Avery Aster's Blog, page 16

Chapter Two: Mister Softee

Chapter Two

Mister Softee

“Lex-a-licious!” Taddy picked up on the first ring.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Vive and I are at Bergdorf’s. They have that angora sweater Christina Ricci wore in Teen Vogue. I fricking L-U-V it. There are no dark colors in your size. Want me to ask the sales guy if they can custom order you one? I’m buying it in red, for myself. Oh my Lord & Taylor, we are having a fabu day getting our clothes for school. Before the BG, we shared a Nicoise salad at Le Bernardin. Vive ordered a Cosmo and got her dumb butt carded. Vive woulda been fine too, if she hadn’t acted all Farnworth-liquor-heiress righteous and proceeded to tell the waiter how to train the bartender on the specific way to shake her Cosmo. Can you believe her?”

“Yes,” I muttered, trying to get into this conversation.

“I wanted to crawl under the table and die. Instead we drank Diet Cherry Pepsi. So embarrassing! Let’s be serious, girl. We need to buy fake ID’s for going out to bars and stuff. Yesterday in spin class, Blake told me where he got the driver’s license he uses to get into those gay clubs in Chelsea. I told him to get you and Kelle an ID too. Be warned, if Blake Morgan’s sex life is better than ours I will totally wig the Fendi out on all of you. Whatcha doin’?”

Whoa!

Taddy inhaled deeply and waited for me to yap right back.

I chewed my gum. Salads, shopping, underage drinking, and the idea of sex had put Taddy Brill into serious overdrive. “Mmm.”

There was something comforting about Taddy’s shopping silliness. She’d thought about me.

“Lex love, you want an angora Ricci sweater and a fake ID or not?”

“No. Taddy….” I paused. Errr. A few minutes ago I was doing so good trying to make light of what happened. Never did I imagine I’d get this upset. Or be shaking. Dropping to the floor, I curled up in a ball. The tears fell.

Does anyone ever get used to this crap? There was no shield of protection between me and my parent’s cruddy actions. I wanted to call Carrie Fisher, you know Princess Leia from Star Wars and tell her that I’d relived her semi-autobiographical Postcards from the Edge novel about her childhood with her mother, Debbie Reynolds, but I didn’t have her number.

“Darling, we can skip over to Barney’s and see if they have it in your favorite color, bloody, black, burgundy, whatever the hellaballo you call it. We’ll get ya one. It’s nothing to get upset over.”

I felt my frown invert. Then I laughed, and knew neither Bergdorf’s nor Barney’s has ever carried my size. That was the funniest thing I’d heard all day. “Try Saks or Bloomies women’s department. And my favorite color is called vamp.”

“Get your gorgeous self on your two-wheeler and come uptown. Let’s hang at Bloomies. Oooh, and order that Forty Carrots yogurt you luuuv so much.” Taddy suggested.

See, again, she thought about me. That was love, right there.

“Not today. I gotta—move.” The idea came out so naturally. I knew moving out was the right thing to do.

“Eh?”

Before Taddy could rapid-fire questions, I inquired calmly, “Do you think Vive would let me stay with you girls for a bit. Till school starts?”

Taddy had roomed with Vive at the Sherry Netherland, for free btw. Her parents weren’t helping her with college. They hadn’t paid for her Avon Porter education either. Birdie had covered her tuition for the last few years without Taddy knowing who paid what. Sober Mom wasn’t all bad. Money to her was like vodka, in one hole and out the other. The only thing Mom wanted credit for was her beauty and songs.

“Ummm. Dah!  Of course. Want me to talk to Miss Vive? She’s standin’ right here.”

“No. I merely wanted your thoughts, is all.” I wasn’t comfortable asking for help.

“Ah, huh. You don’t sound too good.”

Yuk. I flung a wad of saliva off on my sleeve, swallowed, and replied, “I’ll live.”

“Is Birdie being her usual self?” Taddy’s voice became serious, “Lex, are you okay? Did something happen?”

“Daddy is in Tokyo. Jack Daniels has been Mom’s only source of nutrition since I’ve moved in. And Kelle came over today and celebrated with her.”

“Nooo.” Taddy screamed so loud that I thought she’d blown-up my phone.

“Yup. They’re on her bed going at it.”

“Holy Mommy Dearest on a wire hanger! That is fugged up.” She muffled the phone for a few seconds and shouted some more.

In the background, I heard Bergdorf’s security team asking her to leave their store if she didn’t calm herself down. Taddy was always getting herself kicked out of there.

The phone sounded as if it had changed hands.

“Lex! Hey girlie, it’s Vive.”

“Hi.”

“Taddy went to go pay for her fuzzy sweater.” Vive giggled. “Honey, I’m sorry to hear about your Mom and Kelle.”

“Me too.” I closed my eyes wishing I’d blend into the carpeting.

“Let me call my driver to haul your wardrobe. We’ll be in Soho within an hour.”

“Really?” I sat up from the floor. “You’re serious?”

“Honey, you wear Chanel. I don’t kid about couture.” Vive cackled.

Farnworth Firewater liquor heiress Viveca Farnworth was the only Avon Porter student who’d talked to me and Taddy when we’d started going there. Labeled “tabloid girls” from the start, everyone had avoided us, except for Vive.

A few years later, the school had gone co-ed, admitting Blake on a scholarship. No one had talked to him either. That’s pretty much how the Fab Four had started.

“Pack up your life. We’ll load it into the limo. There’s a street-bike parking space on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Ninth Street for Vamp. The doorman stands in it all day long, scratching himself. No one uses it.”

“Why not?”

“Honey, who on the Upper East Side rides a friggin’ motorbike?” Vive snorted louder and longer than before. “The spot is all yours. Stay the entire semester. Hedda Hopper will be so happy to have you with us.”

Hedda was a Lhasa Apso that Taddy and I had bought for Vive after our stint in juvie. It was the week her parents had forced her to give up the baby. The pooch didn’t fill the hole in Vive’s heart for the love of her child, but it gave her something to care for. We were like fifteen.

I wiped my eyes. “Thanks, Vive. You and Taddy are the best.”

“Oh and Lex, before I forget—”

“Yes.” I sniveled.

“You’re gonna get through this. Birdie cares for you. She’s just sick. Kelle, on the other hand will be gettin’ a piece of my mind when I see him in my journalism class in a few weeks. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hung up and started packing. From YSL to Gucci, I shoved and stuffed anything and everything that would fit. All the while, I chomped on my gum and highlighted in my head the top ten fears and worst moments of my life. In chronological order, they were:

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.

Fifty minutes later, my toiletries, shoes, and day-evening-school wear were all thrown into nine Louis Vuitton wardrobe trunks. One garment wasn’t going to see the Upper East Side, my striped-stretchy dress, circa childhood from hell. I found that effer in the back of my closet. Birdie must’ve packed it when we’d moved downtown.

“I cannot believe I didn’t burn you ages ago.” Alone, I shouted out loud to the dress as if I were a mad woman, because I was. I carted that rag of bad memories to the bathroom and threw it in the tub.

“Ah-ha!” In the medicine cabinet, I found an aerosol can of StrawberryNet’s Ultra Mega Super-duper Hold Extreme Hairspray. I doused that dress and lit a match. “Burn, baby, burn!”

On my way out, I dumped a shoebox of photos into the inferno too. “I bid you adieu.” They were of Kelle and me from prom, homecoming dance, and our winter formal. It was all there.

