Avery Aster's Blog, page 13
April 9, 2014
it’s Avery Aster with smuttastic fun!
1.) There’s a promo-only blitz April 14-18 (no review required) for Love, Lex. Bloggers receive a paperback at every stop for their own giveaway. *gasp*Today is the LAST DAY to sign up, here.
2.) If you don’t blog, but like my stories and want a FREE ebook in exchange for an honest review put your name down here. (instead of a blog name write: Avery approved me)
3.) If 1 & 2 don’t appeal to you (but Love, Lex does) enter the Goodreads paperback giveaway for a chance to win a free copy.
Need Love, Lex zapped to your e-reader right now? It just went live for only 99 cents at Amazon, Barnes & Nobles, and Kobo.
Craving goodies? Click here to meet The Undergrad Years celebrity dream cast. Think you know everything about Lex Easton? Learn The Ten Worst Moments of her life.
Love,
Avery
ps, Undressed is now paperback. Look how pretty.
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TBR Shelf on Goodreads
Lex in Undressed & Love, Lex
Taddy in Unscrupulous & Yours Truly, Taddy
Blake in Unsaid & XO, Blake
Vive in Uncensored & Always Forever, Vive
Funny Excerpt from Love, Lex
Excerpt from Chapter Two: Mister Softee
*set up: Lex recaps the most unfortunate things that have happened to her over the years.
Top Ten Fears & Worst Moments
of My So-Called Life
by Lex Easton
Puberty advice to pad my bra, or not wear one at all. I was nine then.
A locked refrigerator. No parent should starve their child. Birdie had called it food monitoring.
Paparazzi which has tormented and snapped photos of me (usually when I was at my worst) my entire life. Such as…when I’d eaten a chocolate and vanilla twist cone, dipped in a raspberry hard shell and dusted with rainbow sprinkles. Purchased from a Mister Softee truck, parked on Madison Avenue—while standing outside in one hundred degree weather with one hundred percent humidity, in a horizontal-striped-sheer-stretchy poly-blend sun dress—which had ridden itself almost entirely up my bum. How I knew it had ridden up my bum? See number 5.
A Vicodin, given to me by Dad to stop my hysteria, instead of a band-aid or a hug, after I’d fallen and scratched my knee on Madison Avenue while running from the Paparazzi. I was like eleven.
The photos of my backside, at the ice cream truck, appearing on the cover of The Manhattanite Times the very next day. The headline had read, “Alexandra the Great Swallows for Mr. Softee.”
A mother who has and forever will have a hotter body, prettier face, and better hair than I do. Even when I’m seventy years old and she’s like dead.
A father who was never around. Years have passed without him walking through our front door. I’m not sure he even knows Birdie sold the Central Park West mansion and moved to Soho last year. I should probably give him the new address.
The fear I’ll never meet or exceed my parent’s financial or professional success, regardless of what industry I work in. According to the economics class Vive and I took our senior year, I have less than a five percent chance to make it as an adult without riding my folk’s coattails to maintain this lifestyle. Poor Vive, her family is the second richest in North America. She has less than half a percent.
Infamy! I’ll forever be associated with the Easton’s.
Birdie and her full-on, balls-to-the wall sex with my high school sweet-heart. I had loved Kelle Sterling Dolley. Or at least, I thought I had.
April 7, 2014
UNDRESSED released in trade paperback
I have good news! UNDRESSED is now available in trade paperback. Yay! All 300 pages of Prince Masi and Lex Easton’s smuttastic romance is printed, bound, and ready for ‘ya.
The interior pages are gorgeous and make a wonderful keepsake for those readers who loved the ebook edition. Grab your copy on Amazon or Barnes & Nobles today.
April 3, 2014
Join the Invitation to Eden Book Club and enter to win an iPad *drooling*
It’s better than man candy, I promise…
Win a free #ipad at the #EdenBookClub from #InvitationtoEden
We have monthly buddy reads, prizes and contests.
Join or Taddy Brill will seriously come for you! *wink*
FREE READ from YOURS TRULY, TADDY (The Undergrad Years #2)
Please leave your thoughts in the comments section below after reading this excerpt.
Interact with me while reading this story on Instagram and Twitter @AveryAster using the hashtags: #UndergradYears #NewAdult
Add Yours Truly, Taddy (The Undergrad Years #2) to your TBR shelf on Goodreads here.
Chapter Three
Move Over Brooke Shields
On a floating piece of the aircraft, we sat in silence.
Leon glared at me. I searched inside myself for an answer to his question about whether or not I thought my friends were…dead or alive.
My mind recounted the time my parents had dropped me off at Avon Porter. When their sedan had pulled away, I knew in my thirteen-year-old heart that I’d never see them again. And I didn’t, not until years later in family court.
Today, sitting here on this piece of floating shrapnel next to a man I hardly knew, did I sense that same despair about my friends? The only thing I felt was anger. Pure rage boiled within me. If I’d taken my besties money, and not this silly job, none of this would’ve happened. Boarding Air Carribea was all for me, my wants and needs. Not my friends. Therefore this crash weighed on my shoulders.
“Well?” He made his impatience evident. “What does your heart say?”
“I’m not sure. I try never to get my hopes up about anything. I usually…expect bad things.”
“Do bad things usually happen to you, Mademoiselle?”
“Look at us.” My arms flailed around, mocking his question. “Yes, Leon, I seem to get the worst in return.” Crap, I heard myself and that didn’t sound good. I couldn’t lie. My life sucked.
People assume because I came from the Brillford legacy and hung out with rich people, my future was perfect. They were wrong.
“Mademoiselle, you are saying you are pathetic and hopeless.”
“I guess…I am.”
“No,” Leon snapped, in his thick French accent. “I expect Fab is worried, and Gus is looking for us.”
I sucked in a breath, gaping at him. I suppose a crash like this could bring out the soul searching in anyone. This was the most Leon had talked to me all week. And to think that it took a plane crash, and us being isolated, to make it happen.
“I believe you.”
“You do?” His forehead wrinkled in surprise.
“If I don’t have faith that they’re safe, I’ll stop breathing. Right here, I’ll die.”
“Me too,” he said, and rubbed my shoulder. My skin felt sticky to his warm touch.
“My friends mean everything to me.”
“Oui. I noticed.” He hit a sore spot on my back, pressed in firmly, and worked the knot.
“How?”
“No model comes with a clique of friends for a photo shoot. Maybe a manager or a stylist but you have a crew.”
“Hey, that was Lex’s idea. I’m only eighteen. We didn’t know what you guys would be like to work with. I wasn’t going to come alone.”
“The four of you have a—how do you say in English? A bond.”
“Yes, we certainly do.” Feeling vulnerable, I crossed my arms over the life jacket and pulled my knees up.
“It is endearing to watch. Have you known your friends long?”
Before answering, I realized he’d made observations about me during our time in Miami. I don’t know why that made me uncomfortable. Maybe it was because I’d assumed that Leon hadn’t paid me any attention. Seems I was wrong. “Lex, Blake, and Vive are all I know. They’re all I’ve ever known. My life revolves around them. I wouldn’t have gotten through my childhood without them.”
“Same with Fab and Gus. We do everything together.” Darkness shadowed his face when our eyes met. For a brief second, I sensed he thought about the chance that we might be the only survivors. He’d be in denial if he didn’t at least consider it. “What do you think your friends are doing right this minute?”
I shrugged.
“Picture them in your mind. What do you see?”
Death.
“I can’t. I don’t have much of an imagination.”
“Try, for me, s’il vous plait.”
“Alright,” I closed my eyes and said, “Lex’s dad is in Japan doing a concert. Her mom is in rehab. Other than her new boyfriend, Ford, who is an NYPD cop, she doesn’t have anyone to call.”
“And…what is Lex saying to Ford?”
“She’s probably trying to get him to send us a helicopter.” I whipped that up only to appease Leon. I didn’t believe a word of it. Nope.
My subconscious debated on whether Birdie would overdose, taking her own life after she learned that her only daughter, who she’d had a recent falling out with, was dead.
More importantly, it was Birdie who’d gotten me my contract with Minnie and this magazine gig. Birdie would never be able to forgive herself. Maybe I’d overdose along with her. I’d never thought about suicide, till today. I didn’t agree one taking their own life or understand how they could do it. For the first time, I could see why people who lose everything quit life.
A bitter taste came up in the back of my mouth. Tears streaked my face. Stop thinking like that Taddy Brill. They’re fine. Your besties are looking for us.
“You okay?”
I lied with a nod, wiped my eyes, and hoped the tears would stop.
“Très bon,” Leon encouraged me to continue.
They are alive. Believe it. “Blake’s family is tight with a Senator in Connecticut. Last year, he volunteered for a political campaign to get gay unions legalized. Knowing Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, they’ve probably gotten the Senator to call the Coast Guard or the White House and assemble a search team.”
“And Mademoiselle Viveca?”
“She’s drinking, of course, and screaming at Air Carribea’s management team for justice.” I chuckled, opening my eyes in the sun. No one screwed with Vive. She’d rip their heads off.
“Oui, sounds like we will have a big search party here shortly.” For the first time since meeting Leon, his straight-white teeth set perfectly into a smile. I don’t know if it was to sell the load of b.s. he wanted me to believe or if it was because I’d made him feel better. The truth was that he’d made me feel better too.
“Thank you for that.” I ran my hands up and down his muscular arms, examining the shallow abrasions on his skin. “Do these hurt?”
