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Chapter One
He’s actually kind of goofy looking.
I thought to myself as my feet scuffed the gray utility carpet along the rows of books in the library. I shouldn’t have cared. After all, he was with Amanda, my arch enemy and not me. I didn’t even know his name. I wasn’t interested even if he was tall and built like a truck. His eyes were too round, like two lifeless marbles and they were too close together. On top of that, he always looked like he needed a shave. Not in that sexy billionaire that makes-your-panties-wet kind of way, either. More like a drunk that just rolled out of bed and put on whatever clothes he found on the floor for another day.
That wouldn’t stop Amanda, though, not for one minute, even if he did have on the same gym clothes from the day before. She’d made a plan, a bet of some kind, back in our freshman days, that she could fuck a guy in every part of the campus. Not just any guy would do for Miss Amanda. She was determined to be the head cheerleader for Piedmont University’s football team back then and now that she was, she would only fuck the top athletes of all types, don’t you know? So far, she’d worked her way through quite a few buildings, and quite a few guys. But that wasn’t why I hated her.
Nope, I hated her because she was a grade-A bitch and had been from day one. Back in our first days here, she’d taken a dislike to me because I stupidly asked her first-planned conquest which building my class was in. I missed orientation and the first day of class, due to a very nasty cold, and I still hadn’t learned which buildings my classes were in. They all looked the same to me and I couldn’t tell them apart.
I’m still not sure why she’d been so angry with me. I’d looked like complete and utter shit that day. I’d felt like it too, but she’d still been pissed off about my intrusion. She’d stood there clinging to his arm like her life depended on it and glared at me. I didn’t care. I’d asked the guy with a school football jacket on if he knew where the building was, and for that, I’d paid the consequences ever since.
I soon found out we were both majoring in communications and that we had many of the same classes together. She’d grinned at me maliciously later that day when she’d walked into the class -- I’d managed to find my way to without help -- and saw me at the back row of seats.
A few weeks later, she came up to me with a big smile on her face. I expected her to torment me, but she asked, or rather demanded, “Help me with classes. Help me pass the year. Then, I’ll help you.” She cut her eyes at me, as she said the last sentence.
I was perplexed, help me with what?
“You want a man, don’t you? I think I can do,” She paused to wave her hands around as her face scrunched up with distaste, “something with you.”
She didn’t look convinced. I wasn’t either.
“Fine, be here tomorrow at four and we’ll get started.”
I nodded like a little girl in the principal’s office. It was crazy, I’d just started college and I had no friends as I did back home and she’d offered the chance to be my friend and for me to finally have a guy.
I couldn’t say no.
So, like a good choir girl, I helped her. Every day. After class. Even if at times when she wanted me to do her assignments. I still helped her along. Until she failed her first quiz. Sure, that was my fault. Never mind the fact that she clearly didn’t study. I should have been relieved, I was doing her assignments as well as my own and working in the library and it was starting to wear me down. Not only because it was taking so much time, but because I was helping her and there was no way that she was doing anything for me.
The crazy part was that I felt some part of belonging just by hanging out with her. Even if we weren’t officially hanging out. I didn’t feel like a stranger on campus anymore. The invisible girl. Amanda wasn’t happy yet again and for some reason, her playtime had officially begun.
Over the last four years, she’d made fun of me, started rumors about me, and had made me the feature of her blog. She’d changed my name slightly, and when she used pictures of me, she blurred my face, thankfully, but everybody on campus knew that Nikki Can’t Get Fucked was a blog all about me.
My virginity felt like it was there for everyone to laugh at me.