Peaceful and quiet, the penthouse seemed unoccupied. Birdie had probably passed out.

I jammed two more nicotine gum pieces in my mouth. Jaw tensing, teeth snapping, I chewed up one mofo of a wad, I imagine no one had ever chewed before or has since.

The elevator doors opened.

Onto the lift I pushed one case in, then two, and so on. I turned back to get my purse and my helmet when “lover boy” approached.

He acted as if he’d arrived mere moments ago.

“Lex.” Puffy lipped and woman-handled, Kelle’s red eyes didn’t make contact with mine. His attempt to kiss me on the cheek failed when I pushed him away from me.

“Get lost Kelle.”

“Whaa?” He played innocent.

“I saw what you and Mom did. For crying out loud, residents as far away as Staten Island could probably hear you two with all that moaning and groaning.”

“Ugh.” He raked his fingers through his light brown hair. Flipping his part from left to right, Kelle stood there, speechless.

“Say something for yourself!” I so wanted to fight. Growing up Easton had taught me to throw punches and kicks.

“Sweets.” He air-pumped his hands in a “let’s calm down, I’m stoned” kinda way. “I came to get you. You were out. Mrs. Easton gave me blow. I got too high. We smoked to chill. The end.”

“Now you’re doing cocaine?” In two short hours he’d gone from gorgeous to hideous, right before my eyes.

“Just a few lines. One thing led to another. Mrs. Easton’s clothes popped off. Mine did too.”

“Popped off?” I repeated his malarkey. Rolling off my tongue, it tasted as if I’d licked Hedda Hopper’s curvy tail, complete and utter dog-do. On instinct, my right foot jetted out. “Hmmm.” I gauged the distance. Kelle needed a kick in the head. I owed him at least that. Dang, he was too darn tall for me to give him one.

“Whaddya want me to say.” He grimaced annoyingly, and in his mind and in his world, I bet he walked on some kind of mythical water, making him impervious to any repercussions.

The urge to hold him under his own Kool-Aid, till every ounce of air had left his lungs, tore at me with temptations ten times stronger than my usual cravings to go to Dylan’s Candy Bar.

Now I understood why women on the TV show “Oh Snapped” had whacked their hubbies in acts of rage and passionate revenge. Their victims had earned it. Regardless, there wasn’t a swimming pool in this Soho high-rise for me to even try drowning his sorry ass.

“Well?” he asked again.

Where would I start with the inventory of things this moron could say to me?

“How ‘bout, I’m sorry?” I suggested. My eyes finally locked with his.

Not only did we both know that “us dating, him taking my Lady V,” was way over, but he wasn’t sorry.

“Lex, no matter what happened, I came for you. Come. Be with me.” In a thick manipulative tone, he beckoned me.

“Go f—”

“Babe, come to Kelle.” With kahunas bigger than coconuts, Kelle caressed his gym-toned chest. Ever so slightly, he lifted up the front edge of his shirt, a smidge, enough to lower my focus from his soon-to-be-busted face onto his cheating body’s six-pack, navel, and happy trail patch.

The blankety-blank knew right there that what he just did always made my scalp tingle, insides flip-n-spark, eyelashes flutter, and Victoria Secret’s oh so wet.

Well, not anymore, sistah!

Sheepishly I held a breath and flashed my teeth giving him a bit of Geri Halliwell’s sexy persona, Ginger Spice from the Spice Girls.

All fake, of course. Oh there’d be more. I still had to get through Baby, Scary, Sporty, and Posh Spice. Trust me, Sporty was my favorite.

Walking over to him, I got all Baby Spice first. I traced my pointer finger over the horse emblem on his Polo shirt. One of the many gifts I’d bought him, months ago, when he’d turned eighteen.

He flexed his pecs when I glided a thumb over the navy blue cotton. Inhaling Mother’s signature perfume, Dirty Birdie on him, more commonly referred to by the fragrance industry as an instant hit. I gave his nips a teasing pinch. He winked. And in those flat green eyes, I saw something fuglier than I’d ever thought possible, narcissism.

Maybe he thought I’d forgive and forget.

What a pigtard.

Good Lord, I wanted to get all Scary Spice and stab him with my vampy nails. But they weren’t acrylic like Taddy’s or jewel-tipped like Vive’s. They weren’t even buffed like Blake’s to scratch up Kelle’s soon-to-be-f’d-up face. Instead, I’d asked him the dreaded question, the one that would either confirm or dismiss my own foolishness.

“Was today your first time screwing my mother?”

His mouth, which had kissed my neck and whispered in my ears—the one I had dreamt one day would go down on me, nibbling slightly on my clit, saying goodbye to Lady V hung wide open.

A thick, pinkish tongue, the one I had fantasized would flick my nipples while in our hotel room overlooking the Champs-Élysées as he thrust his fat cock deep inside me, twitched.

Nothing came out.

Zilch!

Kelle had already said enough. But I still had to hear the answer. Birdie sure as fudge wouldn’t tell me what’s what in a gazillion years.

I grabbed onto his shoulders. I shook. I demanded. I screamed. “Tell me the truth!”

“No. It’s not.” His forehead wrinkled. Amazed by his admission of guilt, I guess.

“Pathetic. That’s what you are.” Drawing my nicotine lips close to Kelle’s wide, hanging-open mouth, I spit my gum and all the Cujo-ish saliva I had built up all afternoon down his silicone-sucking throat.

“You—fat, dumb cunt!” He yelled, gagging and wiping himself.

Hearing those words was worse than any bullet to my heart. More painful than watching Kelle share himself with Mother, and never once with me.

In a flash, I got all Sporty Spice and kneed him in the balls—once, twice.

Bent over with the wind knocked out of him, Kelle grabbed at his nuts. He shouted more of the same mean ugliness at me.

“I want an apology!” Cupping my hands together into one fist, I used all my might, stood on my tippy toes, and down-punched the back of his head.

He dropped to his knees. And then I had my shot.

Bam! I kicked in his once-beautiful face. The buckles on my knee-high biker boots jingled and then ripped his skin worse than any acrylic, jeweled, or buff nail ever could.

Dang that felt good.

Violence was never the answer. However, when used in moderation, it was nothing shy of total fabulousness.

“Fuck Lex.” Up on his feet, he stood taller than I’d ever seen. He charged me.

Feet planted firmly, I stood my ground and kept my blue eyes on his crazy ones.

He slapped the right side of my face then punched my left.

Shit. I flew a foot or two back but managed not to fall. Jeeeez, I thought I’d see stars. And I’d figured those white snowballs might return perhaps, in blizzard form. Candy dots with vibrant colors too. Or at the least, my cheeks would’ve felt stung by a bumble bee.

I felt nothing. No pain. Not the loss off him. Not the stab in my soul from Mom. Why? I guess because after all of this was said and done, I still had me! Tomorrow I’d be eighteen. Life was so much better than this. It had to be.

“Sorry.” Covering his mouth in regret, he muttered that I had every right to hit him and he had never intended to hurt me.

“Whatever.” It was what it was, and what it was, was ugly. He never loved me.

“You and I didn’t have to be like this, Lex. We’d been together for a while. We weren’t having sex.” He buried his fists into his jean pockets.

Why was it that whenever a boy wasn’t getting laid by his girl, he’d use any excuse to destroy her?

“That was your choice. Not mine.” My back straightened.

I hated this subject. I’d tried too many times to seduce him. In the process, I’d lost myself and the love I once had for who I was.

