Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Y-yeah.” Garrett’s voice trembled, and his hand shook as if he was afraid my boob might break like a water balloon. His whole body vibrated beneath me.
My eyes flew open, unblinking with realization. “You’re a virgin?” I whispered.
His gaze slid up to mine. “Not … necessarily.”
“Garrett …” I blew out a slow breath while biting my upper lip. “You’ve been accepted to Stanford. Not necessarily isn’t a real or intelligent answer to your virginity status.”
His hand fell away from my boob as all six feet of him deflated, leaving me perched atop a heap of bones, muscles, and shriveled confidence. I’d seen videos of him playing lacrosse—taking and giving hits so big my own lungs gasped for air. What a really terrible assumption I made, relating sex and sports. Any working dick could have slid into a vagina.
“You’re not a virgin?” he asked with a pensive expression.
“Well, it’s hard to explain.” I grinned, leaning in to kiss him.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
We turned to the window and the angry fist rapping it three times.
“Who the hell is that?” Garrett asked.
I sighed, pulling my bra back on and buttoning up my blouse. “I’m going to get out on that side. You get out on the other side.”
“Why? Do you know him?”
“How fast can you run, Garrett?”
“What? Why? Livy, who is that?”
I slid off his lap and unlocked the door. “My dad. Now run, Garrett!”
“Livy Eloise Knight. Get your ass in the car.”
Chapter Two
Livy Knight Age Twenty-One
“Livy, you’re a walking disaster.” Aubrey glowered when I rushed into the kitchen with my shirt half on and the handle of my backpack cutting into my hand.
I dropped it to the floor and fished my other arm through my shirt while stealing a slice of Aubrey’s bread and plopping it into the toaster. “I’m late.”
“No shit. And you left the peanut butter out last night—lid off, spoon still in the jar.”
“Oops …” I wrinkled my nose. “Sorry, I was starving when I got home last night.” After depositing my water bottle into the side pocket of my bag, I shoved my feet into my white sneakers sans socks.
“Surfing isn’t an excuse for leaving messes or being late for your first day of classes.”
“It’s my last year.” I grinned. “They can’t fail me now.”
Aubrey rolled her eyes while slicing veggies and fruit for juicing.
She was starting her junior year as a sociology major with no clue what she planned to do with that degree. I was a senior in political science—President Livy Knight … after law school, of course.
She acted thirty, making daily chores schedules for all four of us in the house while I played the part of a sixteen-year-old, putting surfing above all else.
She was responsible. I was fun.
We made it work.
Hooking my bag over my shoulder, I snatched my toast and winked at Aubrey. “Muah! Bye, bae. Have a great day at school. Don’t forget to take your teacher an apple.”
I didn’t have to glance over my shoulder to know she wore a scowl and secretly had fantasies about a shark devouring me. Responsible people hated fun people. They also got ulcers, died of heart attacks, and remained virgins well into their thirties. In all fairness, the two-story Mediterranean style house with a red roof, white paint, and teal arched front door belonged to her parents—ageless hipsters who worked for an animation studio but lived in a posher house in Santa Monica. They kept the house close to campus just so Aubrey had a place to live while going to school. I never fully understood the uber-wealthy, but if knowing them meant cheap rent, my own room, and a pool … then I wasn’t going to judge.
The second scowl of the morning came twenty minutes later when I arrived late to my first class. Two minutes … I wasn’t sure that truly counted as late, like less than five over the speed limit never resulted in a ticket. Professor Patel paused her opening statement, curling her pale lips around her veneered teeth as she waited for me to take a seat. Of course, all of the open seats were in the front row, but I’d have sat on some dude’s lap before I walked down several flights of stairs to the front row.
A nice, non-glaring student moved over one seat to let me sit on the end of the third row from the back. I stepped around the German shepherd perched at the end of the second to the last row to get to the open seat. After shrugging off my backpack, I made a quick glance over my shoulder while easing into my seat. The owner of the service dog eyed me, delivering the third scowl of my morning.
Turning back toward the professor, I begged with an apologetic smile for her to keep talking, diverting the room’s attention from me to her again. Once she started speaking, I stole another peek at the guy behind me.