“No.” Holding up his left hand, a shirt was knotted over a wound. Blood soaked through the ivory fabric. “When I reached for you, the seat cut me.”
“I’m sorry…”
“It is not your fault.”
“If you hadn’t done what you did, I’d be dead.” Without a second thought, I leaned down, pressed my lips against his marks, and thanked him with kisses.
Masculine and rough, he pulled back a bit, acting as if he hadn’t been touched in a while. I wrapped my hand tightly around his pointer-finger and gave him a squeeze, letting him know that it was okay. I was a touchy-feely girl. I hadn’t always been. Six months in juvie, isolated from any contact, will do that to person.
His lips curved up into a grin. “I would do it over again if given the chance.”
Wrapping my arms around Leon, I gave in to my overwhelming need for a hug. I ran my fingers up and down his back. “Thank you.”
Again I sensed hesitation. Then he took to me, meshing his chest up against my life jacket and breasts. Dipping my face into the nape of his neck, I held on to him, and in return he held on to me. His heartbeat steadied with mine. The green and citrus smell of Leon that I’d grown fond of this week had been replaced by adrenaline.
His hands ran over the back of my neck. He pulled me closer into him and buried his face in my hair. His breath in my ear, he rocked me gently and soothed, “We will get out of this.”
I felt safe in his arms, as safe as I could feel, considering we were stranded with no food or water. Regardless, I was practical. We needed to come up with a plan.
“How?”
“We ejected over there.” He pointed east. “The plane touched down past that direction. Near Eden. We are moving west.” His big arms came up in the air as he spoke.
I studied the water’s direction. “We’re moving further away.”
“Oui.”
“Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”
“I did not know if you were in pain. Then you started mumbling about…lollipops.”
“Princess Lolly,” I corrected.
“And something about Candy Land. You like to play the game?”
“Never mind. It’s just a dream.”
“You always talk in your sleep?”
“How would I know? I’ve never shared my bed with anyone. Vive and Lex never mentioned anything to me when we roomed together.” Pulling down on the straps of my life jacket, I tightened the nylon fabric over me. I stretched my legs out.
Leon inspected my skin. His hands ran over my knees, making me feel oddly turned on by his touch. My knees were cut up, but no worse than his arms. “Do they hurt?”
Nothing felt broken. “I’m fine.”
“Do not stand, Mademoiselle. We will tip over.”
“I won’t.” I could almost feel the air bubble underneath, keeping us afloat. Soon this piece of metal would submerge, hitting the bottom of the sea. “Can you swim?”
“Oui.”
“We can’t haul this with us. It’ll only take us further out to sea.”
“What about—”
“Jaws.” I knew exactly what he was thinking.
He laughed, nervously. “Oui. What about Jaws?”
“While I slept, did you see any…fins?”
Leon’s sunburned face went white. Eyelashes, long and thick, shadowed his cheeks as he said, “No sharks.”
Bad liar!
That’s probably why he hadn’t waked me sooner to swim; we’d get eaten. “Is your hand still bleeding?” Last thing I wanted was to get into shark infested waters with bait.
“A little. Not much.”
“What other choice do we have?” I glanced at the edges of the plane. In the short time I’d been awake, our sitting space had shrunk. This thing was going down.
“There is no other choice Mademoiselle. We must swim.”
I removed my life jacket and lifted my dress up over my head.
Leon eyed me once over.
“I’ll swim naked.” I grabbed the vest and fastened the straps over my naked breasts. Not since I was sixteen had I worn a bra.
Now it was he who did the gaping. I laughed to myself and shimmied to the edge of the metal. Sticking my hand in the water, it wasn’t cold or warm.
He reached for his life jacket, pulling it over him. It barely fit.
“You look silly. Like it’s made for a child.”
He glanced down at the tag. “Says adult.”
“You’re kinda big, Leon.”
“And you are beautiful, Mademoiselle.” He grinned at me.
Leon made my head spin. The waves and blistering sun didn’t help either.
Then he unzipped his pants. They fell by his feet. He’d gone commando.
My mouth felt dry.
His legs were thick. His cock was too. He wasn’t hard, but…I couldn’t imagine that as being what one would call soft either.
I gasped. Back in Miami, at the pool, I’d seen most of him. Well, not all of him. Leon Lartique was a sight so beautiful that I imagine no one could ever get used to staring at him. Every square inch of his body spoke magnificence.
For a nanosecond, I forgot what had brought us together and where we were. I closed my eyes, allowing the hot sun to take me over, if only for a minute….
Imagining we were back at his place, somewhere in France, maybe Marseille. Naked and aroused, we were in bed together.
“Mon chére, I want to make love,” Leon admitted.
“Me too.”
His tongue traced my lower lip before diving into my mouth. Leon’s right hand slid between my legs. Playfully at first, he touched me. We continued to kiss. Heat increasing, moving faster, his fingers sunk into me.
My breath quickened. Self-consciously I tried not to pant. I wanted to.
He licked at his hand. “You taste like a bonbon.”
“Do I?” I’d never tried a bonbon before. I wasn’t that big on sweets. I hadn’t tasted myself before either.
“Oui. Let’s get you nice and wet.” He pinched my clit sending a chill over my entire body. My nipples pebbled. “Touch yourself,” he instructed, as I caressed my breasts.
“Like this?” I asked, unfamiliar with being told what to do with my body.
“You are séduisante.” His hazel eyes widened. He spoke seduction.
“Thank you.” Like a horny girl who’d done this before (I hadn’t), I reached down and stroked his erection.
Then I remembered something that Vive had told me. “Honey, if you ever want to drive a man cray-cray in bed, you know get ‘em all sexually worked up till both of his heads are ready to explode—ya gotta express interest. Then without warning withdraw—act like you have better things to do than be in his arms.”
Taking her advice, I backed into the pillows, teasing him as if I could care less. I crossed my legs.
Leon sat up and grabbed at my knees. Making a tsk-tsk noise, he spread my legs wide. “I want you open for me. Always show me your beautiful pussy, mon chére.”
Vive’s tip had worked.
His jacked-up body framed mine. The head of his cock almost slid into me. In the push-up position, he stared down at me. Leon was nothing but perfection.
“Fuck me.” I hissed in his ear.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m yours. Do whatever you want with me.”
“Mademoiselle, are you ready?” he asked again. The arousing tone of his voice faded.
I blinked. “Huh?” Damn, only a fantasy. For sure, this crash had made me loopy. Maybe I did have a concussion after all.
From the edge of the shrapnel, Leon stared at me. “We swim for a bit. If we get tired, we rest.”
“How?”
“Float on our backs. Hold hands.”
“What is this the Blue Lagoon?”
“Eh?”
“The movie? Brooke Shields?” He didn’t understand so I said, “Never mind.”
“See, if we drift too far. Then swim some more I may be able to pull you.”
“You’re not pulling me. I’ll be fine.” Without thinking a second longer, I jumped into the water.
Please leave your thoughts in the comments section below after reading this excerpt.
Interact with me while reading this story on Instagram and Twitter @AveryAster using the hashtags: #UndergradYears #NewAdult
Add Yours Truly, Taddy (The Undergrad Years #2) to your TBR shelf on Goodreads here.
April 2, 2014
FREE READ from YOURS TRULY TADDY (The Undergrad Years #2)
Please leave your thoughts in the comments section below after reading this excerpt.
Interact with me while reading this story on Instagram and Twitter @AveryAster using the hashtags: #UndergradYears #NewAdult
Add Yours Truly, Taddy (The Undergrad Years #2) to your TBR shelf on Goodreads here.
Chapter Two
Candy Castle
Middle of Nowhere
It all started right after we left Miami International Airport and had reached our cruising altitude of thirty-two thousand feet.
“Come here, my furbaby.” Vive had taken her Lhaso Apso, Hedda Hopper, out of the carrying bag. She placed the pooch on her lap and did as she always does, gave it a sip of her cocktail, “Here you go, my little Hedda.”
Even though we weren’t yet twenty-one, Vive pretty much had booze on her at all times. Those are the perks of being a Farnworth Firewater liquor heiress. Vive’s family had stated on many occasions that she could legally drink in other countries and time zones why not this one?
Growling, Hedda glared up at the ceiling.
“Look guys! Le Petit Chien doesn’t care for champagne,” Gustave had joked, when the boys turned around to see what was going on.
On the rare occasions Gustave did make eye contact with me, I melted from the inside out—Klondike-bar style.
The dog spun around in circles. Not the playful, fun-loving kind. Oh no. Rather in the demonic way of “there’s a ghost onboard that’s going to eat us.” Hedda’s growls turned to barking. We all glanced up at the ceiling to see what the fuss was over.
I expected a dancing light coming off a mirrored cosmetics compact, or maybe a bug that had crawled out from someone’s luggage. I didn’t notice anything except the ceiling…
Bang!
“Merde,” Fabian shouted.
A two-inch rip.
Vive’s dog sensed this would happen. I didn’t know which I was more freaked out over, Hedda’s psychic ability or the fact that there was a hole in the roof of our plane. Let me say that again, there’s a hole in the effin’ aircraft.
The tear widened to a foot.
“Fuuuck. Did you see that?” Blake shouted as other passengers got out of their seats making their way over.
A foot and a half of blue skies stared back at us. Then two frickin’ feet of sunshine beamed through.
Pandemonium spread on board.
Immediately, our cabin’s pressure decompressed. I couldn’t breathe. Not because we lost air—we did—but because my stomach flipped into my throat.
The seatbelt signs flashed. Oxygen masks fell from above.
