Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
MAISIE
It feels like someone’s watching me.
And it’s not my chronically overweight, obscenely lazy cat, Sebastian, who’s currently sleeping on the oversized velvet chair in the corner of my bedroom.
Logically, I know that feeling watched is ridiculous since I’m in my bedroom… alone.
In my apartment, where I live… alone.
But the feeling remains, and I can’t stop looking over my shoulder as if someone’s going to see what’s currently on my laptop screen through the large bay window behind my bed.
…On the second floor.
It feels like I’m doing something that I shouldn’t be, and I have the most ridiculous, irrational urge to get up and close the blinds and draw the curtains.
“No one cares that you’re looking at… vibrators, Maisie,” I whisper out loud, even though I’m only talking to myself, and there’s no one around to hear.
Except Sebastian, and he doesn’t count.
“You’re twenty years old. You are a grown woman. There is absolutely nothing wrong with shopping for… vibrators. Self-pleasure is healthy and perfectly normal.”
Why does it sound like I’m trying to convince myself?
Because it feels like I am.
I think that I’m only feeling this way because the old Maisie would never do something like this.
Then again… the old me would have never lost her virginity to a stranger in a grungy, dirty bathroom at a bar either. The old me wouldn’t have even stepped foot in a place like that. Or ever thought about going there in the first place.
But the new me, the one who shops for her first vibrator in the middle of a day on a Tuesday and who goes to hole-in-the-wall bars and meets handsome, broody strangers, is doing things that the old me never would.
And not feeling guilty about it.
But just because I’m embracing my new self and my new sexual journey doesn’t mean that I haven’t thought about that night, about him, every single day since it happened.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.
It wasn’t just the way he touched me, as if he had already learned everything about my body, memorized the spots that made me whimper or the places to caress that made me melt into his touch.
It was because I felt drawn to him.
In the most physical way.
Out of everyone in the bar that night, he’s the one I felt this inexplicable magnetic pull toward. We didn’t even exchange names. It felt intoxicating and reckless, but in the best possible way.
In a way that made my heart race and my pulse pound.
Exhilarating.
It was the way that even though it was a random hookup, it still somehow just felt like… more.
A connection I still can’t even really explain, despite spending the last couple of weeks unable to think of much else.
I’ve spent the days since it happened simultaneously trying to both forget about it and relive every single moment of it over and over again.
Blowing out a breath, I swipe my fingers over the touchpad of my laptop, scrolling down the website page that’s cleverly titled “The Lust Lab,” which has an overwhelming number of toys and vibrators that, truthfully, I have absolutely no idea what they are or how they even work.
It’s not lost on me how sheltered a life I’ve lived until recently. Before I finally got enough courage to stop thinking about changing my life and to actually do it.
Hence, the reason I ended up at the bar that night. If I didn’t throw myself into the water, then I was never going to learn to swim.
I’m very, very well aware of how many things, even as a girl going into her junior year of college, I haven’t experienced yet.
Mostly by circumstance because my entire life, I’ve been Maisie Delacroix… Pastor Delacroix’s only daughter.
My father is still the pastor of the church that I grew up in.
But in the last few months, I’ve come to the, at times, painful realization that I no longer want to be the pastor’s daughter.
The one who everyone thinks has to be straightlaced, pristine, perfect. Always held up to standards that are archaic and outdated.
Standards that are suppressive.
I no longer want to be that girl. Naive and sheltered. Who only gets to experience the world through a single lens.
I just want to be… free. Liberated.
Free to be whoever I want to be, not who is expected of me by my parents, society, or my daddy’s congregation.
Even if I still have to figure out who that girl is and what this newfound journey of freedom and self-discovery will be.
And I am.
Figuring it out, I mean. Piece by piece, I’m learning things about myself that I never before allowed to see the light of day, and it’s scary, exciting, and eye-opening all at the same time.
Like shopping for a vibrator for the first time.
To say that I’m overwhelmed is grossly understated.
I mean, honestly, I had no idea how many different… variations there would be. Not just shape or size, but also for specified parts of your body.
