Chapter One

“I can’t believe we are finally here. I am completely and utterly exhausted, but could not be happier,” Evie, my longtime best friend and now college roommate, said as she threw herself across her freshly made twin bed.

“I know. It’s surreal, isn’t it? I’m almost afraid to go to sleep tonight in fear that I’ll wake up tomorrow morning back at my parent’s house,” I replied as I sat down cross-legged in the chair across the room.

“God, that would be a nightmare.”

“Tell me about it. You aren’t the one that’s had to live with them the last 18 years,” I muttered.

“True, but I have had to live across the street for the last ten and listen to you bitch and moan every day about the prison wardens they are,” she retorted.

Evie was right; without her, I may have gone crazy at some point while dealing with my family. That or run away and joined the circus. Seriously, that would’ve been an upgrade to the life I had while living with my parents. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating a bit, it’s not like they ever beat me, or neglected me or really even yelled at me. I never wanted for any material item or for my parent’s attention. It was quite the opposite actually. My parents were so far up my ass that they literally did not allow me to have a life of my own.

The reason my parents treated me the way they did all went back to my older brother, Matt. My parents had Matt right after they had finished college. Both being young attorneys and wanting to climb the corporate ladder, Matt was often left under the supervision of our grandparents who had a hard time saying no, and babysitters that knew as much about child rearing as I do. By the time Matt was a teenager, my parents both had well-established, well-paying jobs as defense attorneys and worked long hours outside the home leaving Matt alone often. Matt became the stereotypical troublemaker. He did lousy in school, got in trouble with the law on several occasions for fighting, alcohol and marijuana possession, and was known for his way with the girls and his numerous one-night stands. I was pretty sure I was my parents attempt to try parenting over again. As bad as it sounded, I think they felt they had failed miserably with Matt and needed a redo to prove to themselves that they could raise as close to a perfect child as possible. I was born when Matt was 16. I was 2 when he left home, so I had no memories of his living with us other than a few random pictures. Thankfully, with time, he had eventually become a successful member of society and worked his way back in my parent’s good graces. He became a middle school teacher and coach along with his wife Meg, who I adore, and they have one daughter, Alyssa. My niece is my little ray of sunshine. I would babysit for her often and loved spending time with her, and spoiling her rotten (or spending time spoiling her rotten). I was definitely the cool aunt and not just because I was the only aunt.

So my parents had me when they were both forty-four, which in my opinion, was way too old to be starting over. My mom decreased her workload drastically so that she could stay home with me and be present at every moment in my life. I still think she’s pissed with God that she wasn’t around when I first got my period. To ensure that I did not turn out anything like Matt, my parents sent me to an all-girl Catholic school for my entire scholastic career, kindergarten through twelfth grade. What I always found so funny about this was we weren’t even Catholic. They filled my evenings with piano and classical guitar lessons, dance lessons, soccer practices and community service. My weekends weren’t much better- when I wasn’t at a recital, performance, or game of some sort, I was at church or playing the piano for the choir. They did everything in their power to sculpt me into their idea of perfection personified, and for the most part, thanks to my non-confrontational, naturally submissive personality, I did exactly as I was told.

But today was the day they finally had to let me go. I had been looking forward to that day for at least the past three years, ever since I realized that kids my age were actually doing fun things while I was studying or practicing something or another. I was finally free of their outrageous and outlandish rules. I knew that I’d never escape their unrealistic and idealistic expectations of me, but now as long as I made good grades and didn’t get in legal or financial trouble, I would never have to live under their roof again.

“Hello! Earth to Scarlett! Are you still with me here?” Evie yelled, shaking me out of my daydream. Or would it be a night dream since it was 11:00 at night? Hmppphh… that was an interesting thought…

“Scarlett, seriously, what the fuck is your problem? You are sitting over there looking like you’re being forced to watch someone shit in your Louboutins,” she spat.

“I don’t own Louboutins, Evie.”

“Humor me…” she said and then a serious look crossed her face. “ You are supposed to be happy… joyful… hell, you should be jumping up and down ecstatic that you are actually going to be able to have a life.”

