Chapter 13
KEELY
Six years ago
Freshman year has been an epic bust.
Only the nerds want to hang out with me.
I pretend I’m cool with that. But deep down I wonder why the cool kids still hate me.
My body has changed a lot in the last eighteen months.
I’ve grown a couple more inches, and the sunshine in California has done wonders for my previously pasty skin.
I’ll never pass for a bombshell, but with my dark blond hair and good-enough legs, I should be able to hold my own in the pretty stakes.
Instead, the moment I open my mouth, I can see the cool guys slowly recoiling. Fuck, I can virtually see the speech bubble pop out of out their ears, fanatically detailing various ways to get the hell away from me, fast.
This has bothered me to the point where I’ve contemplated dressing provocatively just to get some action.
Which is pathetic because I’m nineteen in three weeks and as an almost adult I should know better.
My parents are proud of my straight-A grades.
I can be literally anything I want to be.
My self-worth should be boundless. Instead, all I want is to be invited to one party, one trip to the beach. A movie. Anything.
Fuck my life.
“Hey, is the sci-fi newsletter ready yet?”
I jump and quickly slam shut my laptop, hiding the pictures of Leo Brummer I was ogling, as Jake Schimansky, my co-head of the debate and science-fiction society, plunks down next to me on the grass in the campus park.
A quick glance at Jake doesn’t show signs that he saw what I was looking at. I sigh inwardly.
Leo .
I’m one wet dream away from doodling his name on my notebook and drawing a fluffy pink heart around it.
I don’t even care that he’s a little shallow and wears T-shirts one size too small to emphasize his amazing body.
He’s got it, and he makes no bones about flaunting it.
And since I’m enjoying the fruits from that tree, I ain’t complaining.
I dwell instead on the fateful way we met.
Although he’s majoring in film, TV and media, he’s a psychology minor, but has fallen behind because he’s also an actor and missed most of last semester’s classes because of shooting some action movie in Russia.
I didn’t even plan on going to the coffee shop that night. I was fed up with the guy behind the counter ogling my breasts and sneering every time I ordered green tea.
But I was super thirsty. And I needed a quiet place to brush up on my psych paper before the end of term test. My dorm room was out of the question since my oh-so-considerate roommate, Ashley, decided to invite people over for an impromptu party without telling me. Or inviting me.
Whatever. That evening, I’m deep into the dark, suggestive powers of my Id when Leo walks in and sits down at the next table.
His glance sweeps across the almost empty coffee shop, reaches me, and keeps going. Twisting in his seat, he reaches into his skintight jeans, pulls out his phone, and stabs the numbers with annoyed fingers. From where I sit, I can hear the ringing and the female voice that answers.
“Where the hell are you?” he rasps.
Yeah, don’t even get me started about Leo’s voice. The only way I can describe it is to think of dripping wild honey over tiny smooth pebbles and rolling them all over your skin.
Fuck.
I jump when he snaps, “What the hell do you mean you’re not coming? I don’t have time for this shit, Tammie. You promised you’d help me with this paper. I’ve already paid you five hundred for your time, goddamn it. So get your ass over here right now and earn it, or I swear to God?—”
I hear a bitchy rant and a crude suggestion before the line goes dead.
I’m embarrassed for him. So embarrassed I want to hug him. Slide my fingers into those waxy blond spikes. Pet that fine body of his and make all his troubles melt away.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! ” His scowl deepens as he presses the number again and listens to the endless ring tone. Another round of swearing ensues before he yanks his books off the table.
I know this is my one and only chance. So I clear my throat. Loudly. He doesn’t even look my way. “Hey, umm, listen, if you need help with the paper, I can, you know… help you?”
Jesus, fuck. I’m the co-captain of the debate team, for God’s sake, and I can’t string three words together to form a simple sentence?
He glances up and my breath squeezes in my lungs. Shit, he looks even better wearing that adorable scowl!
“And you are?” he drawls in a couldn’t-care-less tone.
I try not to be crushed by the fact that we’ve been in the same psyche class for a semester and a half and he hasn’t noticed me.
“I’m Keely Benson. I’m in Professor Harding’s class.”
His face de-scowls a little, but he keeps fiddling with his phone, obviously still annoyed that his tutor has abandoned him. I mentally shake my head. Who would deliberately do that? I guess they’re both stupid and blind.
