Brendan Clark doesn't know I exist. But tonight, I'm going to change that. For the first time in four painfully long years, he's single. I've been waiting for this, my heart racing every time I see him. I finally have a chance and I'm going to take it. Tonight I will touch those kissable lips... and he'll see it, too - that we're meant for each other. If only I can stop shaking...
First off I want to say this: I have read Sabrina Lacey books in the past and loved them. I love her work as a writer/author. I just didn't care for this book.
The plot was okay. Although I struggled to finish the book.
The book itself was okay. I wouldn't get excited over it. I had trouble following along I felt it was all over the place at times.
Just when I would get into the story, it went on to something else. I felt there were gaps?
I will still read books by Sabrina Lacey just not this series as it wasn't for me.
Totally over stupidity-saturated college parties like this one.
Wishing I was back in bed. Still heavy, heavy, heavy in my Goth
phase. If you don’t like it you can fuck right off.
I ask Corrine, “Why did I come to this stupid thing again?” as
she snakes her way through too many faces I pretend not to know.
These people are all friends (ish) with her, but with me? Not so
“You came because I made you! You can’t stay stuck behind a
computer every night, Annie! How are you ever going to get laid?”
She throws a look my way that says I should know these things.
“You mean fall in love. How am I ever going to fall in love,”
I correct her. Even with the dyed black hair, black lipstick, black
wardrobe – I’m a hopeless romantic.
She snorts disapproval and stands up on the toes of her already
high-heels so she can peek over the mass of stupid. “I see booze!
“I can’t wait.”
My hand gets encased in hers and I am dragged by force. Corinne is
the sitting-on-the-back-of-a-motorcycle kind of beautiful. No tiaras
for this one. She’ll wear pink, but it’s gotta be hot pink. Her
hair isn’t just dyed blonde, it’s platinum. Her jewelry is a
little too heavily applied, as is her red lipstick. Makeup around her
green eyes is the only thing she keeps low-key. She’s a little bit
on the trashy side and I really like that about her. You wouldn’t
catch me dead around a pastel-wearing girlie-girl. Corinne’s not
afraid to swear, get dirty, and be maybe a lot slutty. Vicariously, I
live through her wild side. She’s fine with that, because everyone
needs a cheerleader and I’m her biggest. I just cheer from behind a
sarcastic grin and dry witticisms, that’s all.
When we get to the multitude of inebriation materials, she turns to
me. “Falling in love is an antiquated notion. We don’t need men.
They need us. We center them. And from them, we get sex. Hot sex, if
we’re lucky. And if we’re not lucky, we move on.”
I watch her grab the gin bottle, and I almost scream, “No! No gin.
I can’t even think of gin without vomiting up the last three years
of my life.”
She drops it back to the table. “Oh yeah. That was a fun night. If
fun equals a nightmare. How ‘bout this?” She holds up a bottle
that says Chopin. I lean in closer and see that it’s some
highfalutin vodka. “This good?”
I shrug. “Let’s give it a shot.”
“Uh oh.” My tone is as dry as a scone left out for five days and
then two more. “We’re doing shots. Great.”
Corinne pours while talking. “Look, you. You’re making
Marilyn Manson jealous with that outfit. Your social skills are
bested by mutes. We need to loosen you up if we’re going to get you
any action – like EVER.”
My tongue plays with the roof of my mouth as I suck on her game plan.
“Why do you even hang out with me?”
“Because I love you, Squid. And you make me feel good when I’m
around you. You get me, and you don’t judge. Do you know how rare
that is?” She calls me squid because of the black hair dye I’m
addicted to. I’m naturally strawberry blonde and even though the
lowest percentage of the population is born strawberry blonde – I
could give a fuck. It’s too puppies, kittens and roses for me.
“That’s very sweet. I may throw up.” We tap our cups together
with no celebratory clink bouncing back, thanks to the plastic. Very
low end, this party. I vow that when I’m all grown up and have got
my own place, I will have enough glassware to throw a party without
red plastic cups sullying the classy festivities. I drink the vodka
and wince. “Blech… add some cranberry or something?”
With her hand, Corinne shakes her platinum hair and musses it up all
sexy style like she’s readying herself for battle against the
weaker sex, and I don’t mean women. “Hello. Shots aren’t
supposed to taste good. Drink up.”
“Eesh.” I drink it back and cough once. Just once because her
laser-beam eyeballs stop me from making a scene. “Sorry.”