“Sorry, I was just thinking about how controlling my parents really are and wondering how I’ve managed to survive until now,” I confessed.

“Controlling?!? That’s like saying that Lindsey Lohan has a minor drug problem or that Charles Manson might have been a psychopath. Elizabeth and David are nuts and I’m still not sure how you’ve managed not to go postal on them until yesterday. And I’m still surprised they ever let you be friends with me.”

“It’s only because they could see your house from our front window,” I said somewhat embarrassed because we both knew that was the truth. “And I think they are still in shock over my standing up to them,” I continued as I thought back to the day prior when I had told them I was an adult and was making a clean break from them. I was finally taking control of my life; I’d be making all of my own decisions, and whether those decisions were right or wrong, good or bad, I could and would live with the consequences because they were MY choices. I didn’t mean for the conversation to be hurtful or ugly ~ I told them I appreciated everything that they had done for me, all that they had sacrificed for me to have the life I had, and how much I loved them for that. I had also told them I understood why they tried so hard to protect and shield me from… well, everything really. But when it was clear that they were not listening to a word I said and told me they expected to be in my dorm room by 10:00 PM on school nights and midnight on the weekends, I lost it. Truth be told, I went bat-shit crazy. After all of the screaming and crying, we resolved nothing. They thought I was acting immature and unappreciative and told me to get ready for a huge wake-up call when the real world wasn’t what I expected it to be. I thought they were unreasonable and irrational, and that they expected me to live in some ridiculous bubble forever. It still made my stomach hurt to think about it; I had actually vomited several times during the argument because I was so upset. Thankfully, Evie and her parents allowed me to stay at their home for our last night in San Antonio, because I could not spend one more night under my parents’ roof, or their rule ~ I was done. Evie could not believe it when I showed up on her doorstep with my puffy red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. She had told me no less than one hundred times in the last twenty four hours how proud of me she was for standing up for myself, but I was still upset about how the whole thing went down.

Evie and I had become friends when our parents bought houses across the street from one another in a newly constructed neighborhood the summer before third grade. Our parents were always cordial with one another but they were never friends that hung out together. My parents were older, extremely conservative, and so involved in my life, they forgot to have one of their own. Evie’s parents were quite the opposite.

Her mom was from Japan. She had come to the U.S. for college which is where she met Evie’s father, who was also studying abroad in the United States, he was originally from Australia. They could not have looked any less like a couple that belonged with one another, but they were so cute when they were together. She was tiny, maybe five feet tall and a size 0, with dark hair and eyes, where Evie’s dad stood well over six feet and donned curly blonde hair and sky blue eyes. Even after twenty plus years, they flirted with one another, had date nights regularly, and really seemed to still be in love. Evie hated when they engaged in their playful, sexy banter around the house, but I didn’t mind it. My parents would never allow me to hear them even suggest something in a sexual manner. They had kept me away from the male population as much as they possibly could, short of sending me to a convent. My brother and I, or old age, or something must’ve done a number on their relationship because they seemed to have no chemistry or passion for one another as far as I could tell. I’m surprised that my dad stayed inside my mom long enough to ensure my conception to be quite honest. I am still not convinced that my two X chromosomes weren’t magically mated in a petri dish in a doctor’s office. But at the very least, I can guarantee you that the sexual encounter was not by chance, it was most definitely penciled in on their schedules. These people were obsessed with calendars and schedules… you really have no idea.

So my family moved in across the way just several weeks after Evie, whose real name was Evelyn Rose, and her family had relocated to San Antonio from California. We were both 8 years old, separated by only a few months, and we immediately became the best of friends. We liked to play the same games, listen to the same music, and we both loved to read. We would spend hours at each other’s houses reading the same book so that we could discuss it as we went. It was almost as if we had formed our own little mini-book club long before we knew what one was. At the end of that first summer of knowing each other, we were devastated to find out we wouldn’t be going to the same school. I would continue at St. Helens in the city and Evie would attend the local public school. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the public schools where we lived, in fact they had won numerous achievement recognition awards for their national test scores; however, my parents would not even consider letting me attend there. I remember asking one time if I could go to school where Evie went. I was told no and that we would never discuss it again. So we didn’t.

