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It’s a warm summer evening, the moon’s shining bright in the dark onyx sky as the stars glisten and twinkle their dazzling brilliance. The females at this party are covered in nothing but tiny shorts and skimpy tops, showing as much flesh as they can possibly get away with without it being illegal. I’m contemplating whether or not I should get a drink to quench my thirst from this incessant heat. When I look up, I find myself surrounded by people I don’t know, except for my best friend, Sarah, who’s sitting next to me and, let’s just say, she’s a little occupied.
I’m the only single person at this party—which is not unusual for me—I’m drained, and it’s starting to get late. To be honest, I’m bored with sitting on my phone scrolling on Instagram waiting for someone to come over and strike up a conversation. I don’t know why I always assume someone will because no one ever does, and I guess that’s on me.
I cough purposely to gain Sarah’s attention through her intimate lip-lock with some random. “I’m gonna head home.” I talk loudly to be heard over the lousy music as her hand flies up in a rapid shooing motion.
I smirk at her inability to talk. “See you at home then,” I state as I stand.
She replies with a thumbs-up, but her lips never leave the guy. Yeah, that’s my cue to leave.
Sarah Carlisle is strikingly gorgeous—long, wavy brown hair, tall, thin, tanned—she’s everything I’m not. The guys love her, and she loves them too. Me, I’m average. Average height. Average blonde hair, average breast size, a little past average on the curvy side. In fact, I’m nothing special. I’m just Jenifer, your average girl-next-door type.
I live in Mornington Vale, California, with Sarah and her entourage of guys who come and go—some staying the night, some for a couple of nights, some for a couple of weeks—depending on how good they are in bed. Sarah’s house, bought by her parents, is medium in size. It’s amazing what you can hear from one end of the house to the other. It doesn’t bother me like it used to, though. The guys are always nice when we bump into each other at all hours of the night. She seems to know how to pick them.
I haven’t had a boyfriend or even a potential boyfriend for nearly three years since, ‘He Who Shall Not Be Named,’ as Sarah calls my ex, stealing the line from Harry Potter. We met when we were eighteen, and we were together for five years. It wasn’t an earth-shattering, breath-stealing relationship. Actually, it couldn’t be further from the truth. He was extremely manipulative and insanely jealous. He controlled every aspect of my life, including my bank account. And, for some reason, he thought it was okay to dish out small amounts of money to me. I could never purchase anything I wanted even though it was my money.
He’d tell me what I could and couldn’t eat for every meal, even down to what snacks I could have. There was even a time when he would set the temperature of my shower. He couldn’t stand me complaining, which I did often, probably due to the fact he dictated my entire life. My self-confidence fell to an all-time low. He would go out partying all the time without me and then yell and scream when I’d question where he’d been and with who. After five years together, submitting to his every command and dealing with his accusations of me betraying him, he strayed and left me for the girl he cheated with.
Even though our relationship was never hearts and flowers, it left me shattered and heartbroken. Because as controlling and demanding as he was, for some stupid reason, I still loved him, and the thought of being without him caused me deep anxiety and hurt.
Since then, I haven’t trusted another man.
I figure if I don’t date, then I can’t get hurt.
It’s as simple as that.
In my dazed and confused state, I slap the phone, wondering why my alarm won’t turn off. Somehow, I open my eyes to another day—a day just like any other. Finally, I check my phone and turn off the incessant beeping. With a big sigh and a stretch, I sit up, taking a couple of minutes to gain my bearings.
I’m exhausted from last night’s party, even though all I did was play on my phone. Out of habit, I get up, pull on my robe, and step out of my room. I’ve learned this is a good idea, since I never know which one of Sarah’s many conquests is going to be in the kitchen. And just as I thought, the guy from the party is here, in his boxer shorts, making coffee. Everything he has to offer is on show, and I can’t help but look at his amazingly sculptured body.
Fuck!
My mouth drops open in shock—yes, that’s right, I have zero self-control!
He turns around catching me gawking at his masculine physique, and my mouth snaps closed. My mood shifts from complete exhaustion to intrigued. I knew he was hot at the party, but now as he stands in our kitchen half-naked, and I have a much better view of him, he’s fucking sexy. His disheveled shoulder-length blond hair makes me want to run my fingers through it. Those green eyes shine brightly in the morning light, capturing my complete attention. Broad shoulders lead down to a stomach that’s ripped like a Greek god. And don’t get me started on his perfectly tanned glowing skin, like something right out of a surfer’s magazine. I bite down on my bottom lip, checking my undeniable lust.
Holy shit!
“Good morning,” he offers knowingly.
“Uh-huh,” I reply nonchalantly, walking past him with my head down and a smile that I hope he doesn’t notice. Making my way to the refrigerator, I attempt to grab some milk for my coffee only to find he’s used the last of it. My mood instantly shifts to annoyance, and I glare at him, holding the carton upside down.
“Sorry, I used all the milk.” He gives me a knowing smile.
“So I see.”
He shrugs, seeming not to know what to say, and takes himself and his coffee back to Sarah’s bedroom.
It’s time to get ready for work—sans coffee—much to my disappointment.
Through the closed door as I’m dressing, Sarah and her Surfer God laugh and fool around in her room. I’m glad she’s having fun.
“Hey, Sarah…” I wait for her to answer, but she doesn’t, so I continue, “I’m leaving for work. Have a great day,” I yell as I walk out of the house to my car to start the commute to work in my new Chevy Spark. I love my car, especially since its paintwork is in my favorite color—pink.
First stop this morning—coffee.
McDonald’s drive-through calls my name, so I pull in and place my order.
“Would you like anything else with your order today?” the cashier asks through the window.