A pinch in my pinkie and a sharp tingle on my scalp alerts me that I’m tugging on a strand of my hair, a nervous tic I’ve never quite been able to master. I hastily move my hand to the table as his gaze flicks from his phone back to me.
“I have a shitload to catch up on,” he says, then shakes his head. “If Harding wasn’t threatening to flunk me despite my agreement with the dean for time off, I’d tell him to go fuck himself.”
“Yeah, I bet a few of his students would like to tell him the same thing,” I reply, attempting a smile.
He smiles back and my heart jackhammers like an over-caffeinated robot. “So.” He draws out the word after another glance at his phone. I pray bitch-face stays silent and doesn’t call him back. “You think you’ll be able to help me catch up?”
My shoulders lift in a hey, trust me, I’ve got this shrug. “Depends on whether you’re a quick study or not.” His blond brows shoot into the air, and I curse inwardly. “Uh, I’m sure you are. Seriously, it’ll be a breeze.”
His blue eyes turn speculative. “How much is this gonna cost me?” he asks.
I bite my tongue to keep my endless list of Leo-centric wants and needs from spilling forth. “We can talk about that later,” I say instead. When his gaze turns skeptical, I wave him away. “It’s no big deal, really.”
And thus began the sure-to-lead-to-happily-ever-after story of Leo Brummer and Keely Benson.
I’ve tutored him for going on six weeks now and have developed something of a super-major crush on him.
I tell myself it’s because he’s not relying on just his looks to get him through life, but I know I’m lying to myself.
He’s bright, not brilliant. I’m not crushing on him because of his brain, but because of his super-fuck-hot body.
And because at nineteen, I’m super eager and more than ready to rid myself of my virginity and experience what sex is all about.
From the moment I set eyes on him, I knew Leo would be the recipient of said unwanted virginity. I’ve even written a mini thesis on ways to get him to bed. So far, I haven’t been able to put theory to practice because the right opportunity hasn’t presented itself.
But it needs to happen in the next three weeks because I want to head back east to New York for the Easter holidays minus my virginity. I don’t know why it needs to happen, but that’s the date I’ve set for myself, and I always meet my deadlines.
“Umm… earth to Keely!”
Heat shoots into my face as I pull myself from my erotic daydream. “What?”
“I asked if the newsletter was done, like, five minutes ago.”
“It wasn’t five minutes ago, and yeah, of course it’s done. I said it would be, didn’t I?” I reply, avoiding the quizzical glance Jake sends my way.
“Okaaay, can I see it?” he presses.
“Why? I’m the editor, don’t you trust me?” I throw back sharply. I don’t want to open my laptop because Leo’s googled, semi-naked body will be sitting there, ogle ready.
Jake holds up his hands. “Hey, you asked for my help with what questions to use for the end-of-semester poll, remember? If you’ve changed your mind about wanting my help, just say so.”
I remember asking for help, and I bite my lip. “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”
Jake shrugs. “It’s cool. I know Professor Harding’s been riding your ass pretty hard this semester. What’s his beef with you anyway? You’re by miles his top student.”
I turn away from Jake under the pretext of rummaging through my backpack to hide the heat crawling into my face. No one knows about my encounter with my psychology professor last semester, when I mistook his interest in me as a sexual instead of an academic one.
The whole encounter freaked me out big-time, and I don’t even want to think about it.
“I dunno,” I mumble. “I’m lucky, I guess,” I add snarkily.
“Well, my sympathies and all, but better you than me.” Jake laughs and launches into the neuropsychopharmacology of emotion and cognition module Professor Harding has asked us to memorize before our next class.
Relieved to shove the subject to the back of my mind, I concentrate and counter Jake’s rapid-fire argument with my own.
Before I know it, the hour is gone and Jake has left.
I slowly open my laptop and stare at the picture of Leo’s bronzed, ripped torso, which is my screensaver.
I imagine myself running my hands down his body, licking those flat brown nipples and hearing him moan.
In my imagination, he encourages me to do more and I go to town, gorging myself on that hot body until we’re both sweating and panting.
I lie back on the grass, my breathing escalating as I imagine what my first real non-masturbation-assisted orgasm will feel like. My panties grow wet and I squeeze my thighs together to stop the persistent ache that throbs every time I think of Leo.