Lex grabbed my hand. “I regret taking the Xanax to get over my fear of riding on small planes. I feel like everything is going on in slow motion or if I’m watching it happen to someone else.”
“Well, snap out of it,” I said putting the oxygen mask over her face. “It’s happening right above your seat.”
It’s just like that teen horror movie that came out last year, Final Destination. We started to drop from the sky. Everyone screamed.
The pilot announced, “This is your captain speaking. Due to an unforeseen rip in the ceiling, we are making an emergency landing. Listen carefully to my instructions…”
A pause was followed by what sounded like the turning of a piece of paper. Was he reading from some manual?
He continued, “Under your seat is a life jacket. Go ahead, put it on, fasten your seatbelt, lean forward, and stick your head between your knees. We’ll be landing shortly.” His phone switched off, then back on, and he muttered, “—fucking shit plane. Flight crew, prepare for a water crash. Let’s see if we can take her down in one piece.”
Frozen, we sat still for a second. Clearly, we weren’t supposed to hear that.
“Did he say water landing or water crash?” Vive sobered.
“Crash!” Blake shouted, springing to his feet. He flipped his seat cushion over and grabbed the bright yellow reflective plastic.
Next to me, Lex peed herself. Maybe over the realization we might die. Or it could be from the two Yoo-Hoos she drank before take-off to help wash down the bitter aftertaste of Xanax.
Lately, our lives as the Fab Four had pretty much carried on rather most unfabulously. Take for example the fact that I was broke, probably not going to attend college, sexually frustrated, and let’s not forget this flight to hell.
Gustave jumped over his seat and into our row. Helping Vive and Lex with their life jackets, he lifted Lex up as if she were a paper doll, which I imagine was pretty hard to do considering she’s rather curvy. After he was finished, I made sure their oxygen masks were over their faces.
My ears popped, and the engines made a loud humming noise. That sorta zinged me back a bit. Putting my vest on, I then banded the yellow plastic cup over my nose and mouth and inhaled. With a glance out the window, I noticed we were headed straight for a small island. The sign in the harbor read, “Welcome to Eden.” I blinked, we were that close to land we could read things.
Shit.
Blake’s movie star face pressed up against the yellow plastic and muttered, “Looks like Magic Kingdom.”
There was a castle on the island. In a flash, we soared right over Eden and headed back out to sea.
We buckled up. Blake shouted for everyone to sit. Jumping over the row, Gustave hunkered down. Fabian reached back for a hand, anyone’s—it didn’t matter whose. Tucking Hedda into the top of her dress, Vive grabbed onto Fabian then reached for Lex’s hand with the other. Lex grabbed my right, and I took Blake with my left. He put his hand on Gustave’s shoulder ahead of him, and Leon held on to Fabian.
Our prayer circle had formed.
“Notre Père—” Leon recited something in French, sounding Catholic.
Reflecting off the water, the sun’s rays made everything appear overexposed and translucent. Hues of pink and bright white filled the cabin. The jet seemed to skim above the ocean almost peacefully.
The plane’s heavy swaying straightened into a precise line. There was a moment of beauty where everyone on board must’ve held their breath because I heard only dead silence and Leon.
“Pardonne-nous nos offences.” His prayer got louder.
“This is it. Lean forward,” Fabian told us.
We put our heads between our legs. Fuck, the oxygen masks weren’t long enough. The cords jerked us back.
“Is this seriously happening?” dazed and still frickin’ confused, Lex asked.
The jet bounced, once, twice over the water like a skipping stone. My seat disconnected from the rest of the row. The impact shocked me. Over the sounds of shattering glass and the crunching of metal, I blurted the first thing that came to mind, “I never thought I’d die a virgin.” I’d hoped to be loved by someone special.
Then we went back up in the air as if God had heard our prayers. The engine roared. The gash in the ceiling quadrupled. It was a flipping convertible. Debris flew everywhere. I could barely see but noticed items being sucked out.
First a roller bag flew out the hole. Smacking the edges, it tore the gap wider.
Then a few extra life vests followed.
Suddenly the aircraft started to make a sharp turn.
“What’s the pilot doing?” I asked Blake, trying to see out the window.
“Landing on the water near the island.”
We climbed higher in the air. People shouted at each other to stay seated.
“Je vous aime, les gars,” Fabian professed his feelings for his buds as if it was the end.
The sun which had been on our left now shined on the right.
Without warning, Vive removed her mask. Leaning down, she kissed Hedda behind the ears and gave the dog her oxygen. In Vive’s eyes, I didn’t see fear as I expected. She unbuckled her seatbelt and handed Hedda to Lex.
Did Vive want to die?
Lex threw her arms over Vive, trying to get her to buckle up as Vive screamed she wanted to go.
Go where exactly?
“Taddy!” Blake shouted as the wing next to his seat caught fire. The window melted. We were going to burn.
My detached seat gave. The jet continued to climb. “Lex!” Like a vacuum I was sucked out that damn hole.
Someone grabbed my ankle.
That was the last thing I remembered.
*****
Did I die? I must’ve.
Next thing I knew I was back on West 74th St. and Central Park West. I was home with my parents at the San Remo apartment building. Maybe five years old or so. This was a happier time for my family and me. No fighting. No DNA test. Dad didn’t have doubts as to who I was other than his daughter.
Sitting on the floor in the den, I wore a crimson dress, one of my favorites. Mom had made it for me.
Dad and Mom sat across from Lex and me.
Lex and her parents had lived in the apartment building too. So did Donna Karan and Steven Spielberg.
Lex chewed on a piece of gum and studied the board game. She’d been staying with me while her parents filmed a rocker movie in Los Angeles for the last month.
We played a second round of Candy Land.
“Daddy it’s your turn to go.” Pointing to the deck of cards, I realized my speech was childlike but, in my head, I thought as an adult.
Glancing around the oak-paneled room in awe, I’d forgotten how much Mom had decorated the place back then. She’d cared how the place looked. How we’d lived as a family.
We’d often had people over. They’d entertained, celebrated life and living here. My parents had truly loved each other back then. Till all the lies floated to the surface and shattered everything I once knew, including who I was and where I’d come from.
“Alright, Tabitha,” Dad smiled at me warmly. He drew an orange card and moved his gingerbread piece to the corresponding spot.
“My turn,” I said, noticing I was close to the Candy Castle. I pulled a card. “Pink!”
Lex popped her bubblegum and said, “You move to the lollipop forest.” She clapped her hands with excitement.
I pushed my gingerbread figure past the chocolate mountains. The game was all based on chance. There were no puzzles to solve. No player was better than the other. The deck of cards dictated every move.
Looking back on it now, in a way, Candy Land played the players. All we had to do was show up and follow along. If only adult life were this simple.
“Looks like you may win the second round, Tabitha,” my mother encouraged. With a petite nose and high cheekbones, her facial features were striking. That was before Mom’s ugliness showed, before her mental illness and booze took over.
“Anyone can win, Mommy. You’re up next.”
She paused for a minute. “How about for Halloween we make you a Princess Lolly costume?” Mom reached across for a card. “I’ll sew it myself.”
Lex glared at me as if she was being left out. Her mother, a music icon, never had time to play dress-up with us unless it was on stage or for one of her music videos.
“Will you make Lex a Queen Frostine costume? Then we can go together.” I looked out for my bestie even when we were kids.
“I don’t see why not.” Mom glanced over at Lex and asked, “Is that what you want, Alexandra?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good, then it’s all settled. Tabitha will go as Princess Lolly in red. Alexandra can be Queen Frostine. Oh…I have just the icy blue fabric for it too. We’re going to have one sweet Halloween, girls.”
“Yay!” Lex and I got to our feet and jumped around, cheering to the idea of our new costumes.
The crystal chandelier above us shook.
Any second no,w I expected Mrs. Yves Bucheron to come up the penthouse elevator in a snit yapping for us to stop making noise. Lex and I were always getting in trouble. This building wasn’t made for kids or any type of excitement.
“I’ll start on the dress patterns tomorrow.” Mom admired us for a minute then moved her piece.
“A queen and a princess,” Dad said. “I love you girls.”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
“Taddy,” a stranger, called out to me from another room, another place. Whoever it was addressed me by my adult name. They clearly weren’t in this study. I didn’t go by Taddy till after I was emancipated.
Not wanting this moment to end, I ignored the voice and hoped to stay a few minutes longer. I felt as if I floated on a sea of Cotton Candy. “I love Candy Land. Anyone can win. All you have to do is play.” I repeated.
“Taddy, wake up,” the strange voice spoke again.
“Just follow the rules—” Wait. I squinted. The sun, it was burning my skin.
Sitting up, I realized I wasn’t at the San Remo. My parents weren’t in my life. Lex didn’t sit at my side. However, I floated. Just not on a spun-pink web of cotton candy. Nope. More like in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
In horror, I grabbed at my hemline and caught site of the airline’s logo. I sat on a piece of the plane. My flip-flops were long gone.
“Lex!” I shouted. Tears saltier than the water surrounding me swelled from within.
“Blake.” I wiped my eyes. Coughing up sea, I tried to get control of my emotions. Otherwise I’d choke. I shouted my best friend’s names again and again. Inhaling through my nose, I screamed so loud I thought my tonsils would fly out of my throat, “Viveca Farnworth!!!”
No one replied.
The sounds of the waves crashed against the debris.
A rush of dizziness came over me. I licked my lips tasting blood and let out a cry.