As we grew up, Evie and I stayed close despite the fact that we had different school friends and were involved in different activities. We were both very smart and were at the top of our class from elementary school on. In high school Evie became very popular at her school and developed quite the social life. It was really no wonder seeing how she was gorgeous, brilliant, and a sincerely nice person. Evie and I talked on the phone every night before we went to bed, filling each other in on the day’s events. The conversations were usually heavily weighted on Evie’s contributions since I had no social life to speak of. I didn’t mind though, I lived vicariously through her since it was the best I was going to get. We still spent several nights a week at each other’s houses and still read at least one book a week together. Because we had read so many books, and starting about eighth grade most of them had been romance novels, we had felt we were well prepared entering high school for immature boys that thought only with their dicks and caddy teenage girls that were willing to cheat, lie and steal to climb the social hierarchy. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to interact with too many high school boys and never allowed myself to get caught up in the estrogen possessed drama that took place at my school. Evie, on the other hand, just couldn’t avoid it. She made the mistake once of falling head over heels for a boy at her school during sophomore year. He was the typical high school jock that everyone treated as a deity. Evie soon found out that he lived up to that rich athlete stereotype so precisely captured in all of our books ~ cocky, self-centered, and a cheating scumbag. After that, she never allowed herself to get emotionally attached to any one guy, but often dated and had her share of sexual escapades with both high school and local college boys.

“Scarlett, you are doing it again! I’ve never seen you so spacey,” Evie cut into my stroll down memory lane once again. “Come on! Snap out of it! Aren’t you just geeking about tomorrow?”

“Geeking? What is that? Geeking? I swear you must look these words up online or something?”

“No, sourpuss, I don’t. I just have an immensely elaborate vocabulary,” she smirked.

“Immensely elaborate vocabulary and you come up with geeking and sourpuss? Wow, Rice University has no idea what they said yes to when they accepted your application,” I retorted.

“Just shut up and let’s talk about tomorrow. Have you decided what you are going to do with your hair?”

“I’m not really sure…”

“Wait,” she interrupted. “Before we continue this conversation, let’s open our celebratory bottle of wine.”

She was headed for the kitchen before she even finished the sentence, grabbing two of our new wine glasses from the cabinet that I had just put away less than an hour ago. Once she had opened the bottle of Pinot Grigio she had stolen from her parents bar and poured us each a glass, she rejoined me in her bedroom.

“Okay, now we are ready. So tomorrow?” she asked as she eluded to the day we had planned for my external makeover. Weeks prior she had scheduled for me to spend a day at a local spa for a massage, a manicure/ pedicure, waxing, and a new hairstyle. After that we were to go shopping so I could start reinventing my wardrobe. Luckily, I had saved upwards of five thousand dollars throughout high school babysitting, tutoring, and teaching after school music lessons, so I would be able to purchase a good base.

“Look Evie, I am extremely excited about tomorrow. I really am, I promise” I began. “But I’m also very nervous and anxious about all of it. Finally being able to live my own life, to make my own decisions about what I like and don’t like, getting to choose my own clothes, styling my own hair, doing whatever I want, whenever I want… all of it sounds amazing… it sounds so freeing… but I just feel incredibly overwhelmed by all of it. I know most people don’t get to just start over when they are eighteen, a chance to recreate their image, who they want to be… And I’m so thankful and relieved that I’m finally here, away from them, but truth be told I’m just scared. I don’t want to mess this up. Ya know?” I confessed.

“Oh sweetie,” she said as she patted the bed next to where she was laying, indicating for me to join her. I lifted my eyebrows in disapproval at her “sweetie” remark, but she went on as if she didn’t notice. “You are going to do just fine. You just need to give yourself more credit. You are so smart, and so sweet, and you are beautiful inside and out. Plus you will always have me here to tell you when you are fucking up, so there’s no way you can fail.”

