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That’s not a lie. I lost my virginity the summer before our freshman year. We went to our first high school party and Gavin Blackwell took me upstairs. It took him all of two-point-five seconds to finish and he left me there afterwards. I’ve made out with some guys since then, even let them get to second base, but I’ve never had anyone make me want to go beyond that.
Rumor is, I let the entire baseball team have their turn with me at last summer’s big bash. That’s all it is though. A rumor. I let them talk. There’s no sense in trying to argue with the lies that float around school.
“That’s your problem. Let me point you in the direction of some guys that know what they’re doing.”
“Gross. I don’t want to have sex with someone you’ve already had sex with.”
“Why not? Sharing is caring.” She laughs.
“There’s something wrong with you.”
“And you’ve just figured this out?” She flips me off, and I laugh, following her into the house.
“I’m going upstairs to pass out. There’s a party down at the lake house tonight. I need my beauty rest before we go.” I watch her make her way upstairs.
I hate parties at the lake house. Cam always finds someone to hook up with and I’m left alone to fend for myself until she’s ready to go. Sometimes that means I find some guy to make out with. While other times it means I literally sit in a corner alone until she grows bored.
I make my way towards her kitchen, hoping to find something to snack on and then something to watch on T.V. before she wakes up.
I’ve made myself comfortable in the living room with some apple slices and a bottle of water, when I hear the front door open. That’s odd. It’s not one of the days her parents are typically home.
“I see this family just lets anyone in these days.”
Cole Garrett.
Cameron’s elusive older brother. He’s finishing up his freshman year of college, or at least, he was supposed to be.
I glance over my shoulder, and I’m nearly knocked off my feet. I haven’t seen Cole since our sophomore year. He didn’t come home for the summer trip last year, deciding to head up to college early. He’s still just as gorgeous as he ever was. Tall, broad shoulders, and arm muscles that can’t even be hidden in his dark T-shirt. His hair is a little longer than it used to be––it’s floppy on the top of his head just begging for someone to run their fingers through it. My eyes travel down his face. He has these hard, cold eyes, and a small dimple on his cheek that makes him appear more approachable than he really is.
He reminds me of Scott Eastwood––you know, if he was scarier and had no heart.
“Well, I am family,” I finally say.
“You keep telling yourself that.” He smirks.
“I’m around a lot more than you are,” I point out.
“Yeah, because they can’t get rid of you, princess,” he says, before turning around to leave the room.
Princess. I hate that nickname. It’s not endearing. It’s something you call someone that you feel is spoiled or thinks too highly of themselves. That’s not me by a long shot, but Cole wouldn’t know that because he knows nothing about me.
I sigh, turning back to my show, unable to concentrate because I’m letting him get under my skin. Does Cam’s family really feel like they can’t get rid of me? Maybe I’ve overstayed my welcome and they’re just too afraid to tell me?
I hate that I’m like this. So insecure that I let a few words from an asshole get to me.
“CHARLIE!” I hear Cam shout from upstairs. I guess her nap is over.
I make my way towards the stairs, stopping to glance in Cole’s direction in the kitchen. He’s got some blonde pinned up against the kitchen counter. I didn’t even realize someone else came inside with him. She’s giggling, and his face is buried in her neck. He glances up at me, smirking. I shoot him a disgusted look and head upstairs, wishing I was as disgusted as I just pretended to be.
“We need to get ready. What took you so long?” Cam asks, dramatically draping herself across her bed.
I roll my eyes, walking towards her closet.
“Oh, no thanks. I’ll pick my outfit,” she says, getting up from the bed and joining me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, offended.
“You look like a pastor’s wife,” she responds, looking me over.
