as if every single student at Whitney Briggs University has made their way within these raunchy walls. It may be winter, but the temps in this cesspool of drunken debauchery feel more like they belong to a humid, balmy night. The room is a tangle of limbs, and I can’t help but pick out the alarmingly beautiful girls, with their incessant laughter, their unabashed ability to pull over the cutest frat boys and have their proverbial ways with them—each setting the foundation for a night of carefree fun. A one-night stand. Why in the heck would I ever want to jump into something so seemingly stupid? Serena bounces through my mind, and my resolve rebuilds itself stronger thanever.
I knock back the beer in a few angry gulps and go for a refill. A mean shudder rides through me. Not only am I still clinging hard to my V card, but you could say I’m a virgin when it comes to imbibing libations. But on a night like tonight—one in which I throw caution to the wind regarding both my liver and my vagina—the alcohol feels flagrantly necessary.Liquid couragemy mother called it. My mother never touched anything stronger than wine, but I’m in the mood for a shot of courage, and I happen to always follow my mama’s advice even if she didn’t mean to give it quite this way. My mother has long since passed, but that has never stopped me from thinking about her as if she were just a phone call away. The therapist my father hired suggested it was the best coping mechanism possible, thinking of her as if she were still living and breathing, and I couldn’t agree more. My brother, Rush, however, is another story when it comes to both drinking—the debauchery that follows and any thoughts related to our deceased mother. Rush was the king of sin prior to my newfound best friend spiking his heart with herstiletto.
I glance toward the stairwell and scowl. It was less than five minutes ago that I saw him traipse upstairs with my roommate, Trixie—his new, correction,firstgirlfriend. Just the thought sends a bout of nausea running through me. Nobody alive, including me, wants to think of the things their brother does behind closed bathroom doors with or without their bestfriend.
I’m happy for them. I really am. It’s just that Rush was a player before he met Trixie. And if he breaks Trixie’s heart, I might have to break him. Yes, blood is thicker than water, but Trixie and I practically have the same brand of coffee coursing through our veins and she’s become a java sister by proxy. Anyhow, I’m glad they’re out of sight. Trixie got wind of Operation Break My Hymen and lectured me for fifteen minutes at the door once I arrived. Suffice it to say, I’m thrilled she’s upstairs getting busy with my brother. The last thing I need is the two of them cramping mystyle.
Truthfully, it wasn’t my idea to head to Beta Kappa Phi tonight to lose both my good sense and my virginity. It was my cousin, Serena, who threw down the sexual gauntlet. Serena is one of those quirky girls who effortlessly pulls off being both sweet and a ball of red wild-headed fury when she needs to be. But yesterday, while we lamented over all the Christmas shopping we still had to tackle, we somehow jumped conversational lanes and she began lamenting the fact she was shy one testosterone-based Normandy invasion of her nether regions. She then went on to assure me that someone boring like me would hang onto it for years to come for posterity if nothing else. That I’m too much of a good girl to get in trouble. That I was practically a shoo-in to be the thirty-year-old virgin of the bunch, to which I countered—what’s wrong with that?All the way back to my dorm I thought about how love was important, how sex was most likely overrated, how I wanted to wait for that perfect someone, and then somewhere between the bookstore and Cutler Tower, all of my self-righteous hot air unraveled like a cheap secondhand sweater. And here I am, beer in hand, looking for a fresh cut of beefcake to fill my stocking an entire decadeearly.
“Hey!” Serena comes up looking every bit the Christmas vixen with her tight red dress, her bright green heels— a cute combo, considering her hair is as crimson as a holly berry and her eyes as green as mistletoe. Serena was sort of a Christmas package right out of the box you could say. “What’s this?” She flicks my Solo cup with her sparkly redfingernail.
“Never mind what this is,” I snarl without meaning to. Serena might be my relation, but my hair is strawberry blonde to her blazing red and my eyes are more lemon than they are lime. “Where’s Harley?” I’m quick to inquire about Serena’s roommate. Usually I enjoy Serena’s company, but tonight I see her for what she truly is: competition. And face it, with Serena the Sexy Siren around, my odds of hymen lancing just reduced to nil. “I swear she was just here asking about you. Said it wasimportant.” I lift a brow her way to see if she’s fallen for it. Serena knows me well enough to see right through my lies, so I don’t expect much from theeffort.
“Really?” She does her best to hike up on her tiptoes to survey the sea of dancing limbs and bobbing heads. Between the music and the laughter, it’s almost impossible to hear one another without shouting. “She did mention there was this guy she was interested in and wanted me to help him notice her.” She rolls her eyes, and I know exactly why. Harley is impossibly gorgeous, so it’s laughable that she would need any help in thatarena.
“You’d better find her.” I put on my most convincing face, and at this point in our lives, Serena knows them all. We’re as close as sisters, so I’m a little amused she can’t see through me. “She was pretty panicked.” There. Serena is the last person who will leave you in a panic. She’s helpful to a fault, and routinely her urge to do good comes right back and bites her in thebutt.
Serena openly growls at me, and I can’t help but laugh. It’s something she’s done ever since we were kids to signify herfrustration.
“I swear, if you are lying to me...” She steps back, picks up a bottle of liquor, and pours a finger length into a Solo of her own before handing it to me. “Here. If you’re trying to get toasted, hard liquor is quicker. I’ll be back. Don’t think I’m not onto you.” She takes the beer from me and threads through the maze of humanity in a futile search for her bestie. I saw Harley head out the front about a half hour ago, and I hope Serena follows her all the way back to Prescott Hall. As close as I am to Serena, I was a tiny bit thrilled to hear she’d be holing up in an entirely different dormitory. Whitney Briggs was supposed to be my opportunity to spread my proverbial wings, but with Serena and Rush around, it’s been nearly impossible. But tonight, tonight the spreading begins, and it will be a lot less proverbial and a lot more literal. A dry smile floats to my lips as I do my best to reassess theprospects.
No sooner does Serena do a much-needed disappearing act than Lucky pops up in her place. I’ve known Lucky Madden for as long as I’ve been at Whitney Briggs. She’s the new RA in my dormitory, Cutler Tower, and, believe me, when she took over the position, half the girls rejoiced because they thought she was going to be a pushover, but she’s just as tough as anyone else. Her brother, Jet, owns the tattoo parlor in downtown Jepson, and I’ve toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo of my own as my next on-air stunt, but I keep putting it off for another day. I’m not a fan of blood and needles. Besides, I’m sort of in the middle of my nextstunt.
I take in a quick breath. Losing my virginity isnota stunt. I’m solely doing this to get on with my life. I don’t like the power it’s been lording over me. I’m a firm believer that nothing or no one should have the power to make you feel as if it or they ownyou.
Seth Baker catches my eye from the entry, and I turn up a shoulder to him, giving my full attention back toLucky.
“Sunday!” She bounces in front of me with those siren blue eyes. Some people have eyes that look as if they’ve been illuminated from the inside, and she’s definitely one of them. “We’re almost done with the charity drive, but we’re falling desperately behind. At this rate, Prescott Hall will have us beat by a financial mile. You and Trixie are the last to donate. Care to open your fat wallets nice and wide?” She blinks those extended lashes up at me so fast I can feel abreeze.