With a long sigh, I drop my head back against the headboard of my bed and let out an exasperated groan.
I probably could’ve asked Lennon, my best friend, for help, but I’m not sure how I would say, “Oh, hey, Len, do you think you could help me pick out the perfect vibrator? Because I’ve never actually had an orgasm by myself before, and now that a stranger has actually given me one, I’m on a journey of sex discovery. ”
I mean, I could totally ask her since we share literally everything, and we have since we were kids, but it’s also something that I feel kind of… modest about.
Obviously, she knows that I lost my virginity to someone. I called the second I got into my car, and we squealed about it for the entire drive home, but talking to her about, you know, attempting to get myself off feels completely different.
Clearly, I’m overthinking this, but my brain simply seems to operate that way.
I glance back down at the laptop open in my lap and click on a new tab, typing “Best vibrator or toy for newly de-virginitized woman.”
My nose crinkles with distaste at how ridiculous it sounds, even as I type it out, but I’m pleasantly surprised when the search engine immediately loads a ton of websites with much more helpful information than the page I was previously on.
There are days where I spend hours in the thrift store or my favorite local used bookstore that’s tucked away in the French Quarter, sifting through stuff that other people have deemed junk.
It’s one of my favorite things to do. Finding a hidden gem for my apartment or a book with weathered pages that tells a story of its own.
This, however, is a completely different ball game, and I’m anxious to find whatever I’m looking for and be done. I’m not even exactly sure what that is though.
I add a bunch of random things to my cart, not having the slightest clue what the purpose of half of them are, and sigh as I scroll through it.
“Maisie?” a voice singsongs through my apartment, and I freeze just as the sound of my front door slams shut. “It’s me, darling. Mama!”
Oh my God.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
My eyes widen, and in a panicked blur, I click Submit Order to check out and quickly slam my laptop shut.
What in the heck is my mother doing at my apartment in the middle of the day? While I’m buying vibrators.
Why is she even on campus right now?
I toss my computer onto the bed beside me and scramble up, running my fingers through my hair, then smoothing them over the front of my T-shirt and shorts just as there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
In a hurry, I swing the door open, plastering on a smile. “Hey, Mama! Uh…” I trail off awkwardly. “What are you doing here?”
Her smile, which is nearly a carbon copy of my own, dims slightly, the space between her brows pinching together.
“Well, I was in the area because I had to drop off some puzzles that were donated to the retirement home, and I just figured that I would come see my daughter because it’s been so long. ”
“Mama, it’s been like… two days.” I laugh lightly as I reach for her, hugging her tightly. She smells like home and familiarity. A hint of vanilla and cinnamon from all of the baking she does. It has only been two days, but I’ve missed her. “I just saw you on Sunday for church.”
When she pulls back, her blue eyes are soft. She reaches up, running her fingers gently along my hair before cupping my jaw. “I know, honey, but it feels like forever. It’s still so hard to think my darling girl isn’t just up the hallway in her bedroom.”
She says this even though I’ve been away at Orleans University for two, going on three, years now, but I guess having me home for a few weeks this summer makes leaving again feel fresh.
“I know, Mama.”
“But I also know that you need your space and your independence,” she murmurs quietly, putting a bright smile on, the same one that she wears for church.
The perfect, practiced one.
Even though she’s my mom, more times than I can count, we’ve been mistaken for sisters.
She has the same light, golden-blonde hair as I do and the same shade of pale blue eyes that are framed by thick, dark lashes.
She had me at a young age, but even then, her skin is smooth porcelain that resembles someone much younger.
Unsurprisingly, she looks flawless. Her hair perfectly curled, makeup immaculate, and lips painted in her signature rosy red, in an outfit that is sophisticated and stylish but also modest.
She’s the epitome of a small-town pastor’s wife.
As much as I love my mama and am genuinely grateful to have such a close relationship with her, as with both my parents, I do need space.
I need to learn and to grow, to spread my wings and be my own person.
I need to discover who I am without them, and I can’t do that beneath their watchful eyes.