“Lex, look at you. I’m not. I can’t—”

“Shut up, Kelle. We’re over!” Swallowing a scream, I grabbed my purse, riding gloves, and helmet.

“You promised…you’d lose the weight.” Pathetically he defended his right to treat me less than human.

I stepped into the elevator, pushed the button, and said, “My size isn’t of concern to you anymore.”

His arms came wide blocking the doors from closing. He slammed the hold button.

“Stop, I’m done with you.” Ready to ride Vamp out of here, I put my biker gloves on.

But I had to look at Kelle one last time. Not for who I thought he was, but for what he really was. Could someone you’d grown up with, who you’d loved so much been that blinded by Birdie’s fame? I tried to sense if he had any remorse that I might’ve overlooked.

Catching his image in the mirrored interior of the elevator car, he posed and seemed not at all regretful for today, but rather proud of sleeping with her and not me.

While the Queen of Rock must’ve been a huge notch on his belt, he’d given new meaning to her song, “Lucifer’s Mistress.” He truly was the devil in disguise.

Vive had one said, “I wished I had a penis—I’d whip it out and take a leak on him.” She was a little less tactful than Taddy with her words of wisdom.

Anyways, we’d been eating dark chocolate mousse, overhearing some cocky boy trash-talk his girl at The Black Tea Room after she’d asked us what we’d been devouring. The girl had recognized me from before at the women’s department at Saks trying to buy something to wear.

Her face had reddened with humiliation from the way her boyfriend had treated her in front of us. I had been taken aback that she didn’t get up and leave his boney butt. Instead, she’d sat with her guy, had ordered nothing, and watched him eat. All the while he’d lectured her on what she should and should not put in her mouth.

Then and there, I’d promised myself I’d never date a douche bag like him. Little had I realized I’d been desperately dating him all along.

Looking at Kelle in the elevator, loving on himself, I realized even if I were to lose this weight he probably still wouldn’t love me. I finally understood what Vive had meant. Men who use woman do it because it makes them feel better about themselves. They will always treat women as they please but only if we let them. I didn’t get that till now.

“Where are you going?” He noticed my trunks of clothes.

“Some place where I’m loved.” Nudging my helmet against him, I pried his hands off the door.

“Later Easton.” He acted too cool for me and released the hold button.

The panel lights flashed.

“Tell Mom, I said, thank you, for this favor.”

“Huh?” Arms crossed, he stood in the foyer.

“Today, I saw many things go on in that bedroom but protection wasn’t one of them.” My grip on the helmet tightened. I clenched my thighs, ready to unleash the nastiest revenge of all. Yes, worse than anything I’d seen on “Oh Snapped.”

“Mrs. Easton’s eggs are already scrambled and fried.” Kelle laughed.

“Spare me.”

“Rubbers don’t fit right. I hate the way they feel.” Without a care in the world, he walked back into the main room all smug. Goading me, he glanced and pointed at the hallway to Birdie’s room, then back to me and invited, “Join in the fun. Mama’ll show you how it’s done.”

I’d sworn I’d never tell. After today, all bets were off.

“Oh Mister Dolley, it ain’t Mama’s eggs or your lover boy comforts, I’m talking about.” Pushing the ground floor button, I finished, “it’s Birdie’s herpes that’ll get ya.”

The Abercrombie wannabe, Senator’s son, peace of Lhaso Apso crap-on-a-stick, pussy car driving, voluptuous-woman hating, coke-sniffing, MILF’s lover boy, otherwise known as Kelle Sterling Dolley, who’d probably just gotten himself an incurable STD gaped.

“Buh-bye now!” I waved, getting all Posh Spice.

The doors closed and so did this chapter of my life.

Or so I’d hoped….

PS, Don’t wanna talk about the flammability of StrawberryNet’s Ultra Mega Super-duper Hold Extreme Hairspray when burned with a poly-blend fabric and photo paper.

Two words: Ka Boom!

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Riding Desire: Alpha Bad Boy Biker Boxed Set (14 BRAND NEW limited edition contemporary romance books)

Hi Asterettes!

I’ve missed our time together since my release of UNSCRUPULOUS. I had so much fun launching that book. Go Taddy Brill!

I’m back and shaking it up 14 times better than before. I’ve got some fun new friends that I’ve made in my journey. I adore these ladies who’ve contributed to Riding Desire. To start things off I’m going to the first book in the novella trilogy Love, Lex. It includes the Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two and Chapter Three to my blog.

We have contests, prizes and tours taking place all over the web. To see how the Riding Desire action unfolds please follow me on Twitter, like me on Facebook, pin me on Pinterest, and fan me on Goodreads. Are you ready for the ride of your life? Put your helmet on and let’s go!

Here’s a look at the Blurb, Prologue and Chapter One

Cast of Characters: Major Players

Alexandra “Lex” Easton: (17) Motorcycle enthusiast and daughter to famed rockers Eddie & Birdie Easton, Lex intends to party the week away in Paris, France by giving her boyfriend, Kelle Sterling Dolley her virginity.

Tabitha Adelaide “Taddy Brill” Brillford: (18) Emancipated from her parents, Taddy is Lex’s best friend forever and lives with Vive at her apartment on the Upper East Side.

Blake Morgan: (17) Prada fanatic and ‘out’ of the closet since the day puberty struck, Blake is the clique’s gay bestie. He’s also very close to Lex’s mother, Birdie.

Viveca “Vive” Farnworth: (18) Lhaso Apso lover and heiress to Farnworth Firewater Liquor Company, Vive is a party girl who met Lex, Taddy and Blake while in boarding school.

Officer Ford Alessandro-Vollero-Gotti: (21) NYPD motor-cop Ford is inked, jacked like a super hero and eager to make Lex tell the truth about her wrongdoings.

Birdie Easton: (39) Lex’s pill-popping, addicted mother, she suffers from sexual compulsive disorder, is an ‘80’s Playmate and heavy metal icon.

Kelle Sterling Dolley: (18) Lex’s high school sweetheart who’s promised Lex they’d make love just as soon as she lost a little bit of weight.

Part One

Riding a motorbike is just like sex, right?

“Lex rode her Suzuki scooter with a helmet. Her Chanel fashions were always pressed. After graduating from Avon Porter she got into an Ivy League university and was still a virgin. She didn’t do drugs or get drunk. So how could my very best friend (VBF) be the daughter to two of the world’s most infamously eff’d-up partying icons and not be an utter mess? The answer is obvious, you ninny. It’s because of us. We’re her besties.” —Vive Farnworth, wealthiest teenager in New York, socialite and aspiring gossip columnist.

Prologue

From the Desk of Manhattan School for Girls

October, 14, 1988

Dearest Mr. & Mrs. Easton,

I am a huge fan of your music and films. We are honored to have your only daughter, Alexandra, at our school. However, it has come to our attention, that she eats gummy bears and drinks chocolate soda for breakfast. This may be the cause for her outbursts in class which disturb other students. Enclosed is a high-protein, low sugar nutritional handout for a kindergartener of her age and….size.

Yours fondly,

Principle Rooney Belding

 

March, 10, 1993

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Easton,

Today your daughter rode a motorcycle to school, all by herself. While we applaud her independence, a 5-speed Yamaha dirt bike is not permitted. Since Alexandra is ten and not sixteen, she broke the law. Authorities have impounded her wheels. Child services will be in touch.