Leo will be a gentle lover the first time. After that I might allow things to get a little… risqué. I’m all for experimenting a bit. But nothing that involves bondage or gadgets or anything like that.
Ewwww. I grimace just thinking about it. I have no idea why people use those sorts of things. I’ve heard Ashley use a vibrator many nights and the sound alone turns me off.
No, it’ll just be Leo’s mouth, his fingers, his cock.
I blush again just thinking about it and reluctantly rouse myself, sitting upright as a group of four seriously good-looking guys walk past me and claim their own patch of grass a few yards away.
I pretend not to be interested in them, but my ears perk up when I hear Leo’s name.
“He owns the place?” one asks.
“Who cares? It’s private and it’s ours from Friday to Monday. And for the five large I shelled out, I intend to party fucking hard.”
“Shit, that’s a bit steep just for a weekend, isn’t it?” another complains.
“Not for the special stuff he’s having flown in. You know what Leo’s parties are like.”
I angle my head and catch their knowing smirks as they reminisce in low voices I can’t quite make out, although I hear the words exclusive and supermodels and my heart sinks a little, but I keep listening.
“How many people are going?”
“At last count, he said thirty. It’s going to be a fucking blow-out, man.” Anticipation oozes from the group and the conversation changes abruptly to how many girls they intend to fuck that weekend.
My mind veers from the lurid exchange back to the never-far-from-my-mind Leo.
So he isn’t just a hot actor with a to-die-for body. He also knows how to throw the party to end all parties. God, he’s just so perfect.
And he’s not seeing anyone at the moment. I know because I made it my business to subtle-dig during one of our studying sessions, and he let slip that he’d been dating his Russian co-star but ended it when the movie wrapped.
I suddenly have an idea for how he can pay me for the free tutoring I’ve given him so far. A guy like Leo won’t stay on the market for very long, and this may be my only chance to make my move.
I quickly calculate the weekly five hundred dollars he was paying Tammie and reckon he owes me about three grand. If I agree to throw in the rest of the semester for free, maybe he’ll agree to what I have in mind. My heart beats rapidly as I devise a plan to make things swing my way.
In the end, I decide to take the direct route.
My fingers shake as I type the text:
Hey, we still on for 8 tonight? I’ll pick up a pack of Red Bull.
They are his favorite, and little does he know I keep two cases of the stuff under my dorm bed.
I get a reply in seconds:
Fuck, yeah. I’ll need at least six fucking cans just to keep awake and focused on this fucked-up module.
I grin.
Dude, you swear way too much.
Oh hi there, Miss Pot, I’m Captain Kettle.
My grin stretches, and I’m sure I look like a cross between a clown and an escaped mental patient.
Oops!
No need to oops! I like it. Don’t ever change, Benson.
My heartstrings flutter like mad and everything inside me melts. I can barely type the question I intended to ask him all along.
Taking a shaky breath, I force my fingers to work.
Hey, you know when I said we can discuss payment for my tutoring later?
Uh… yeah?
How about an invite to your party this weekend?
I consciously stop myself from adding as your date and press send. If everything goes well, Leo Brummer will be the first notch on my bedpost come Monday. I just need to not blow it now.
My heart lurches as I wait, my gaze on the time displayed on the texts. One minute. Two.
Shit. Fuck. Have I alerted him to my pathetic feelings? My body goes from happy and relaxed to frozen and tense in seconds. I shut my eyes in mortification, then hear a ping of another text. I’m almost too scared to look down, but I do.
I read his text and my heart bursts with celestial joy.
Sure. Remind me tonight to organize a car service to pick you up on Friday. Catchya later!
I type Awesome and immediately delete it. Only lame people say that these days. I think of something cool but classy to say. I remember a British detective show with a cute lead that I saw a while back, and I let my fingers to go work.
Jolly good!
He might think it strange. Or he might smile. Either way, I’m going to Leo Brummer’s party, where I have every intention of fulfilling my wildest fantasy of making him my first lover.
As I sit in the Californian sunshine, happy as a clam in love, little do I know that come Monday I will wake up in hospital, battered, bruised, and with no recollection of who I am, or that I’ll be carrying a secret shame that will change my life forever.