“You’re not a lost cause!” She chuckles. “You’ve still got
these.” She points to my eyes, which – I have to admit – are
probably my best feature. They’re bright cotton candy blue. I am
fond of them. Why do you think I smudge so much eyeliner around them?
“And these!” She reaches out and grabs my boobs, which are
cleverly hidden behind a baggy shirt and jacket, not to mention
several silver stone-pendant necklaces. Each stone has a different
healing property: protection, communication and love. I
fancy myself a bit of a witch. Or spiritual. Or whatever.
“Anybody besides you touches my boobs and I’ll punch them in the
face. And you can let them go now, too.” She laughs and obeys. I’m
not into girls. Neither is Corinne. But I don’t really mind her
grabbing them. Someone’s got to.
“Hey!” she barks at a girl pushing through to the booze-table.
The girl eyeballs her and a silent war is won by neither. Corinne
looks back to me. “Does that include Brendan Clark? Would you punch
him in the face if he did this?” She grabs them again and giggles.
My heart jumps out and kisses her for saying his name. But then it
goes dead all over again and I swat her hands away. “Brendan’s
got a girlfriend, remember?”
Corinne leans in and whispers, “Not anymore. Word is, he dumped her
right before they were supposed to go away and celebrate their
graduation with a good boinking.” She eyes me. “Interesting news,
See this is the problem with friends. They see things you don’t
want them to see. Which means you can’t live in happy denial. I’ve
not told anyone how I feel about Brendan Clark, not even her. But
somehow she spotted me staring at him with my mouth open one too many
times. Ever since, it’s been like dragging Lindsey Lohan to rehab
to get her to drop it.
But still my heart pirouettes throughout my insides at the news.
I blink at Corinne, stunned and speechless. Though, Brendan has all
of my heart, he has no idea who I am. He is beyond out of my league.
I’ve only said “hey” to him once and it was a disaster. I said
it because he said it first. But then it turned out he was talking to
his buddy Mark who was walking up behind me. Needless to say, I
slinked back into the shadows where it’s nice and quiet… and dark
enough for me to cry.
I shrug and look away so she can’t see me lying. “I don’t know
how many times I have to tell you this, Marilyn, but I really
don’t care what Brendan does.” She calls me Squid. I call her
Marilyn after Marilyn Monroe, thanks to her hair and sexy goddess
style. I may have gotten the short end of the nickname stick.
Her eyes narrow and she leans in to see if she can decipher my code.
Avoiding her, I mutter without care, “Yeah. I’m not interested.”
“Not at all?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“He’s walking up behind you.”
“Let’s do another shot.”
Corinne laughs hard and turns to shove that girl out of the way.
Successful, she starts singing “Shots shots shots shots” by the
band LMFAO, and pours way too generously.
I don’t dare look around, but I don’t need to. Before I even lay
eyes on Brendan, I hear his voice, low and deeper than most other
guys and already my knees feel like noodles. His voice boasts his
advanced levels of testosterone, and the place that aches for him
between my legs moistens instantly. He’s here. He’s walking up
behind me. Now is my chance to talk to him! To let him know I exist.
I eavesdrop and hear him talking about Mendocino, something about a…
“Here you go.” Corinne slides a half-full cup back in my hand and
I lose the last part of what was being said.
I take it from her, head down, focusing hard on the red plastic. I
know that when I turn around, I will be face to face with the man I
plan to have babies with. First I should probably tell him my name.
“Thanks.” I drink it before she even has a chance to toast or
She stares at my speed, reads correctly into it, and whoops loudly,
“Now it’s a party! Here, have another!”
I don’t argue, holding my cup out. I turn my head, say nothing, and
stare at the man I have every intention of marrying. He’s
exchanging words with jerkoff Mark and that asshole Tommy, but all I
can see is Brendan’s mouth moving like the world just slowed down
to make me the happiest girl in it. His lips are so full and pouty,
and his teeth are straight from the braces he still had on during the
beginning of his sophomore year, the I first time I saw him, three
years ago. I was a freshman, and apparently invisible.
Sabrina Lacey is like many women in modern times - she's been a lot of things to a lot of people. A wife, ex-wife, daughter, teacher, stand-up comedienne, wackadoo, loyal friend, fed-up bartender, fashion photographer, lazy bones, bitch, and sweetheart (though less often than bitch). She lives in way too dry Los Angeles where she wishes there was more thunderstorms. Who doesn't love a good thunderstorm...
Pour a nice glass of wine, and enjoy the ride. ;) Cheers!