Take Care,

Principle Rooney Belding

 

June 1, 1996

Mr. & Mrs. Easton,

Alexandra ‘Lex’ is articulate and reading at the college level—outstanding for a thirteen-year-old. Regardless, after the recent physical altercation where she punched another student who admittedly called her fat, coupled by your continued failure to work with Lex on her behavioral issues and the ongoing paparazzi trespassing on our grounds in an attempt to take her picture, she poses a threat to our entire student body. We simply cannot invite her back for the fall term.

I’ve attached a recommendation for Lex to board at the Avon Porter Academy in Connecticut where she’ll be out of the spotlight and protected. Her humor and wittiness in class will be missed.

Goodbye,

Principle Rooney Belding

 

Chapter One

Thanks, Mom, aka Birdie Easton

August, 2002

Soho, New York

“Fuck me!”

Ugh…

Loud, perverse words came from Mom’s bedroom as I stepped off the penthouse elevator into the foyer.

Carrying my Louis Vuitton over my arm, I hooked my motorcycle helmet, a purply fiberglass, biker-chick, must-have accessory, on the wall near the entryway.

“Come to mama, lover boy.” Mom’s words echoed throughout the ten-thousand square-foot floor.

Looking out the window at the sunny, blue skies, I couldn’t believe my mother, Birdie Easton, hooked up again, and so fast. Only gone an hour, I was at the pharmacy stocking up on nicotine gum. Three different Duane Read and two Walgreens later and I’d finally bought some at a bodega. And here I thought I looked over eighteen, so why they’d kept asking me for my ID was infuriating.

Did I, Lex Easton, smoke? Heck no! This gum suppressed my appetite. Only ten or so more pounds to go till my BF and me would be making l’amour in Paris for my eighteenth birthday party with my BFF, VBF, and GBF. Wait let me clarify. Only my BF and I are doing it together. My BFF, VBF and GBF are staying in separate rooms down the hall. Gross.

I sure hope I can shed the weight in twelve-hours before we go. I have to. Losing my virginity, more commonly known amongst my friends as Lady V, depends on it.

While removing my riding gloves, I tried to think back to whether Birdie had a dude stay over last night or not. The piney, ammonia stench of marijuana in the air hinted at her dealer, Don Juan Escobar, as today’s possible “lover boy.”

My father, Eddie Easton, didn’t give a flip who or what Birdie spread for. He was in Asia touring for his new album. Think Elvis Presley meets Gene Simmons, that’s Daddy. Their marriage had been “open” long before they’d had me. But did I have to hear her?

The Prince Street penthouse was more Mom’s place than mine. I’d moved in with her after graduating from the Avon Porter Academy back in June. Although up until a few weeks ago, I’d called boarding school more my home than here. I’m sure Taddy Brill, best friends forever (BFF), Vive Farnworth, very best friend (VBF), and Blake Morgan, gay best friend (GBF), would agree with me.

I’d only been here a few weeks, and already I’d caught her lighting the cashmere sofa on fire while trying to clean out her pipe. Then she’d entertained the New York Fire Department after they’d put her mess out.

Well, the mess was still here, people. Hello!

One might say I’d forgotten about Birdie’s insatiable appetite for the company of men, sometimes women, and yes, many inanimate objects.

Maybe I was in denial. Alright, I was in complete and utter denial about what a reckless, sexually compulsive, whacked-out celebrity Mom had turned into.

Her last album had dropped when I was like twelve. So she has too much free time on her hands to get into trouble. Come to think of it, there was no “turned into” anything. She’d pretty much always been this way. Uh-huh, I’m growing up, seeing things for how they’ve always been. It’s sad.

Thankfully my Daddy had turned down MTV’s offer last year for a reality show. If a camera crew had filmed what went on in this place, my life would’ve been o-v-e-r. Last I’d heard, the network had asked my Father’s music bud Ozzy to do it with his family, the Osbournes.

Rolling my eyes, I pulled my cell out of my stretchy-jeans pocket and noticed the time.

12:10 pm on Saturday.

My boyfriend, Kelle Sterling Dolley should be here soon. Today we are going back-to-school shopping in his new Ferrari. He lives down in the Financial District and claims since we’re going to be starting college up in Morningside Heights, he needs wheels.

Kelle thinks he is too good for a yellow cab, let alone the subway. Pretentious as white trash winning the lottery or my parents once their albums had struck platinum, I told Kelle I wouldn’t be caught dead in his tacky-ass racer. But he got himself one anyways.

He should’ve invested his father’s money wisely—on a motorcycle. That’s how us Easton’s rolled. I wouldn’t have minded if Kelle’s wheels had been new or an antique. It could’ve been a Harley, Ducati or even a freakin’ Honda, just no pussy sports cars.

Vamp is what I named her, my Suzuki scooter. Mechanically speaking, Vamp is not a motorcycle. She’s a single-cylinder, sporty thing with a seat that fits my bum and painted in my favorite color, think dried blood meets dark purple. She coordinates with my short nails.

Whenever I’d beg Daddy to buy me a motorcycle for my eighteenth birthday, he’d reply, “Baby girl your mother and I will get you a new set of wheels after we see your first semester’s grades at Columbia. ‘B’ or higher on all subjects. We clear?”

Please let my first semester go well.

Pretty cray-cray considering how messed up my folks were to be projecting academic righteousness. I’m not their Pollyanna Voodoo Doll, although I’d grown used to it. Those who can’t do, preach.

After Vamp, my dream bike was the Honda VFR400. Birdie had hers custom made in Japan and nicknamed it after her vibrator, The Pocket Rocket. I rode her as often as I could. I’m talking about the bike, not my mom. Ugh, totally gross!

Oh…that throttled feel, such a heady mix of power and diesel fuel pumping through the engine, between my legs, purring at my innocence. After I’ve lost my virginity, Lady V, I imagine future sex with Kelle will be similar to riding The Pocket Rocket. Hopefully minus the constant stop and go between traffic lights.

Back to Kelle—I admit that, when one looks as yummy as him, he could peddle a pink Huffy bike along the West Side Highway and get away with it. So I’m sure he’ll be fine in his Ferrari.

Vive always jokes, “Lex, your Kelle is total gorgeousness! Give ‘em your Lady V already. Or Blake will snatch Kelle’s juicy booty from behind and I’ll take his ding-a-ling from the front.”

And according to The Manhattanite Times, Kell was the hottest teenager to have hailed from an American political family. Granted, most of the boys I’d met over the years, who’d been born into politics had not…been attractive.

I’ve dreamt of, lusted after, kissed on, and doted over Kelle Sterling Dolley since I was like fourteen.

Wouldn’t it be nice if Kelle felt the same way about me? He didn’t. I was working hard to change that. Take this gum, for example. The more I chew, the more I lose, and then the more I’ll win at l’amour with Kelle.

“That’s it. Right there. Tap it hard. Ah-huh. Harder,” Birdie shouted in her drunk or high voice.

Usually, I could tell the difference. Today? Not so much. That meant she was probably a mix of both.

Unzipping my bag I took out a piece of that gum, popped it in my mouth and rolled the wrapper between my fingers. The directions had clearly stated not to chomp all day. So I’d spit it out in a few.

Aside from the excess salivating, that made me appear to be Cujo, the rabid dog, followed by bloating—which I corrected with Gas-X and a spritz of Diorama perfume—the gum wasn’t half bad. Shhh. I didn’t read the second half of the warning label where it had listed the other flu-like symptoms. Seriously, I can’t freak myself out about chewing this stuff. It’s mind over matter and right now my mind was focused on getting skinny and getting laid.