“Mademoiselle.” A strained voice murmured behind me. It was the one that had awoken me from my dream.
Sobbing, I looked over my shoulder.
Leon lay a few feet behind me. His shirt was off, displaying his muscular body. Little red cuts covered his arms, hair wet and slicked back, his face sunburned.
Instinctively I touched my cheeks. Irritated and hot, they felt burnt too. My body started to tremble violently, almost as if going into shock over what happened. “How long…have we been…on here?” I glanced up at the sky.
The sun wasn’t up as high as when we’d first taken off.
“Heures,” he said. Leon inched himself closer to me and held out his hand to try and comfort me. “Please don’t cry.”
“I need my friends.”
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
“No. I don’t think so.” I placed my palm against his. “I feel…disoriented.”
“Did you hit your head?” With his other hand, he touched the back of my neck and examined my scalp. “I do not feel any bumps. What do you see?”
“Your beautiful chest.”
He smirked and asked, “Any white spots?”
Shaking my head in response, I couldn’t believe we’d been on this makeshift raft for hours. “What happened?”
“We crashed.”
“I get that. Where is everyone?”
He didn’t say anything.
Emotions soared inside me. Tell me they landed okay. Everyone is floating up ahead of us. They’ve gone for help. Something. “Leon. Please.”
“I do not know…”
“Then tell me what you do know.” I studied his handsome face. He had a wide forehead, thick eyebrows, and lips that I’m sure, under any circumstance except for today, were kissable.
“The pilot made a sharp turn—back to the island.”
“Didn’t we fall apart in the air?” It was all a blur.
His feelings seemed hidden. Upset. I could tell by those kissable lips of his. They trembled. He cleared his throat and said, “I grabbed onto you. My seatbelt snapped.”
“We got sucked out together?”
“Oui. We ended up in the water with a chunk of the ceiling. I pulled us up on here. You were unconscious.”
“Leon, you saved me?”
He tapped the metal. “This is what saved us.”
“Where is everyone?” I asked him again. I had to know.
Leon’s eyes settled on the water. I followed. Aquamarine and dark navy waves were all around us.
We were in the middle of nowhere. Even the air seemed still. No breeze.
I wanted to get up and run. Run like when I knew the “F” train was on the subway platform back home and I had to catch it. The anxiety coming over me became unbearable. Would there ever be another train to catch? A ride to take us from here to there, wherever here was exactly…I hadn’t a clue.
“My friends didn’t get sucked out like we did.” I thought about Lex, Blake, and Vive. Such a nightmare—how could they be taken away from me?
“The plane turned back for the island. They must be close to Eden.” Leon’s words filled with hope.
“Eden?”
He nodded. “They probably swam to shore.”
“You think so?”
“Oui.” For a second, I thought I noticed tears in his hazel eyes. Blinking a few times, they disappeared.
“How do you know they’re alive?”
“Stop.”
“No. You don’t know. Do you?”
“Arrête!”
“They’re dead.” I cupped my mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“My heart would tell me if they were gone.”
“Your heart?” I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.
“If your friends died, do you not think you would feel their loss, deep-down inside, even without anyone telling you?”
Hmmm. I didn’t want to go there.
Please leave your thoughts in the comments section below after reading this excerpt.
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April 1, 2014
Camp NaNoWriMo This April with Avery Aster
I’l be writing XO, Blake this month with Camp NaNoWriMo. It’s a more open-ended version their original November event. My session will run this entire month with a goal of around 50,000.
If you’re a romance writer looking for a fellow camper at NaNoWriMo please email me at (Avery at Avery Aster dot com). Let’s get our keyboards clacking!
*smile*
Avery
March 31, 2014
FREE READ New Adult Series The Undergrad Years
Please leave your thoughts in the comments section below after reading this excerpt.
Interact with me while reading this story on Instagram and Twitter @AveryAster using the hashtags: #UndergradYears #NewAdult
Add Yours Truly, Taddy (The Undergrad Years #2) to your TBR shelf on Goodreads here.
Chapter One
Three Men and a Virgin
Bermuda Triangle, August 2002
Up to this point, the only thing that had kept my mind off this horrific flight was staring at the cute little ears, broad shoulders, and wavy-haired heads of the three hottest men I’d ever worked with in my entire life.
That’s right. I, Taddy Brill, sat behind un, deux, trois of Europe’s finest. They were hunky, lean yet muscular, and just about the sexiest specimens of male, ever!
Good Lord. I wanted to rip my sundress off and scream, “Take me!”
But I didn’t.
Not once this week had the boys given me the time of day, let alone a flirtatious glance, leading me to believe that I didn’t have a chance.
If I thought about them too much I’d get depressed. Instead I closed my eyes and tried to figure out how we were going to get through this one-way flight to hell.
I hate airplanes, especially tiny ones that I can’t stand up in without hitting my head. You wouldn’t believe the problems that come with being six-feet tall. My friends call me a glamizon. Trust me, there’s nothing glamorous about freakishly towering over people.
Before anyone asks, no, I didn’t play women’s basketball at the Avon Porter Academy. And yes, my date to prom my senior year was much shorter than me. The poor bastard had such a Napoleon complex that I’d even worn flats.
It’s not like I can wear my Manolo stilettos when flying. Knowing this, I’d picked up these tacky-ass, bedazzled flip-flops from some overpriced gift shop on Collins Avenue before we left for Martinique. I had to watch every penny until I got paid by my agent. Buying these overpriced flip-flops had made me rather angry. Surely I didn’t sport footwear like this back home in New York City. Not unless I wanted to have the dirtiest feet on the planet, even if they did have a gazillion Swarovski crystals glued to the top of them. Recently I’d been riding the subway to get around town. No limos for moi. Not anymore.
I sat in 12B next to my gay best friend (GBF) Blake Morgan. His legs are longer than mine. We must look like two giraffes crowding under a tree.
Blake resembles a younger version of Jude Law meets Matt Damon. When we went to the premiere of The Talented Mr. Ripley a few years ago, I couldn’t decide who Blake looked more like.
Next to us in 12C was my best friend forever (BFF) Lex Easton. Famed daughter to rockers Eddie and Birdie Easton, she’d recently discovered her submissive side with a dominant she’d referred to fondly as Master Ford. Right now, Lex was zonked out on anti-anxiety medication. Let’s pray she doesn’t end up like her pill-popping mother. But I don’t think that’ll happen. She just hates the idea of being cramped on this flying tin can as much as I do. Her curvy caboose barely fits in the seat.
To top it all off like a vodka floater shot, my very best friend (VBF) Vive Farnworth sitting in 12D is buzzed. Ever since our recent incarceration over an accidental explosion at Lex’s penthouse, Vive’s been tossing ‘em back, more than usual.
We’d only been locked up for a day or so. Not six months, like the time before when we’d all been accused of murder and spent a semester in juvie. I’ll get into that, much later.
In addition to my flip-flops wanna know what else I hate? The Caribbean! For reasons I’ll elaborate on in just a second. However, I’ll give ‘ya a clue. It starts with the letter “c” and sounds like “trash.”
Now, if someone, anyone, maybe even you, had told me that by the time I turned eighteen my parents, Countess Irma and Joseph Graf Brillford, would’ve disowned me as their only daughter—leaving me unable to pay for the Ivy League education I’d busted my boarding school ass to get into—I’d roll my green eyes, chug a can of Redbull, and offer, “May you never drown in a vat of dog semen, thank you and buh-bye.” And by never, I mean forever and always.
Sure I’m pissy over my folk’s wrongdoings. One might say, since the age of thirteen, after my father’s DNA test didn’t match my own, I’d seen that shizzicane coming. So did my BFF.
Once Lex and I were shipped off to boarding school, we were out that door quicker than a yellow cab gunning it down Park Avenue. But being without any family never gets easy.
Who gets comfortable with having no parents?
The less than über wealthy call it being orphaned. My folks had used boarding school at Avon Porter as foster care when they gave me away. Whatever!
The school’s therapist had suggested, “Tabitha, forgive and forget. That’s what you need to do in order to move on with your life.”
Kinda hard to do when your parents never asked for, nor did they ever want, forgiveness.
And how could I forget?
College starts in less than a week. If I don’t get the money, Columbia University won’t allow me in class with my besties. I can’t imagine not going to school with them. I’ll die.
Lex, Blake, and Vive know this, and offered to help. They all have buckets of money. Always have, always will.
I’ve got nothing but my pride. I can’t take a hand out. Instead, I took this job. and they came along. We do everything together.
If someone, anyone, maybe even you would’ve also told me that I’d turn to the mind numbing job of fashion modeling to make my tuition payments, jetting on a twin-turboprop aircraft from Miami to Martinique for Europe’s snootiest magazine, Claire La Femme with three of the hottest Frenchmen I’d ever met in my entire life, I would’ve puffed on a cigarette, still sipped that can of Redbull and said, “Get the hellaboo outta here!” I certainly would’ve thrown one of these hideous flip-flops at ‘ya too.
Modeling, sounds like fun, eh? That’s what they all say.
I loathe models, let alone me modeling. I’m no dummy.
Sweet brainy Jesus, this past June I graduated top of my class from Avon Porter. My name is Taddy Brill. Teachers hadn’t called me Taddy Brilliant for nothing. Wink!
I’m sure if I hadn’t spent six long months in juvie my junior year, taking the blame for my VBF’s mistake, I would’ve gotten a scholarship for college. Ha! That would so never happen now. Not with my name attached to my group of friends. In the eyes of the press, we’d been labeled tabloid girls, spoiled brats, and troubled teens. We’d heard it all.