“I know, I know. It’s just a lot to deal with all of a sudden. I have thought about this day for so long, I thought I was so prepared but the truth is I really don’t know who I am, I don’t know who I want to be. And then when I even think about dating, I just want to throw up,” I admitted as I drained the contents of my glass.

“Let’s move this conversation to the kitchen so we can refill our glasses,” Evie interjected.

I followed behind her continuing my whining, “First, I get around boys and it’s like I lose the ability to speak intelligently. My mouth dries up like the Sahara desert, my brain freezes, and my stomach twists and turns like it’s warming up for the uneven bars at the Olympics.”

“You act like you’ve never been around a boy before, Sam. Come on, you’ve kissed a couple of guys. Shit, you’ve even kissed a girl! And you’ve read enough sex scenes in our books that you know what’s supposed to happen. Hell, you probably know more about how it’s supposed to go than most girls our age who just blindly and drunkenly stumble through the act.”

“Yes, I’ve kissed a couple of guys before, Evie, like two, and both times were at church camp and were one time occurrences. And you kissing me so I wouldn’t be nervous about my first kiss hardly counts for anything,” I argued. “To think I’m experienced in any way sexually is truly laughable, most twelve and thirteen year olds have done more than I have. Reading about something and actually doing it is quite different, especially when you are talking about sex. Oh, and I thought we were going to lose the nickname when we moved here

“I’m never dropping the nickname so get that thought out of your pretty little head,” she smirked. “And I take great offense that kissing me ‘hardly counts for anything.’ Do you know how many people would love to have my tongue in their mouth?” I just rolled my eyes in response.

As we sat on the kitchen counter we opted to forgo the glasses and passed the bottle of wine back and forth between us drinking straight from the source, and I continued to ramble on about my fears and worries when it came to entering the world of dating.

“I don’t even know what kind of guy is my type. I don’t know who is out of my league and who isn’t. I don’t know if I should let a guy approach me or if I should approach him… there are just all these questions… I feel so silly.”

“Okay, let’s get one thing straight ~ NO guy is out of your league!” she said sternly looking directly into my eyes. “I never want to hear you say something like that again. You seriously have no idea what a fucking amazing catch you are for any guy. I swear, your parents really did a number on your self-esteem. Guys look at you all the time, you just never notice because you are too afraid your parents will catch you making eye contact with one and then you’ll, I don’t know, end up pregnant or something.” She continued, “As for what your type is, surely you have some idea what you are looking for. I mean we have only read hundreds, if not thousands, of books that pretty much cover every category of guy that exists. Think about all of our favorite book boyfriends…”

“That’s just the thing, I love so many of our book boyfriends, ALL of them actually,” I giggled as the wine was definitely starting to have some effect on me. “Sometimes I think I’d like the All-American, college frat boy image, maybe even one with a bit of a wild side. But then I think about our beloved tattooed bad boy rockers and I think about tracing their tattoos with my tongue… yummy indeed.”

“You really do have a kinky freak living inside there, don’t you?” Evie joked. “I’m kind of afraid of what’s going to happen once you get an actual taste of the passion that you read about so often. If those books get your panties all wet, what’s going to happen when an actual hottie get his hands on you?”

“I’m not sure… I may spontaneously combust or my panties may just disintegrate right off my body,” I laughed. “But don’t act like I’m the only one that fantasizes about our book boyfriends. I clearly remember just last week a certain someone texting me in the wee hours of the morning because she had just had a wet dream about… who was it that time… I can’t remember someone that you called ‘Daddy’ in bed or some shit.”

“Shut the fuck up.” She joked. “We really are little book whores, aren’t we? Not just in the number of books that we read, but in how many of the guys we are in love with, the things that we dream about doing with them…”

“Yeah, how sad is that? If it wasn’t for that vibrator you bought me last year, I would probably have carpal tunnel by this point,” I admitted. I must be the most sexually frustrated virgin on the planet because my virtue was still intact only because my parents didn’t let me out of their sight long enough to even meet anyone, much less like someone enough to want to have sex with them. I wasn’t interested in just handing it out on a silver platter in a bathroom stall at one of my recitals or better yet, at church camp. I was pretty sure the man upstairs wouldn’t approve of the fact that I was using him as an excuse to escape my parents and whore myself out. I felt bad enough that it was the only place I had ever kissed a guy. I had felt so guilty then that I had almost expected to be struck by lightning or something, but I made it through the rest of the week unscathed.