Plus what I jonesed for wasn’t cigarettes. I wanted sweets.

Clothing designer Ralph Lauren’s daughter, Dylan, had opened up a candy shop on the Upper East Side near Vive’s apartment called Dylan’s Candy Bar.

The world’s largest sugar shop served over 5,000 goodies. You go gurl! I effin’ double-hearted that place. Hungry for gummy bears and Sour Patch Kids, I craved a sugary zing like twenty-four-seven. Probably the same way Mom did her cocaine.

Please universe, make my apple fall far away from Birdie’s tree.

“My, my, my.” Birdie moaned, “Now I know what my daughter sees in you, Kelle.”

What?

Un-frickin’-believable! Did Mom just say his name from her bedroom? I nearly peed. True story, I crossed my legs while standing, to brace myself from the utter horrid shock.

“Such a hot MILF.” He grunted like a pig.

A soon to be dead pig—FYI.

In a huff, I tossed my purse to the foyer table. With a thud, it smacked the white marble floor—echoing a boom.

Crap on a yard stick. I’d missed.

Frozen, I stood still and listened to see if Birdie and Kelle had heard me.

“No hands.” Mother bossed.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Easton.”

Squeaky noises started. Then skin-smacking sounds. All of it picked up speed, getting louder and faster. Dirty talk too. And then came what must’ve been spanking.

Grossarama!

A lump swelled in my throat, and it wasn’t from the gum. I wanted to call 911. What would I say?

“Operator, this is Lex Easton. I live at 245 Spring Street. My famous mother is screwing my hawt boyfriend. Can you send a policeman to make them stop?”

Not!

I bet the operator’s first response wouldn’t be to see if I was okay. Oh no. It’d be all, “I love Birdie Easton’s music. Her song “Lucifer’s Mistress” has a special place in my heart.” That’s what she’d probably say.

I hated that song. The lyrics were about doing the nasty with the devil.

Ready to bust it up, I marched across the penthouse, pulling my blonde hair into a ponytail. The gold buckles on my motorcycle boots clanged, bringing to my attention that this was gonna be a smack down. Easton style!

I thought about what I’d say, who I’d tell off first. Birdie was one heck of a fighter. She has the restraining orders to prove it. And Kelle, he stood at six-foot-three and has the body of an NBA Knicks player. Weighing over two hundred pounds, he’d often bragged he could do a thirty-five inch vertical jump and a three-cone drill in 6.5 seconds.

Either way, I’d already lost.

At the end of the brocade wallpapered hall, I spotted the door with its brassy handle wide open, and their ass’s wide out. I stepped closer and watched. I know! Shoot me now.

Magnetic and forceful, their sex pulled me in as some kind of touristy street brawl. One normally witnessed in the Meat Packing District around 3 am on Thursday nights.

You know, with the teens that come in from New Jersey acting all cool-n-craptastic till a Manhattanite bops ‘em on the back of their head with a champagne bottle to remind them to get the heck off our island. Posers!

I must observe this ridiculousness for myself.

Of course Birdie Easton, my Grammy Award-winning, Grey Goose drinking, Oxycodone-popping mother was riding Kelle Sterling Dolley like an Arabian horse charging out of the stables.

Yes, sprawled out on her California King was my boyfriend, the only guy I’d ever given a BJ. Which was the furthest we’d gotten, and that had been his choice, not mine. Clearly, today his body loved banging Mom.

Why wouldn’t he? Identical to Catherine Zeta Jones, Birdie appeared hot-to-trot for her age. I’d always been jelly of Mom’s beauty. It was her substance abuse that was fugly here, people. Not her leather and lace meets diamonds and pearls exterior.

In my almost eighteen years, I’d seen Mom do this, many times before. Totally! Although, not with my boyfriend. That was a new low, even for her.

Normally it was her friend’s husbands. Or sometimes my Daddy’s friend’s wives, my teachers and their spouses, the dentist, our neighbors, the doorman, her limo driver, personal trainer, recording manager, and let’s not forget her fans.

Birdie Easton’s fan club was freakishly ginormous. Sold out years in advance, her annual Madison Square Gardens’ Appreciation Weekend wasn’t coined Gang Bang Birdie for nothing.

But to have Mom screw Kelle, the dude who’d gone to the Connecticut Military Academy down the street from my boarding school—who Taddy, Vive, Blake and me had planned, plotted, and OCD talked about as my first—not to mention the son of Senator Dolley who was on the fast track for the White House, was way worse than crap-flying monkeys.

Uber Devastation….

The stress of this suddenly caused me to see itsy bitsy spots while I stood there. Resembling candy dots on strips of paper, their bright blue and pink tones suddenly faded to yellow and then white. I chewed the gum faster and prayed Mom, Kelle and the spots would all stop.

They didn’t.

Foaming at the mouth, not from what I’d watched but from what I’d chewed, I wiped my lip, and reached into my pocket for another piece.

I’d been going out with Kelle since the tenth grade. He’d reserved my vagina ages ago, like the first week Blake had told me in gym class to shave it. Blake and I had talked a lot about our pubic hair and whether we should trim it short or grow it out and dye it magenta. Bordering on cliché, pubic hair had been a normal go-to gym topic for us.

Kelle’s commitment to my cherry-popping had come with one uber-cray condition. I had to lose a few pounds. Alright, some might say a lot of weight. Friggin-A, I was so close. And our first time was gonna be in Paris. You know, for my birthday.

Avoir France!

Like Elle Woods in the movie Legally Blonde who’d studied her kitty off and passed the LSAT to get into Harvard Law School in hopes her boyfriend would married her—so had I!

Mind you, it was for a Bachelor of Arts in Women’s Studies at Columbia University and Kelle Sterling Dolley was no Warner Huntington III.

Kelle was flippin’ cuter. Waaay cuter. Think Josh Harnett in the movie Pearl Harbor. Holy Hershey Kisses I loved, luved, loooved, loved that movie.

And I wasn’t hoping to get married like Elle Woods neither. I’d merely wanted to get rid of my Lady V. So yes, I’d stalked Kelle from our private schools in Connecticut and had learned he was moving to Manhattan for college. I’d rallied my BFF, VBF and GBF to come along. I’d bribed. I’d begged. We all got in. Some of us were on academic probation with remedial studies, I might add. That would be moi, for math. Don’t wanna talk about it.

Okay, maybe the Legally Blonde analogy was a slight reach.

“Pull my hair. There you go lover boy. Get rough with mama,” Birdie sassed.

A feverish chill swept through me. I stood. I watched. I checked myself.

Sad? Meh!

Angry? A tad. Trust me I’d been through, oh my Godiva, so much worse.

Hurt? I’m sickened over this. No, like literally.

Knowing Mom would never ever do this to me if she’d been sober made it almost easier to swallow. Almost!

Her reply later, when she’d be all crashing down or buzzing back up, would be something to the effect of, “Kitten, its only sex. Grow up.” That’s what she’d say. I know.

And later, when she’d be sober, dryer than a saltine cracker, Birdie always stuck with her tried-and-true, “I have no idea what you are talking about. I did not raise my Alexandra Easton to be a liar. My heart hurts when you tell tall-tales, young lady.”

Notice how Mom had never referred to herself as “Mom” like ever. I was only allowed to call her the M-word when inside this penthouse. Her reasoning had been that it caused premature aging to hear it when out in public. Clearly Birdie’s rule applied to Kelle calling her ‘Mama’ in bed. WTF!