None of it was true. Well…not entirely.
Notably, there’s only one thing I dislike more than these itty bitty planes, flip-flops, the Caribbean, and the world of fashion modeling.
Take a guess.
It’s high-flatulent Frenchmen with their noses stuck up in the air, talking with thick accents sounding like some Grey Poupon commercial. I’m speaking about Gustave Le Cartier, Fabian Henri, and Leon Lartique who are seated inches away from us in 11A, 11B, and 11C.
Yes, the men whose ears I wanted to suck on, shoulders I imagined my legs wrapped around, while they drilled deep inside of me. Oh and that hair. Wavy. Dark. I so wanted to run my fingers through it.
My eyes rolled into the back of my head at the mere thought of it all.
If I leaned forward and to the right, I could get a whiff of Leon. Mmm. Green and citrus!
And when I turned my nose more to the left, the spicy smell of Gustave hit my senses. He made every follicle on my body, even the freshly waxed parts, stand on end.
Then there’s the heady flowery aroma of Fabian that I hadn’t been able to put my perfume-loving finger on yet, but I would. Give me time, I’ll get to Fabian in a minute. He fascinates me.
Blake had teased the guys all week. Over dinner he’d said, “Excuse me fellas, do any of you have any Grey Poupon?”
In response, Vive had cackled. So loud it jarred sensitive Fabian into a flinch. Typically that’s what happened every time she started one of her long-ass laughs, which usually ended with a snort.
“Pardon moi?” Gustave just didn’t get our jokes.
Either that or he couldn’t fathom anyone poking fun at them. After all, they were each, in their own way, heat-inducing and utterly panty-melting. Perfection! Any sight of them made my nipples hard, almost as bad as Lex’s. She had some nipple distend problem but had refused to wear pasties over ‘em. I try really hard not to stare. But sometimes I do, and then I get the giggles. Then Vive will start in on her cackling, and Lex cries.
Note to self: don’t stare at Lex’s nipples when we get to Martinique.
Gustave is the boss and head photographer. From Yves Saint Laurent to Dior, he’s shot every important campaign out there. With a great eye for pictures, he’s the talent. He’s also major machismo and a conceited b-hole.
Oh…I imagine him sexually in that mind-fuckery way, where the couple hate-fucks one another like on TV. Not that I’ve ever hated, fucked, or hate-fucked anyone. But that’s the first thing that comes to mind when thinking about Gustave Le Cartier, hate-fucking.
Why does Gustave flood my mind with such perversion?
He ignores me, causing me to hate him. Since he knows I’m not his fan, he hates me back. Gustave treats me like I’m one of the props on his set. Regardless, I lust after him anyway. When I’d shown up to the Miami studio with my besties, I was in awe over how he took control of the crew, the room, everything. In charge, he thrived on power and was good at calling the shots.
“Separate your lips, Red. Don’t smile,” he’d instructed while snapping his camera. “That’s it, Red. Narrow your eyes. Make them sparkle.”
Gustave had given me the nickname “Red” after my hair, I guess. He’d called me that all week. At first, I was utterly insulted. Why not address me by my name? As the hours progressed into days and the days into a week, he kept ordering me around, posing my body into various positions saying, “Red, this,” and “Red, that.” It became powerfully erotic.
Red!
During a break, I’d said to Vive, “Sweet baby Gus, I would just love for him to take me from behind and let my body go where my mind is.”
“And where’s that, honey?” Vive had asked, eyeing him more fiercely than I did.
“On his darn dick,” I muttered in a low voice so he wouldn’t hear us. Not that he was paying me any attention. “It has to be monsterous.”
“No kidding, girlie. With an ego like his, how could it not?” Vive had spoken from her previous sex experience.
Until a few weeks ago, Vive was the only one out of the four of us who’d lost “it.” Then our BFF Lex joined the-ladies-who-love-to-love club. Now it was Blake’s butt and my vagina which were alone in the corner waiting for TLC-n-probing.
Second in command for Claire La Femme is Fabian. He’s all things creative. His voice makes my eardrums come buckets. No joke. He’ll say, “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Taddy.”
Every fiber of my body trembles when I hear him speak. Often my name rolls off Fabian’s long, wicked tongue as if it’s spelled with two b’s and not two d’s. He almost purrs when he talks to me. I swear, he does, like I’m some long-haired kitten. Well Fabian, you can pet me anytime ‘ya like. Meow!
However, I’m pretty sure Fabian is a bisexual or possibly a homosexual with shame issues. Yup, I love my gays. Don’t get me wrong. However, bisexual? Come on. What is this, the 90’s?
Straights and gays had to choose. Why shouldn’t they?
While pondering over a man’s bisexuality and which way Fabian’s wind blew, I’d said to Blake back when we were in Sobe, “The whole act is kinda piggy to me, doing whomever they please, whenever they feel, sticking their cock into whatever they want.”
Blake blinked his blue eyes at me submissively and said, “When one looks like Fabian Henry, they can pretty much do anything they want, with whomever they please.” My GBF was almost jealous of Fabian’s sexual confidence. At eighteen, Blake hadn’t hit his stride yet, but he was getting there.
Any sight of Fabian, let alone sitting behind him on this very plane as I was right now, sexually frustrated me from head to toe. I just wanna scream, “Enough already!”
Fabian drips testosterone and a faint hint of a softness, making him approachable. Dare I say, almost loveable? Hence why he smells sorta flowery, at least to me he does. Like rose and musk, unisex and flirty. I want to lick him.
“I’m too old for this high school gay confusion stuff,” I’d declared in exhaustion.
Blake had flashed his pearly whites and said, “You remember, I came out of the closet when I was sixteen. My parents didn’t talk to me for months.”
“That’s what happens when we’re in boarding school, darling. Our parents can come and go from our lives whenever it’s convenient for them.”
“But they came around. So if my New England, Volvo-driving, Episcopalian family can get behind my lifestyle than I’m sure, if Fabian is a ding-a-ling lover, he can bust those French doors wide open too.” Blake’s voice spoke with more sarcasm than usual.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just because he’s European doesn’t mean the dude’s gay. French men are not like American men, Taddy.” Blake may be an anal sex virgin but he sure is smart. Avon Porter’s Global Cultures class had done that to us.
“True. I bet all that beer and football we have here in the states makes us appear like animals to guys in other parts of the world.”
“God, I love America.” Blake never missed a Giants game.
Sports and alcohol aside, how do I know Fabian likes the company of other men?
Well for starters, he won’t take his dark, magnetic eyes off my GBF. Plus Fabian is superb at doing…my makeup. Regardless, I’d never stereotype a man’s sexual orientation based on how well he blends my eye-shadow to match my long-red hair and peaches-n-cream complexion while getting ready for a photo shoot. Now would I?
By the way, that’s what Fabian had said my skin looks like. Personally I think it’s more a splatter of unfortunate freckles, but I’ll take any compliment those guys give. Come to think of it, that was the only compliment I’d received from them all week.
What-the-flip-ever!
Hmmm, why do I think he’s bisexual and not a homosexual?
When Fabian applies my makeup, he often gets…an erection. Pressing his dick right up against me, he beats my face with a powder-puff. Unintentional, I presume, the erection that is, not the beating.
“Do you like your eyes to appear smoldering, Tabby?” he’d asked, jetting that cock around. Granted he’s always fully dressed and all. Regardless, when it’s hard, it’s visible. Ah-huh, it’s practically in 3-D. In the morning, while he’s curling my hair, I could easily rest my can of Redbull on his bulging crotch as if it were a tabletop. He might as well be naked while he beats my face. His dick jets out, pointing up, waiting for me to unzip his pants and set him free.
Yesterday he’d tested some new waterproof makeup on my face. Fabian had held my jaw with one hand, a mirror with the other, and asked, “Do you like this color, Tabby?”
“I love it.” I stopped correcting him and gave up on T-a-d-d-y days ago. Hell, I wanted to say, “The only thing that’s smoldering on me is the wet spot between my thighs. Who gives a flip about my eyes?” But I didn’t.
Naturally I clenched my legs together in the chair and sat there like a good mannequin. I mean—a nice model. Yes, I bit my lower lip and thought about beating him off while he beat my face ever so perfectly with cornsilk powder.
Would it be wrong of me to come out and ask Fabian to pick me or Blake? Maybe the next time we’re alone I should say, “What’ll it be? Dog or cat? Beef or fish? Ya can’t have both. Not at Taddy’s table or at Tabby’s table either.”
Purrr.
Third in this hunkiness triangle is Leon. He handles the equipment and lighting. Between the three, he’s the most gorgeous. So much so that, this morning over breakfast, Vive had admitted, “Sorry I took so long in the shower. I was having thoughts…”
“About what?” Lex had asked.
“Or whom?” I’d corrected.
“Leon. I can’t get him out of my mind. He’s so muscular, big, and sweet. I’ve never met anyone like Leon Lartique, before.”
Ain’t that the truth!
Lex had giggled, cleared her throat, and said, “Well yesterday, when I was napping, I had thoughts about Leon too.”
“Not your new boyfriend Ford?” I’d asked.
“Him too. The both of them. Together. With me in the middle. That’s why I shoved a pillow between my legs to make it stop.”
Side note, since losing her virginity recently to the hot biker cop Ford, known by the NYPD as Officer Gotti, Lex has turned into a nymphomaniac. Humping him, toys, corners of furniture, and now apparently hotel pillows.