“You’re telling me! It’s been over three months since I stopped seeing Garrett. All the extra free time has allowed me to read myself into sexual frustration as well,” she complained. “We really need to get out and have some fun. I can’t wait to corrupt you… and it all begins tomorrow.”

“I don’t think I’m going to need your help in corrupting, I’ve been looking forward to this too much. I may need help in controlling my hormones once they’re released from their cage.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Now back to these different categories of book boyfriends. We need to make sure we consider all potential candidates. We forgot to mention the hot professors looking for reasons to tutor us in private, or the famous musicians that are going to mysteriously pop into our lives and beg us to go on tour with them because we are their muse. Ooh, better yet, maybe we can snag us an ultimate,” I said in my faux serious voice.

“An ultimate?” Evie interrupted.

“Yeah, the ultimates… you know, the devastatingly handsome, possessive billionaire moguls that can’t live without us and are dying to shower us with wealth and satisfy our deep, dark sexual desires,” I explained.

“Okay, I lied. Even though I said there’s no guy out of your league, I’m not sure we are quite ready for ‘the ultimates.’ Jesus Christ, Scarlett, you go from telling me you are scared to talk to a college boy to telling me you want to find an older man that’s into bondage and whips. I think we may need to work our way there so you feel a little more comfortable with yourself and your body before we head down that road. Plus, I’m not sure if there’s a local Billionaire BDSM club that we can just waltz in and make our selection,” she joked.

I started laughing uncontrollably at her last comment as I envisioned the two of us walking up to an office building trying to find our version of an ultimate. She was right, I needed to take baby steps before I found myself blindfolded and restrained to a cross on a wall trying to remember my safe word, while anticipating the crack of a whip across my skin.

“But Ana was a virgin…” I tried to argue, but couldn’t even get the thought out without cracking up all over again. We both laughed until tears streamed down our faces. Finally after several minutes, we regained our composure and Evie said she had a plan.

“This is what we are going to do. Tomorrow we are going to recreate your image with a new hairstyle, a little bit of makeup, and new clothes ~ going to get you all sexified. Then tomorrow night we are going to go with my cousin to that party by her school. But before we go, we are going to pick one of the categories of our book boyfriends and our goal for the evening is to find our version of that BB. Each subsequent night we go out together, we will choose a different category until we find exactly what your type is. Shit, it might even help me because I’m quickly finding out what I thought my type was, is actually quite similar to the description of a douchebag,” she explained.

“Okay, I like the sound of this. But once we find our version of the BB, then what do we do?”

“What do you mean ‘then what do we do?’ You talk to him, kiss him, screw him… whatever you want to do with him. We can even make it a little game. Whoever gets farther with their BB that night is the winner and buys the other breakfast the next morning. We can whore our way through our book boyfriends until we determine what each of our ‘type’ is.”

“That’s no fair! You are obviously going to win all the time; I’m at such a disadvantage! I don’t just want to give away my virginity to the first guy that comes along to win some game,” I argued.

“Oh Sam,” Evie replied, “I’m not going to just sleep with guys that I don’t want to sleep with just so I don’t have to buy breakfast the next morning or to beat you at some game. The true point of the game is to find a guy that’s a keeper, one you seriously want to date, the side game will just make it more fun until we do!”

I thought about what she said and knew she was right. Evie had devised a perfect way for me to meet different kinds of guys and the game would help me to break out of my shell, lose some of my insecurities, and do things that I would most likely be too timid to try. I’m not sure if it was the empty bottle of wine that sat in the kitchen trash, the possibility of finding the happily ever after I had read about time and again in my countless books, or the fact I definitely did not want to die a virgin, but I found myself saying, “Game on. May the best book whore win.”