Birdie was so phobic about aging she’d stocked up the entire penthouse with oxygen tanks. She’d nearly given herself an O2 facial mist every day that I’d been here. When Mom wasn’t applying the oxygen to her skin, she was inhaling it, claiming the vapors made her inner body more beautiful.

I was surprised with all of her bong smoking and nitrous oxide tanks lying around she hadn’t blown the roof off this place yet.

Blake was right. I should have never moved back in with my folks while going to school. We should’ve enrolled at Pepperdine University in California. That’s what Taddy had wanted us to do all along and had suggested, “Sweet sorority Jesus. Forget this East Coast shizzicane. I want easy, breezy, beautiful. Darling, let’s go to Malibu…not Manhattan. No one knows us out west.”

Once my Ivy League training wheels to get laid by Kelle Sterling Dolling were rolling, I’d started to pump the brakes. I didn’t want to face those tabloids, chasing me between classes for dirt on my parents or Kelle and his family, again. At Avon Porter we were behind a huge brick wall which had prevented such harassments.

I’d toyed with the idea of registering under an alias so no one knew I was Easton’s daughter. I’d even met with the head of admissions and given them the name Wanda Maximoff, inspired by my favorite Avengers character, Scarlet Witch.

My Dad had approved of the alias, so did his publicist, the president of his record label, and the head of admissions even bought into Wanda Maximoff.

Leave it to my lovely Mom to veto such geniusness. She’d melodramatically argued, “Coming from someone who was robbed of finishing their GED, let alone never having the luxury to attend college, I pray that my only daughter will be proud to walk on campus and show her face.”

Proud? Never Ever!

And Birdie wasn’t robbed of squat. She’d dropped out of high school with the hopes of working as Bo Derrick’s body double in the movie, Bolero.

“Fuuuck. That’s good. So wet. Deeper,” Birdie squealed.

Was it wrong, that after several minutes of witnessing Kelle’s cock jut in and out of Birdie’s mouth, vagina, and anus…I still stood there in horrid disbelief and watched them?

He’d pretty much plugged every hole. WTF! They didn’t even use a condom.

In my overly active mind, I waited for some imaginary teleprompter to light up from the chandelier hanging above her bed and instruct, “Applause!”

They weren’t worthy of a clap. No siree. Now the clap which medical experts referred to as Gonorrhea was a whole other story. Hands down, they both merited that one.

Rolling over onto his side, Kelle submitted to Mom’s diva ways.

Her perfectly sculpted silicone breasts, the ones which had a lingerie brand named after them called Caged Birdie, sold in discount superstores, nearly hypnotized Kelle into titty-land.

“Mrs. Easton, I’m in love with you,” Kelle professed, and suckled on her rosy nipples as if he hadn’t eaten a breast implant in years.

Say whaa!

I-N L-O-V-E?

Poof! My insides dried up. Right there, in that doorway. Someone had taken a Dyson vacuum cleaner, hooked the tube up to my sex, and flipped the dry-vac carpet button.

Was I supposed to witness this?

Maybe the universe brought these two together to remind me to focus on my grades this fall, and not on the boys.

At Avon Porter, all my energy had gone to helping Taddy, Vive, and Blake get through their cray-cray days. Not on my academics, hence my remedial math studies.

From Blake’s coming out about being a cock sucker, his words not mine, to Taddy’s abandonment and emancipation issues with her folks, I’d been rather busy.

Just when I’d thought we were good to study, Vive had gotten herself knocked-up. And then the accidental death of her boyfriend, Sanderloo Konjik, had happened. I know!

All four of us had been arrested, charged in the murder of Sanderloo, and had stood trial. After spending an entire semester at the Fairfield County Juvenile Detention Center where Vive had given birth to her baby, we’d been found innocent of all wrongdoing.

Point being, my swinging parent’s party drama luckily hadn’t compared to any of the above. Vive had won the sash and tiara in that category. Taddy had reigned in second place, and Blake could have third. I’m so fine with Miss Congeniality.

Hmmm I wonder. Now that I’m here in the city if Birdie’s actions will hold me back from pursuing my Ivy League degree? I guess only if I let them. Right?

PS, don’t wanna talk about juvie. You’ll never see me wear the color orange or eat mashed potatoes.

“Suck it, woman. No, I didn’t say you could come yet.” Kelle got his man-game on when Birdie didn’t say she loved him back. Instead, Mom laughed and came everywhere.

If I was under his fifty-something-inch chest and held on to his twenty-something inch waist, while his foot-long dick penetrated me that way, (and not Mother), I’d probably would’ve orgasmed too.

Humping along, they didn’t even notice me. Typical!

The longer they went at it, the sadder it became to watch—two gorgeous people, past their luster, bang one another.

Kelle had peaked our senior year. The kid still wore Abercrombie for Christ’s sake. I imagine he’ll never take that darn military academy class ring off his finger. Not once this summer, had he talked about our future at Columbia University together. His mouth had jabbered on and on about his past Lacrosse games.

The worst was last week. He’d revealed he’d been stealing Viagra from his father’s medicine cabinet to endure what he’d coined “mega-masturbation-marathons.”

That’s like so seventh grade. Forreals!

Standing there, I talked myself out of loving him. Wasn’t that what I was doing?

Taddy had once profoundly stated all adult-like, “You can talk your mind into making your heart feel something. It’s true, darling. If you want to love, you will. And if you want to hate, you shall. But don’t let either of those two emotions get the best of you.”

That’s how she’d healed from her parents disowning her. Her ability to move on had all been a matter of Taddy’s mind, and not a matter of the facts. We were like fourteen!

When you think about it “facts” flub everything up. Regardless, I still felt nauseous.

Sick with the reality of what was before me, this whole—Mom and my boyfriend naked in bed together, having sex, and him telling her he was in love—thing started to sink-in.

The white spots I’d seen went from snowflakes to snowballs. My head pounded as if my heart had moved into my brain. And my stomach, ohhh, ached with abdominal pains. I felt worse than after eating Chinese food from that place down on Canal Street which has a dry cleaning and gold fish shop inside. All I needed next was for my hair to fall out and my arms and legs to snap off.

I backtracked through the penthouse to my wing and shut the door. The anxiety didn’t quit, even with Mom and Kelle out of sight. My hands went numb. Dang, I started having hiccups. Excuse me.

Shoving two more pieces of nicotine gum in my mouth, I wiped the saliva from my chin. The drool was out of control.

I had to do something drastic…murder Kelle, ask Senator Dolley out on a date, race my Vamp scooter off the Brooklyn Bridge and into the Hudson River while wearing an “Eddie Easton’s #1 Fan” concert t-shirt, or…I could sell my Lady V on eBay. So many choices to pick from, how could I decide?

Withdrawing my cell from my pocket, I called the only girl in town that might help me.

My BFF, Taddy Brill.

 

Buy it NOW on Amazon or at Barnes & Nobles

Reviews Contest Winners

 

Holy fudge balls! You ladies showered me with love. Thank you for posting your Undressed and Unscrupulous reviews. I hope you had fun with Taddy, Lex, Blake and Vive. If you haven’t finished reading the novels, don’t stress, you can post at anytime, though the contest has officially ended. Ohhh…before I forget, please add Unsaid to your TBR list on Goodreads here. The release date is TBD but will be sometime this winter.

Are you ready to see who won?

The winners below each will receive (if they haven’t already) a $20.00 gift card. They were picked at random by Cami who organized this amazing contest.