And if we’re all gonna share wet dreams, I’d might as tell them. “While working out on the elliptical earlier, Leon crossed my mind, and I…touched myself.”
“No!”
“I honestly did.” Please, from the time we were thirteen, I’d shared a dorm room with Vive and Lex. Whether it was late in the night under the covers or when we didn’t think anyone was looking, we’d all masturbated in front of one another.
Vive’s a screamer.
Lex is a whimper.
We all knew way more about each other than we cared too. That’s why we were bonded for life. Best friends till the day we die, which may be pretty soon. I’m getting to that in a minute.
“So, we all want Leon.” Vive had summed it up.
The answer was yes. Although I couldn’t figure out if Leon was shy or arrogant. From my vantage point, both traits appeared the same.
Why did I even care? Leon was cute, I’ll give him that. But that hunk of muscle hasn’t said more than two words to me on this entire trip.
I’ve been tempted on many nights at dinner to get up, go sit on Leon’s lap, kiss his face, and let him know if he can’t talk to me with words, we can communicate with our bodies.
That’s how strong my sexual attraction to all of them had been, to the point where I was ready to pounce at any minute. These feelings had shocked the crap outta me. Hello, I’m a young lady. Couldn’t I save the pouncing for my cougar days after husband number two or three has died leaving me his vast fortunes? Wink!
Scared I might do something stupid getting all Demi Moore in the movie Disclosure on their asses, I had to put all of this Gustave-Fabian-Leon-sex appeal aside and focus.
Therefore I’d told my agent Minnie Hightower, “Please don’t book me on another photo-shoot with these Parisian photographers again. I don’t care how much money Claire La Femme is paying me to wear couture. I’m done.”
In Miami, Minnie had sneered over the phone when we’d talked. She’d ever so elegantly condescended, “Miss Brill, you can take the bus back to Manhattan, might take you a few days. Or you can jet over to Martinique, dress expensively with a smile and get your picture taken. You decide. I have a hundred other girls waiting to take your spot. I’ll give you two seconds to make up your mind. One…two…”
And here I was, on this plane, ready for another round of the fashion extravaganza, and not the bus back to the Big Apple.
Puhlease! Minnie didn’t understand the sexual urges looming over me. She had herself a Wall Street husband and Brooklyn lover on the side. From what Lex’s mother Birdie had told me, there was also a special cattle call for her male models held every season. Apparently it took place in Minnie’s bed with her husband, and the lover.
Can you imagine?
Minnie is lucky she didn’t get hurt or poke her eye out. No wonder she pranced around the modeling agency’s office like she had something stuck up her bum. She probably was too sore to walk from the night before.
Speaking of nakedness…in our downtime, at Sobe, the men were nearly in their birthday suits all week long. Hot right? Not! Again, they ignored us. They’d acted like they didn’t speak English. I presume so they wouldn’t have to entertain us when we weren’t working. I hated that.
Three days ago, while Lex, Vive, and I were getting sunscreen at the same place I’d bought my flip-flops, Blake had asked, “Have you girls noticed whenever the sun comes up their shirts come off?” He handed the SPF over to Vive.
“Forget that. What about when the sun goes down?” Vive had sprayed one full coat of the aerosol can all over her legs before adding, “So do their pants.”
Lex had grabbed the can from Vive and said, “Well, it is like a hundred degrees outside, guys.”
“One hundred and two degrees, to be exact,” I’d corrected. Miami during the month of August was such a bad idea. The magazine shot their January winter resort holiday issue now. Who knew they worked so far in advance?
“How else do ‘ya expect them to stay cool?” Lex had admired the view from the hotel gift shop. It was of the Frenchmen in the pool.
They’d worn skimpy, European-cut bathing suits, which made their dicks stand out like diving boards.
“I swear, I’ve never been so sick and tired of staring at three men’s perfectly sculpted bodies and well-hung cocks in my entire life.” Lying through my teeth, I grabbed the lotion and exerted my frustration on the bottle.
Damn. It was empty.
“Why are you in a snit?” Lex had asked, innocently.
“Temptation and I do not work well together. You know I have no self control. Nada. Zilch. I see something I want, I take it.”
“I’m like that about dessert,” Lex had tried to make a joke about her weight. I didn’t like it when she put herself down.
“Taddy, that’s in all aspects of your life, girlie,” Vive had reminded.
“Except when it comes to men. No one can behave that way with the opposite sex.”
“Why not?” Blake had asked.
“I’ll get labeled a slut or a whore. I am neither of the two.”
“That’s sexist and unfair, nevertheless stinkin’ true.” Vive had eyed Blake up and down as if it were his fault, “Men!”
Hopefully they’d come for me. Right? That was my fantasy, being taken by all three of them. If Fabian didn’t have to pick which sex he slept with, why should I have to choose one over the other?
Luckily I’d brought my three besties with me so I wouldn’t feel outnumbered, or lonely—especially since in the eyes of Gustave, Fabian and Leon—I didn’t exist. Only with the lights on, my face made-up, and the camera snapping pics did they notice me.
WTF!
I’m not an object. I’m a girl with needs and desires. Can’t they see that? Don’t they notice how they make my pulses spin and legs shake every time I work with them?
That’s why I’d said to Minnie, “Working alongside these guys is sheer, utter torture. I’ll go to Martinique but this will be my last trip with them. I can’t do it again.”
Let’s get real, I needed the money. This gig paid a small fortune, enough to cover my entire first year of classes at Columbia and living expenses with Vive at the Sherry Netherland. Then I wouldn’t have to resort to dancing on a pole or serving chicken wings while wearing a see-through wife-beater. Not that the two jobs hadn’t crossed my mind.
The chicken joint, while loving my boobs in their uniform, had rejected my resume. No experience! The pole place had told me I wasn’t a good enough dancer to work for them. I’d cried, just a little. Being turned down for a job that you perceived as being your lowest of lows when you went to apply is, in fact, the lowest of all lows one can ever feel. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. Except for maybe this airline!
Alright, onto the “c” word which rhymes with trash. Get that Imodium handy. Here’s the absolute shitter of shits, and I’m not joking here people….
Oh yes, if someone, anyone, maybe even you, would’ve told me that while working as a model, jetting over the Bermuda Triangle to my next location with three of the sexiest French photography crew in the world, along with my BFF, GBF, and VBF, that all seven of us, along with the fifty or so other passengers on board were going to crash…I would’ve knock your teeth out. But we are. Any second now, Caribba Airways Flight 1728 will smash into the Atlantic Ocean.
Please leave your thoughts in the comments section below after reading this excerpt.
Interact with me while reading this story on Instagram and Twitter @AveryAster using the hashtags: #UndergradYears #NewAdult
Add Yours Truly, Taddy (The Undergrad Years #2) to your TBR shelf on Goodreads here.
FREE READ Contemporary College Romance Series The Undergrad Years
Chapter One
Three Men and a Virgin
Bermuda Triangle, August 2002
Up to this point, the only thing that had kept my mind off this horrific flight was staring at the cute little ears, broad shoulders, and wavy-haired heads of the three hottest men I’d ever worked with in my entire life.
That’s right. I, Taddy Brill, sat behind un, deux, trois of Europe’s finest. They were hunky, lean yet muscular, and just about the sexiest specimens of male, ever!
Good Lord. I wanted to rip my sundress off and scream, “Take me!”
But I didn’t.
Not once this week had the boys given me the time of day, let alone a flirtatious glance, leading me to believe that I didn’t have a chance.
If I thought about them too much I’d get depressed. Instead I closed my eyes and tried to figure out how we were going to get through this one-way flight to hell.
I hate airplanes, especially tiny ones that I can’t stand up in without hitting my head. You wouldn’t believe the problems that come with being six-feet tall. My friends call me a glamizon. Trust me, there’s nothing glamorous about freakishly towering over people.
Before anyone asks, no, I didn’t play women’s basketball at the Avon Porter Academy. And yes, my date to prom my senior year was much shorter than me. The poor bastard had such a Napoleon complex that I’d even worn flats.
It’s not like I can wear my Manolo stilettos when flying. Knowing this, I’d picked up these tacky-ass, bedazzled flip-flops from some overpriced gift shop on Collins Avenue before we left for Martinique. I had to watch every penny until I got paid by my agent. Buying these overpriced flip-flops had made me rather angry. Surely I didn’t sport footwear like this back home in New York City. Not unless I wanted to have the dirtiest feet on the planet, even if they did have a gazillion Swarovski crystals glued to the top of them. Recently I’d been riding the subway to get around town. No limos for moi. Not anymore.
I sat in 12B next to my gay best friend (GBF) Blake Morgan. His legs are longer than mine. We must look like two giraffes crowding under a tree.
Blake resembles a younger version of Jude Law meets Matt Damon. When we went to the premiere of The Talented Mr. Ripley a few years ago, I couldn’t decide who Blake looked more like.
Next to us in 12C was my best friend forever (BFF) Lex Easton. Famed daughter to rockers Eddie and Birdie Easton, she’d recently discovered her submissive side with a dominant she’d referred to fondly as Master Ford. Right now, Lex was zonked out on anti-anxiety medication. Let’s pray she doesn’t end up like her pill-popping mother. But I don’t think that’ll happen. She just hates the idea of being cramped on this flying tin can as much as I do. Her curvy caboose barely fits in the seat.
To top it all off like a vodka floater shot, my very best friend (VBF) Vive Farnworth sitting in 12D is buzzed. Ever since our recent incarceration over an accidental explosion at Lex’s penthouse, Vive’s been tossing ‘em back, more than usual.