Without their judgment and moral concern. I know they mean well, they do, but…
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. What’s Daddy up to?” We walk toward the kitchen, where I pull out a barstool and sit as she heads straight for the dishes that are drying and starts to put them away.
“Oh, you know your father. Unable to sit still, even for a moment. There’s always something to do, someone that needs him.”
I nod, leaning forward onto the counter, propping my chin into my palms, and lifting a shoulder. “Has he gone back to see Dr. Halstead?”
She pauses, turning toward me, a ghost of concern passing over her face. “Not yet. He goes back on Friday. I’m hoping that with the diet I’ve forced him on and the exercise, his blood pressure will be more under control.”
I’m worried about him too, just as much as she is, but I think that his blood pressure has a lot to do with not just his eating habits and lack of exercise but more so about how much stress and pressure comes with being the pastor of our church.
I always feel guilty dwelling on the weight of being the pastor’s daughter when I can hardly imagine the amount of pressure on his shoulders.
It’s some of the reason I think I’ve been complacent for so long.
A rough swallow pushes down my throat, and I clear it. “Everything’s going to be okay, Mama.”
“I’ve just been praying about it. That’s all that we can do right now.
Anyway, enough of the heaviness. Tell me about class.
How’s Lennon? I still can’t believe she moved in with that boy.
Goodness, I love that girl like she’s my own, but moving in with a boy…
before marriage,” she says, emphasis heavy on the before marriage part, and my stomach dips.
Can you imagine what she would say if she knew that I gave my virginity away in a bathroom to a man whose name I don’t even know?
I can imagine the horror. I’m fairly sure she’d never look at me the same ever again.
“Mama, don’t be so judgmental,” I chide. “It’s her life. She can make her own decisions.”
Am I talking about Lennon, or am I actually talking about myself?
Mama’s expression softens, and I know she doesn’t like to gossip or have any ill intent with what she says. It’s just… part of her beliefs. Part of who she is, and always has been.
It used to be my own, or at least that’s what I thought. Until I realized I wasn’t actually sure if it was something I believed or if it was just something I was taught from the time I could comprehend.
Save yourself for marriage. Honor your purity. Marriage is a sacred union, a commitment to your faith. A wife is to be dutiful and faithful, a servant to her marriage.
I can practically recite the sermon out loud.
I don’t judge anyone for the life they choose to lead, but it’s not the life I want to lead any longer.
I’m honoring myself. Serving the woman I’m meant to be. Choosing my own path.
Wherever it leads me. Without guilt.
I just… haven’t told my parents any of that yet.
Mama frowns, then sighs with a slight nod. “You’re right, honey. I’m sorry. It’s not my place to judge. As long as she’s safe, happy… and smart. That’s all that matters.”
Ooh. An unplanned pregnancy? Imagine the scandal.
I cover my mouth to hide the grin as she turns back to the cabinet and busies herself with putting away the last few dishes.
“Lennon’s good,” I reassure her. “She’s supposed to come by tomorrow after class. I really do miss her living here with me though.”
Mama turns back to me, a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Aw, honey. I know it’s hard. You two have been inseparable for so long, but your friendship will get you through anything. It’s just going to take a little adjusting, is all.”
“I know,” I say. “And I want her to be happy, and she is happy. I just miss having her here all the time. It’s quiet, and I guess I never realized how much I don’t like the quiet. I’ve been sleeping with the TV on at night because the apartment just feels so… still?”
In our house growing up, I had the constant sound of chatter and laughter.
My little brothers constantly trying every single one of my parents’ nerves and succeeding.
There was always someone visiting, praying with my father, having Bible studies in our living room.
It was never quiet. There was never a moment of silence, and it used to drive me insane.
It’s ironic that now I miss it.
“You know you can always come home, right, honey?”
I nod.
Of course, I know that. My parents have always been good and loving parents, which I know is something to be grateful for. And I am.
But right now, I need to find out who I am and who I want to be, and that means being exactly where I am right now.
Discovering the real Maisie Delacroix.