Anna ureta.nicole@gmail.com
Debra debra_verhaegen@hotmail.com
Krystle krystlejustice45@gmail.com
Irina jeff_herman@rogers.com
Reanell reanelltisdale@yahoo.com
Candace candace217@gmail.com
Jane Jane.Barron@hotmail.com

I look forward to seeing you this winter with Blake and Miguel’s romance. I will be giving away a few pre-sale contest items like a Kindle Paperwhite but only to those who have signed-up for my newsletter. Register on this site (see the top right) or click here.

xo, Avery

FAQ on The Manhattanites

You’ve asked a load of questions about UNDRESSED and UNSCRUPULOUS. Such as…

Can a guy really do what Massimo did to Lex with his—nuts
Are Taddy and Lex are sisters
Is Eddie Easton alive and did he fake his own death
Did Blake get a divorce from Diego
Why does Vive drink so much
Will Sheldon have his own romance
Did Kiki give up her virginity to Dejon
Is Waris Sugar music sold in iTunes
What adult film star inspired Manuel Coq de la Grande
Where did you get Taddy Brill’s childhood back-story from
Why do you write about rich people
What vajazzling kits do you suggest I try
Can I be a part of your street team
Do you need beta-readers for your upcoming novel
What is Blake’s romance going to be like
Will Lex and Masi ever get married
Are Taddy and Warner going to move in together
Why are your characters so…crazy
What true life events inspired the Cannes Film Festival balcony scene
Do socialites really color their Shih Tzus’ fur

Stay tuned for these answers…

The Manhattanites Amazon/Goodreads Reviews Contest

The final day to post your reviews on UNSCRUPULOUS & UNDRESSED is September 18th. If you need any assistance in securing a FREE reviews copy please email Avery@AveryAster.com (Subject line your email: I’M A CONTEST JUNKIE!)

Congratulations to those who have already posted their reviews and won. Your $20.00 Amazon gift card is on it’s way. We have two more winner to announce to stay tuned.

Debra in Belgium
Allison *Will never conquer her tbr list*’s
Reanell Tisdale
Irene ~ #teamJavier ~ Mrs. Joe Callahan
TBD
TBD

m/m erotic romance beta-readers wanted

Miguel & Blake

Beta-readers wanted for Blake & Miguel’s M/M erotic romance.

Please email Avery at AveryAster dot com with your Goodreads M/M reviews. Subject line your email: ‘I LUV GAY MEN’

**Readers accepted will be included in a 100.00 cash drawing.**

Note: UNSAID (The Manhattanites #3) is a stand alone, HEA, contemporary erotic romance of 100k words. It contains BDSM, forced submission, water-sports, electricity, grooming fetishes, fisting, high fashion, gossip, M/F subplot and a wedding at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

When you catch up with Blake, Lex, Taddy and Vive in UNSAID this winter someone is…

*a new mom to a six month old boy

*a billionaire

*wanted by the FBI for murder

*getting married to the man of their dreams

*taking care of a pit-bull

*having a fetish for breast milk

*broke and unable to pay their bills

*ready to tell his parents he likes to suck cock

*taking a DNA test

*borrowing Taddy’s gun for protection

*three months pregnant

*getting their bhole sugared (Google it)

*still drinking way too effin’ much

*divorced from a douchebag

*wanting to be tied up, fisted, topped and gang banged. Yup!

 Add UNSAID to your TBR shelf

The Blurb:

Content Warning: Pent-up sexual tension between two best friends leads to water sports, BDSM, electricity, and fisting. Unsaid explores men’s grooming fetishes as well as other unexpected domestic duties including cooking, dog walking and true love.

Book 3 in The Manhattanites series

Unsatisfied with past sexual experience Chelsea’s affluent marketing mogul Blake Morgan III has reemerged from a nasty breakup. His relationship was a frigid disaster beyond repair. He vows to be single—forever. Bruised but still hot in Dolce & Gabbana, he creates his Seven Desires wish list, his sexiest imaginings. Blake soon realizes there’s only one man he may trust to make these uninhibited intentions come to fruition, his best friend Miguel Santana.

Lower East Side multimedia artist extraordinaire Miguel Santana may be known as the cocky Latin stud in the city, but all he’s wanted since college was Blake’s hand in marriage. He was livid when Blake walked down the aisle with the wrong guy. Miguel has his own list titled the Seven Needs which are quite contrary to Blake’s dirty boy deeds. They involve serious commitments, which may leave his new-to-the-singles-scene buddy sprinting for the door, destroying any hopes Miguel has for happiness.

Can these two hunks conquer their intimate fears and love one another as only best friends can? Join the star-studded cast in The Manhattanites series and see for yourself!

The Manhattanites Tour Winners aka LUCKY BIETCHES

Thank you for participating in The Manhattanites tour. Did you have fun? I enjoyed getting to know all of you. I loved tweeting with you. Your emails on how Warner rocked your world and how we all want to be Taddy Brill in our next life made my effin’ month! It’s an honor to share these stories with you. Let’s give it up for Big Daddy and Red! *claps hands*

You’ve asked a load of questions about UNDRESSED and UNSCRUPULOUS. Such as…

Can a guy really do what Massimo did to Lex with his—nuts
Are Taddy and Lex are sisters
Is Eddie Easton alive and did he fake his own death
Did Blake get a divorce from Diego
Why does Vive drink so much
Will Sheldon have his own romance
Did Kiki give up her virginity to Dejon
Is Waris Sugar music sold in iTunes
What adult film star inspired Manuel Coq de la Grande
Where did you get Taddy Brill’s childhood back-story from
Why do you write about rich people
What vajazzling kits do you suggest I try
Can I be a part of your street team
Do you need beta-readers for your upcoming novel
What is Blake’s romance going to be like
Will Lex and Masi ever get married
Are Taddy and Warner going to move in together
Why are your characters so…crazy
What true life events inspired the Cannes Film Festival balcony scene
Do socialites really color their Shih Tzus’ fur

Naturally, I’ve got all the answers to the erotic soap opera. Sign up here and join my newsletter. I’ll be sending out a recap email to you next week with VIP information on the release of the third novel UNSAID with cast updates on The Manhattanites. It’s Blake’s romance.

When you catch up with Blake, Lex, Taddy and Vive in UNSAID someone is…

a new mom to a six month old boy
a billionaire
wanted by the FBI for murder
getting married to the man of their dreams
taking care of a pit-bull
having a fetish for breast milk
broke and unable to pay their bills
ready to tell his parents he likes to suck cock
taking a DNA test
borrowing Taddy’s gun for protection
three months pregnant
getting their bhole sugared (Google it)
still drinking way too effin’ much
divorced from a douchebag
wanting to be tied up, fisted, topped and gang banged. Yup!

Ready for the contest winners? YES! We have some major loot to give away. Below are the names of the winners. If you see your name please email me at Avery at Avery Aster dot com and subject line your email: I’M A CONTEST WHORE. Please allow a few days for me to get you your treats. Marcy M. you are the big cash winner of $200.00. Yes girl, I’m free for dinner if you’d like to treat. HA!

The Manhattanites Tour & Contest Winners

Tweet Your Favorite Quote Contest:

We have a tie. Each will receive $50.00 American Express Gift Card

Tiffany Craig
Renee Giraldy

Congrats Tiffany and Renee. Your tweets while you read Unscrupulous were…hilarious!

 

Unscrupulous Pre-Sale Tour

First prize: a $50.00 American Express gift card.