We’d only been locked up for a day or so. Not six months, like the time before when we’d all been accused of murder and spent a semester in juvie. I’ll get into that, much later.
In addition to my flip-flops wanna know what else I hate? The Caribbean! For reasons I’ll elaborate on in just a second. However, I’ll give ‘ya a clue. It starts with the letter “c” and sounds like “trash.”
Now, if someone, anyone, maybe even you, had told me that by the time I turned eighteen my parents, Countess Irma and Joseph Graf Brillford, would’ve disowned me as their only daughter—leaving me unable to pay for the Ivy League education I’d busted my boarding school ass to get into—I’d roll my green eyes, chug a can of Redbull, and offer, “May you never drown in a vat of dog semen, thank you and buh-bye.” And by never, I mean forever and always.
Sure I’m pissy over my folk’s wrongdoings. One might say, since the age of thirteen, after my father’s DNA test didn’t match my own, I’d seen that shizzicane coming. So did my BFF.
Once Lex and I were shipped off to boarding school, we were out that door quicker than a yellow cab gunning it down Park Avenue. But being without any family never gets easy.
Who gets comfortable with having no parents?
The less than über wealthy call it being orphaned. My folks had used boarding school at Avon Porter as foster care when they gave me away. Whatever!
The school’s therapist had suggested, “Tabitha, forgive and forget. That’s what you need to do in order to move on with your life.”
Kinda hard to do when your parents never asked for, nor did they ever want, forgiveness.
And how could I forget?
College starts in less than a week. If I don’t get the money, Columbia University won’t allow me in class with my besties. I can’t imagine not going to school with them. I’ll die.
Lex, Blake, and Vive know this, and offered to help. They all have buckets of money. Always have, always will.
I’ve got nothing but my pride. I can’t take a hand out. Instead, I took this job. and they came along. We do everything together.
If someone, anyone, maybe even you would’ve also told me that I’d turn to the mind numbing job of fashion modeling to make my tuition payments, jetting on a twin-turboprop aircraft from Miami to Martinique for Europe’s snootiest magazine, Claire La Femme with three of the hottest Frenchmen I’d ever met in my entire life, I would’ve puffed on a cigarette, still sipped that can of Redbull and said, “Get the hellaboo outta here!” I certainly would’ve thrown one of these hideous flip-flops at ‘ya too.
Modeling, sounds like fun, eh? That’s what they all say.
I loathe models, let alone me modeling. I’m no dummy.
Sweet brainy Jesus, this past June I graduated top of my class from Avon Porter. My name is Taddy Brill. Teachers hadn’t called me Taddy Brilliant for nothing. Wink!
I’m sure if I hadn’t spent six long months in juvie my junior year, taking the blame for my VBF’s mistake, I would’ve gotten a scholarship for college. Ha! That would so never happen now. Not with my name attached to my group of friends. In the eyes of the press, we’d been labeled tabloid girls, spoiled brats, and troubled teens. We’d heard it all.
None of it was true. Well…not entirely.
Notably, there’s only one thing I dislike more than these itty bitty planes, flip-flops, the Caribbean, and the world of fashion modeling.
Take a guess.
It’s high-flatulent Frenchmen with their noses stuck up in the air, talking with thick accents sounding like some Grey Poupon commercial. I’m speaking about Gustave Le Cartier, Fabian Henri, and Leon Lartique who are seated inches away from us in 11A, 11B, and 11C.
Yes, the men whose ears I wanted to suck on, shoulders I imagined my legs wrapped around, while they drilled deep inside of me. Oh and that hair. Wavy. Dark. I so wanted to run my fingers through it.
My eyes rolled into the back of my head at the mere thought of it all.
If I leaned forward and to the right, I could get a whiff of Leon. Mmm. Green and citrus!
And when I turned my nose more to the left, the spicy smell of Gustave hit my senses. He made every follicle on my body, even the freshly waxed parts, stand on end.
Then there’s the heady flowery aroma of Fabian that I hadn’t been able to put my perfume-loving finger on yet, but I would. Give me time, I’ll get to Fabian in a minute. He fascinates me.
Blake had teased the guys all week. Over dinner he’d said, “Excuse me fellas, do any of you have any Grey Poupon?”
In response, Vive had cackled. So loud it jarred sensitive Fabian into a flinch. Typically that’s what happened every time she started one of her long-ass laughs, which usually ended with a snort.
“Pardon moi?” Gustave just didn’t get our jokes.
Either that or he couldn’t fathom anyone poking fun at them. After all, they were each, in their own way, heat-inducing and utterly panty-melting. Perfection! Any sight of them made my nipples hard, almost as bad as Lex’s. She had some nipple distend problem but had refused to wear pasties over ‘em. I try really hard not to stare. But sometimes I do, and then I get the giggles. Then Vive will start in on her cackling, and Lex cries.
Note to self: don’t stare at Lex’s nipples when we get to Martinique.
Gustave is the boss and head photographer. From Yves Saint Laurent to Dior, he’s shot every important campaign out there. With a great eye for pictures, he’s the talent. He’s also major machismo and a conceited b-hole.
Oh…I imagine him sexually in that mind-fuckery way, where the couple hate-fucks one another like on TV. Not that I’ve ever hated, fucked, or hate-fucked anyone. But that’s the first thing that comes to mind when thinking about Gustave Le Cartier, hate-fucking.
Why does Gustave flood my mind with such perversion?
He ignores me, causing me to hate him. Since he knows I’m not his fan, he hates me back. Gustave treats me like I’m one of the props on his set. Regardless, I lust after him anyway. When I’d shown up to the Miami studio with my besties, I was in awe over how he took control of the crew, the room, everything. In charge, he thrived on power and was good at calling the shots.
“Separate your lips, Red. Don’t smile,” he’d instructed while snapping his camera. “That’s it, Red. Narrow your eyes. Make them sparkle.”
Gustave had given me the nickname “Red” after my hair, I guess. He’d called me that all week. At first, I was utterly insulted. Why not address me by my name? As the hours progressed into days and the days into a week, he kept ordering me around, posing my body into various positions saying, “Red, this,” and “Red, that.” It became powerfully erotic.
Red!
During a break, I’d said to Vive, “Sweet baby Gus, I would just love for him to take me from behind and let my body go where my mind is.”
“And where’s that, honey?” Vive had asked, eyeing him more fiercely than I did.
“On his darn dick,” I muttered in a low voice so he wouldn’t hear us. Not that he was paying me any attention. “It has to be monsterous.”
“No kidding, girlie. With an ego like his, how could it not?” Vive had spoken from her previous sex experience.
Until a few weeks ago, Vive was the only one out of the four of us who’d lost “it.” Then our BFF Lex joined the-ladies-who-love-to-love club. Now it was Blake’s butt and my vagina which were alone in the corner waiting for TLC-n-probing.
Second in command for Claire La Femme is Fabian. He’s all things creative. His voice makes my eardrums come buckets. No joke. He’ll say, “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Taddy.”
Every fiber of my body trembles when I hear him speak. Often my name rolls off Fabian’s long, wicked tongue as if it’s spelled with two b’s and not two d’s. He almost purrs when he talks to me. I swear, he does, like I’m some long-haired kitten. Well Fabian, you can pet me anytime ‘ya like. Meow!
However, I’m pretty sure Fabian is a bisexual or possibly a homosexual with shame issues. Yup, I love my gays. Don’t get me wrong. However, bisexual? Come on. What is this, the 90’s?
Straights and gays had to choose. Why shouldn’t they?
While pondering over a man’s bisexuality and which way Fabian’s wind blew, I’d said to Blake back when we were in Sobe, “The whole act is kinda piggy to me, doing whomever they please, whenever they feel, sticking their cock into whatever they want.”
Blake blinked his blue eyes at me submissively and said, “When one looks like Fabian Henry, they can pretty much do anything they want, with whomever they please.” My GBF was almost jealous of Fabian’s sexual confidence. At eighteen, Blake hadn’t hit his stride yet, but he was getting there.
Any sight of Fabian, let alone sitting behind him on this very plane as I was right now, sexually frustrated me from head to toe. I just wanna scream, “Enough already!”
Fabian drips testosterone and a faint hint of a softness, making him approachable. Dare I say, almost loveable? Hence why he smells sorta flowery, at least to me he does. Like rose and musk, unisex and flirty. I want to lick him.
“I’m too old for this high school gay confusion stuff,” I’d declared in exhaustion.
Blake had flashed his pearly whites and said, “You remember, I came out of the closet when I was sixteen. My parents didn’t talk to me for months.”
“That’s what happens when we’re in boarding school, darling. Our parents can come and go from our lives whenever it’s convenient for them.”
“But they came around. So if my New England, Volvo-driving, Episcopalian family can get behind my lifestyle than I’m sure, if Fabian is a ding-a-ling lover, he can bust those French doors wide open too.” Blake’s voice spoke with more sarcasm than usual.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just because he’s European doesn’t mean the dude’s gay. French men are not like American men, Taddy.” Blake may be an anal sex virgin but he sure is smart. Avon Porter’s Global Cultures class had done that to us.
“True. I bet all that beer and football we have here in the states makes us appear like animals to guys in other parts of the world.”
“God, I love America.” Blake never missed a Giants game.
Sports and alcohol aside, how do I know Fabian likes the company of other men?
