A Good Book (Sunday Morning #3)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
U2, “I STILL HAVEN’T FOUND WHAT I’M LOOKING FOR”
1989
Gabby
It was my second week at the University of Michigan, a college I chose because my sister discarded her perfectly good boyfriend, and someone needed to scoop him up. I fell in love with Matthew Cory before she did. Sure, I didn’t have boobs yet, but my heart was mature beyond its years.
Somewhere on the three-thousand-acre campus, my future husband was studying for a law degree, and I was officially an adult and ready for him to fall in love with me.
Ben, my best friend, ripped open a pack of Pop-Tarts and handed one to me on our way to freshman English. A group of young women gawked at Ben, then giggled after we passed them. He pulled back his shoulders and lifted his chin, bringing himself to his full six-foot-two, basking in the glory of the attention.
“Don’t get your hopes up. Once they find out you’re a music major, the fantasy will die.”
Ben blew his shaggy brown hair away from his forehead before biting into his Pop-Tart. “I think it’s far more attractive and honorable to attend a particular college because: A) it fits your career path, and B) you got a scholarship.”
“You got a music scholarship,” I said.
“Gabby, you took out student loans because you’re a stalker and your parents didn’t save for out-of-state tuition. And you’re a psychology major. Those are a dime a dozen. The only people who study psychology are those who need to cure themselves of something like an unhealthy infatuation for a guy who has never given you a second look.”
We cut right toward the Roman-style building where we had our only class together.
“Or a career in criminal justice—dang it!” I fumbled my Pop-Tart.
“Five-second rule,” Ben declared, plucking it off the ground for me.
“Ew … I’m not eating it.”
Ben blew on it, took a bite, and handed me the remaining portion of his.
“What would I do without you?” I nudged his arm.
“I realize that’s a rhetorical question,” he shot me a quick side-glance as we continued toward Angell Hall, “but I’m going to answer anyway. You’d still be in Devil’s Head, Missouri, with your nose in a book because the only reason your father let you attend an out-of-state college is because I’m here and he trusts me. Or you might have been in jail for stalking. I imagine it could have gone either way.”
“Stop. You make me sound incompetent.”
We passed another group of girls who smiled and blushed at Ben.
“You act like Matt doesn’t know I exist. He’s given me lots of looks and used to play Uno with me when Sarah wouldn’t. He taught me how to throw a baseball. Plus, he said, and I quote, ‘Gabriella will be a heartbreaker.’ My mom talked to his mom, and he’s going to show me around campus.”
We climbed the concrete stairs.
“I’ve shown you around campus. You’ve been going to classes for two weeks. Don’t you think it’s a little late for a tour?”
“You’re such a dork. Of course, I don’t need a tour now, but it’s okay for him to think that I’ve been getting lost if that’s what it takes to reunite with him.”
“Reunite?” Ben snorted and sang the lyrics to “Reunited” by Peaches & Herb.
“Stop!” I giggled. “Shh … you’re embarrassing.”
“I’m embarrassing? You should be embarrassed of yourself, Gabriella Grace Jacobson. Do you think a guy four years older than you is going to find your infatuation romantic? Ya think he’s looking for a girl who has never uttered a single swear word, never missed a curfew, and has an untouched vagina?”
“Oh my gosh, stop!” I hissed, mortified that he said “untouched vagina” so loudly.
“Never been kissed,” he whispered in my ear before opening the lecture hall door. Ben was on his way to becoming my ex- best friend.
I don’t know why my dad trusted him. Ben was far from a saint. Our senior year, he dated three girls and had sex with all of them. This past summer, he and his family spent two weeks at a cabin in the Ozarks, where he met a woman ten years older than him. Ben wouldn’t give me all the details because he said he didn’t want me to judge him. But leaving me to guess only made me judge him more. Still, my parents loved him because they didn’t know he was such a sinner. He was a “ma’am” guy, so my mom adored him for respecting women with his “Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
Ben dragged me to the third row from the blackboard because he liked to record all of his classes to relisten to the lecture before bed. So I had to actually pay attention instead of scribbling poems in my notebook, which should have been fine since it was a creative writing class.
I wrote a message on my notebook and slid it toward him.
How many times have you done it?
Ben squinted at it before peaking his eyebrows at me.
The professor removed several books from her bag and glanced up to survey the rest of the students making their way to their seats.
Ben retrieved a pen from his backpack and scribbled:
Done what?
He knew darn well what.
IT!!!
Ben smirked. He loved getting me riled up.
I don’t know.
How could he not know? He was on the verge of turning nineteen, not twenty-nine. If I knew I’d had sex zero times, then he had to know if he’d had it five or ten times.
8?
Ben shook his head and bobbed a thumbs-up.
10?
Again, he signaled up.
15?
The professor cleared her throat and asked everyone to take a seat and quiet down.
I frowned at Ben, so he scribbled on my notepad again.
30+
My jaw dropped, and Ben returned a muted laugh while pressing his finger below my chin to close my mouth.
Ben needed more Jesus in his life.