Veronica V/chaotickarma23 at gmail dot com

 

Second prize: your name in Avery Aster’s upcoming novel; Unsaid (#3 The Manhattanites)

Sierra M./stamper_sierra at yahoo dot com

 

Third prize: ebook of Unscrupulous & Undressed

Jen/jenniferjbf at aol dot com

 

Fourth prize: ebook of Unscrupulous

Corie/coriebrown at charter dot net

 

Unscrupulous Two Week Tour

 

First prize: a $200.00 American Express gift card.

Marcy M./clintmar at grm dot net

 

Second prize: your name in Avery Aster’s upcoming novel; Unsaid (#3 The Manhattanites)

Jennifer C./j_crawford at alumni dot Clemson dot edu

 

Third prize: ebook of Unscrupulous & Undressed

Wendy M. wendymote dot yahoo.com

 

Fourth prize: ebook of Unscrupulous

Zandalee zandamarie at yahoo dot com

 

Fifth prize: ebook of Undressed

Vanessa N. swmshophbchik at yahoo dot com

 

Unscrupulous Release Day Blitz

(Amazon $25.00 gift card)

 

Mya Murphy/myamurphy at mail dot com
Crystal S./ladybug0121550 at yahoo dot com

 

Undressed Price Drop Blitz

(Amazon $25.00 gift card)

 

Barrie M./books4me67 at ymail dot com
Lou B./cburkhart.1980 at gmail dot com

 

Amazon/Goodreads Reviews Contest

($20.00 Amazon gift card)

NOTE: This contest is still running till September 15th

Debra in Belgium
Allison *Will never conquer her tbr list*’s
Reanell Tisdale
Irene ~ #teamJavier ~ Mrs. Joe Callahan
TBD
TBD

Links to enhance your reading experience with Unscrupulous

If you're currently reading Unscrupulous (The Manhattanites #2) check out these links. They may enhance your reading experience.

Celebrity Dream Cast
http://averyaster.com/celebrity-dream...

Reader Discussion Questions
http://averyaster.com/unscrupulous/

The Goodreads Buddy Read
http://averyaster.com/join-the-goodre...

Question: Is adult film star Manuel Coq de la Grande in Unscrupulous real?
http://averyaster.com/reader-question...

Twenty Five New Yorker Insights Learned from Unscrupulous
http://averyaster.com/readers-share-t...

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http://averyaster.com/excerpt-chapter...

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Avery Aster

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Check out what the peeps at Goodreads are saying about Unscrupulous!

Here are some of my favorite reader responses:

  Brilliantly written with just the right amount of hotness, sexiness, humor and romance.

Warner is my new hot billionaire book boyfriend for sure and Taddy is my new BFF. Thanks Avery.

Gear up ladies because Warner is here to grab you by the ovaries!! Resistance is futile.

Witty, sexy, ballsy, charming, dominant…all of these describe any one of the characters in this book and it made me love them even more.

Trust me ladies you will want to meet Warner and his “anaconda”!

So expect for laughing, Taddypedia research, porn alike, 8 pack private man but way too romantic but ain’t cheesy, frienships/family, a lot of Red.

This book, this book, this book! What’s not to love about this book! Unscrupulous was funny, witty, sexy, and HOT as Hell.

There were moments I was laughing so hard I thought I may have wet myself, and other that had me rushing for a cold shower.

Filled with super hot moments and sparkling dialogue the story draws the reader in grabs you and doesn’t let go.

GET THIS BOOK! LOCK YOURSELF AWAY AND DONT COME OUT TILL IT’S READ.

After reading this incredible story, I definitely want to hang (and party) with these wonderful women and men!

An amazing love story about women who speak their mind and go after what they want.

  Avery Aster you have a new fan. What an entertaining read. I found myself laughing, crying & jumping for joy with & for these characters.

The first book was fantastic… This one is super amazing!! There should be a new word for how good it is.

Join the Goodreads Buddy Read today and chat about The Manhattanites with others CLICK HERE TO CHAT.

 

Reader Question: Is adult film star Manuel Coq de la Grande in Unscrupulous real?

You’ve all asked if adult film star Manuel Coq de la Grande in Unscrupulous (The Manhatttanites #2) is real. Answer: NO! Not really. But…he was inspired by four time AVN Male Performer of the Year award winner…(drum roll)…Manuel Ferrara! Hello. He has the best love scenes ever. His girls always have REAL orgasms on camera. You will twerk your hips watching him. I’ve pasted some pics of Manuel below. I’ve also added some text that talks about it in Unscrupulous.

Excerpt: Chapter Eight, Dominatrix Queen-Dick Dupree, May 14, Times Square, New York, NY

*set-up: Taddy is talking to her virgin Mormon assistant Kiki about her love for adult films

“Ladies may not admit this, but they do.” She cracked open the Coke Zero on her desk, popped two white tablets in her mouth and swigged. Aah. Kiki is driving me loopy. Please, God, give me strength. Give me one flippin’ day off. Just one. That’s all I ask for. Didn’t you rest on Sunday?

“Such as?” Kiki sat back in her chair, making herself more comfortable.

“My love for porn as an example,” Taddy blurted it out without realizing her audience. It had been ages since she’d turned on her TV, but goodness, how she enjoyed a raunchy DILF video now and again.

Eyes wide, Kiki requested, “May I get personal with you for a minute?”

Taddy nodded. This better be good.

“I’ve never seen an X-rated video.”

“Get the Hail Mary outta here.”

“Pornography is prohibited by our church.”

“So…if you watch a dirty film, will a Mormon van pick your virgin butt up and haul you away to an LDS mission?

“No! Miss Brill. You’re funny.” Kiki laughed then lowered her voice. “What male porn stars do you watch?”

Without giving it a second thought, she answered, “Manuel Coq de la Grande, he’s beefy and goes at it. You will too when you see him.”

Kiki gripped her pen, jotting the porn star suggestion down.

Hmmmm.

“How does Mr. Coq de la Grande do it for you?”

“Keep in mind I’ve never even met Manuel let alone slept with him, but I have watched every movie he’s ever done.” Again, she reached for her Coke Zero. “Manuel has girth.” She took another sip and continued, “I assume Manuel is like this tin can here. I can’t get my hands all the way around, let alone have such width rammed in my mouth, shoved up my rear or screwing my privates.”

Kiki uncrossed her legs with a muffled gasp.

Taddy returned the tin can to the table. “Manuel’s sweet, yet rough in bed, and he always stares deep into the woman’s eyes while she comes.”

Her assistant fanned herself with her notebook. “I…see.”

“Manuel speaks French.” She laughed then added, “It’s good for women to fantasize—keeps the juices flowing.” For a nanosecond, she shut her eyes, envisioned Manuel grabbing her by her red hair—in a respectable way—and slapping her porcelain skin firmly on the cheeks and giving her a slight neck-grabbing choke. Some women considered striking the face open palmed and choking abusive and humiliating. On the contrary, Taddy knew better. A smack suited Manuel’s unique way of ensuring his Red paid attention. Most women, she imagined, when sleeping with Manuel would get lost in their own euphoric Candy Land with floating honey clouds passing them by.

Ignoring Kiki’s Chicken Little squabble, she tugged at her bra straps. She reached under her desk without notice and rubbed her hands over her tweed Chanel skirt. Massaging herself, she thought about Manuel—twisting her nipples—pounding her ass—banging her clit. Go, Red, go. God, screw one day off, I need a weekend. Please, Lord, give me a whole weekend.