Well for starters, he won’t take his dark, magnetic eyes off my GBF. Plus Fabian is superb at doing…my makeup. Regardless, I’d never stereotype a man’s sexual orientation based on how well he blends my eye-shadow to match my long-red hair and peaches-n-cream complexion while getting ready for a photo shoot. Now would I?
By the way, that’s what Fabian had said my skin looks like. Personally I think it’s more a splatter of unfortunate freckles, but I’ll take any compliment those guys give. Come to think of it, that was the only compliment I’d received from them all week.
What-the-flip-ever!
Hmmm, why do I think he’s bisexual and not a homosexual?
When Fabian applies my makeup, he often gets…an erection. Pressing his dick right up against me, he beats my face with a powder-puff. Unintentional, I presume, the erection that is, not the beating.
“Do you like your eyes to appear smoldering, Tabby?” he’d asked, jetting that cock around. Granted he’s always fully dressed and all. Regardless, when it’s hard, it’s visible. Ah-huh, it’s practically in 3-D. In the morning, while he’s curling my hair, I could easily rest my can of Redbull on his bulging crotch as if it were a tabletop. He might as well be naked while he beats my face. His dick jets out, pointing up, waiting for me to unzip his pants and set him free.
Yesterday he’d tested some new waterproof makeup on my face. Fabian had held my jaw with one hand, a mirror with the other, and asked, “Do you like this color, Tabby?”
“I love it.” I stopped correcting him and gave up on T-a-d-d-y days ago. Hell, I wanted to say, “The only thing that’s smoldering on me is the wet spot between my thighs. Who gives a flip about my eyes?” But I didn’t.
Naturally I clenched my legs together in the chair and sat there like a good mannequin. I mean—a nice model. Yes, I bit my lower lip and thought about beating him off while he beat my face ever so perfectly with cornsilk powder.
Would it be wrong of me to come out and ask Fabian to pick me or Blake? Maybe the next time we’re alone I should say, “What’ll it be? Dog or cat? Beef or fish? Ya can’t have both. Not at Taddy’s table or at Tabby’s table either.”
Purrr.
Third in this hunkiness triangle is Leon. He handles the equipment and lighting. Between the three, he’s the most gorgeous. So much so that, this morning over breakfast, Vive had admitted, “Sorry I took so long in the shower. I was having thoughts…”
“About what?” Lex had asked.
“Or whom?” I’d corrected.
“Leon. I can’t get him out of my mind. He’s so muscular, big, and sweet. I’ve never met anyone like Leon Lartique, before.”
Ain’t that the truth!
Lex had giggled, cleared her throat, and said, “Well yesterday, when I was napping, I had thoughts about Leon too.”
“Not your new boyfriend Ford?” I’d asked.
“Him too. The both of them. Together. With me in the middle. That’s why I shoved a pillow between my legs to make it stop.”
Side note, since losing her virginity recently to the hot biker cop Ford, known by the NYPD as Officer Gotti, Lex has turned into a nymphomaniac. Humping him, toys, corners of furniture, and now apparently hotel pillows.
And if we’re all gonna share wet dreams, I’d might as tell them. “While working out on the elliptical earlier, Leon crossed my mind, and I…touched myself.”
“No!”
“I honestly did.” Please, from the time we were thirteen, I’d shared a dorm room with Vive and Lex. Whether it was late in the night under the covers or when we didn’t think anyone was looking, we’d all masturbated in front of one another.
Vive’s a screamer.
Lex is a whimper.
We all knew way more about each other than we cared too. That’s why we were bonded for life. Best friends till the day we die, which may be pretty soon. I’m getting to that in a minute.
“So, we all want Leon.” Vive had summed it up.
The answer was yes. Although I couldn’t figure out if Leon was shy or arrogant. From my vantage point, both traits appeared the same.
Why did I even care? Leon was cute, I’ll give him that. But that hunk of muscle hasn’t said more than two words to me on this entire trip.
I’ve been tempted on many nights at dinner to get up, go sit on Leon’s lap, kiss his face, and let him know if he can’t talk to me with words, we can communicate with our bodies.
That’s how strong my sexual attraction to all of them had been, to the point where I was ready to pounce at any minute. These feelings had shocked the crap outta me. Hello, I’m a young lady. Couldn’t I save the pouncing for my cougar days after husband number two or three has died leaving me his vast fortunes? Wink!
Scared I might do something stupid getting all Demi Moore in the movie Disclosure on their asses, I had to put all of this Gustave-Fabian-Leon-sex appeal aside and focus.
Therefore I’d told my agent Minnie Hightower, “Please don’t book me on another photo-shoot with these Parisian photographers again. I don’t care how much money Claire La Femme is paying me to wear couture. I’m done.”
In Miami, Minnie had sneered over the phone when we’d talked. She’d ever so elegantly condescended, “Miss Brill, you can take the bus back to Manhattan, might take you a few days. Or you can jet over to Martinique, dress expensively with a smile and get your picture taken. You decide. I have a hundred other girls waiting to take your spot. I’ll give you two seconds to make up your mind. One…two…”
And here I was, on this plane, ready for another round of the fashion extravaganza, and not the bus back to the Big Apple.
Puhlease! Minnie didn’t understand the sexual urges looming over me. She had herself a Wall Street husband and Brooklyn lover on the side. From what Lex’s mother Birdie had told me, there was also a special cattle call for her male models held every season. Apparently it took place in Minnie’s bed with her husband, and the lover.
Can you imagine?
Minnie is lucky she didn’t get hurt or poke her eye out. No wonder she pranced around the modeling agency’s office like she had something stuck up her bum. She probably was too sore to walk from the night before.
Speaking of nakedness…in our downtime, at Sobe, the men were nearly in their birthday suits all week long. Hot right? Not! Again, they ignored us. They’d acted like they didn’t speak English. I presume so they wouldn’t have to entertain us when we weren’t working. I hated that.
Three days ago, while Lex, Vive, and I were getting sunscreen at the same place I’d bought my flip-flops, Blake had asked, “Have you girls noticed whenever the sun comes up their shirts come off?” He handed the SPF over to Vive.
“Forget that. What about when the sun goes down?” Vive had sprayed one full coat of the aerosol can all over her legs before adding, “So do their pants.”
Lex had grabbed the can from Vive and said, “Well, it is like a hundred degrees outside, guys.”
“One hundred and two degrees, to be exact,” I’d corrected. Miami during the month of August was such a bad idea. The magazine shot their January winter resort holiday issue now. Who knew they worked so far in advance?
“How else do ‘ya expect them to stay cool?” Lex had admired the view from the hotel gift shop. It was of the Frenchmen in the pool.
They’d worn skimpy, European-cut bathing suits, which made their dicks stand out like diving boards.
“I swear, I’ve never been so sick and tired of staring at three men’s perfectly sculpted bodies and well-hung cocks in my entire life.” Lying through my teeth, I grabbed the lotion and exerted my frustration on the bottle.
Damn. It was empty.
“Why are you in a snit?” Lex had asked, innocently.
“Temptation and I do not work well together. You know I have no self control. Nada. Zilch. I see something I want, I take it.”
“I’m like that about dessert,” Lex had tried to make a joke about her weight. I didn’t like it when she put herself down.
“Taddy, that’s in all aspects of your life, girlie,” Vive had reminded.
“Except when it comes to men. No one can behave that way with the opposite sex.”
“Why not?” Blake had asked.
“I’ll get labeled a slut or a whore. I am neither of the two.”
“That’s sexist and unfair, nevertheless stinkin’ true.” Vive had eyed Blake up and down as if it were his fault, “Men!”
Hopefully they’d come for me. Right? That was my fantasy, being taken by all three of them. If Fabian didn’t have to pick which sex he slept with, why should I have to choose one over the other?
Luckily I’d brought my three besties with me so I wouldn’t feel outnumbered, or lonely—especially since in the eyes of Gustave, Fabian and Leon—I didn’t exist. Only with the lights on, my face made-up, and the camera snapping pics did they notice me.
WTF!
I’m not an object. I’m a girl with needs and desires. Can’t they see that? Don’t they notice how they make my pulses spin and legs shake every time I work with them?
That’s why I’d said to Minnie, “Working alongside these guys is sheer, utter torture. I’ll go to Martinique but this will be my last trip with them. I can’t do it again.”
Let’s get real, I needed the money. This gig paid a small fortune, enough to cover my entire first year of classes at Columbia and living expenses with Vive at the Sherry Netherland. Then I wouldn’t have to resort to dancing on a pole or serving chicken wings while wearing a see-through wife-beater. Not that the two jobs hadn’t crossed my mind.
The chicken joint, while loving my boobs in their uniform, had rejected my resume. No experience! The pole place had told me I wasn’t a good enough dancer to work for them. I’d cried, just a little. Being turned down for a job that you perceived as being your lowest of lows when you went to apply is, in fact, the lowest of all lows one can ever feel. I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. Except for maybe this airline!
Alright, onto the “c” word which rhymes with trash. Get that Imodium handy. Here’s the absolute shitter of shits, and I’m not joking here people….
Oh yes, if someone, anyone, maybe even you, would’ve told me that while working as a model, jetting over the Bermuda Triangle to my next location with three of the sexiest French photography crew in the world, along with my BFF, GBF, and VBF, that all seven of us, along with the fifty or so other passengers on board were going to crash…I would’ve knock your teeth out. But we are. Any second now, Caribba Airways Flight 1728 will smash into the Atlantic Ocean.
Add Yours Truly, Taddy (The Undergrad Years #2) to your TBR shelf on Goodreads here.
