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1
ASPEN
If you looked up the definition of pathetic, you’d get a picture of me. Actually, scrap that. You wouldn’t just get a picture, you’d get a flashing alert in big red letters saying,WARNING. LOSER. THIS BITCH AIN’T WORTH YOUR TIME. BACK AWAY WHILE YOU STILL CAN!
Okay, so maybe I’m a little harsh on myself, but how else would you describe a twenty-two-year-old college senior who’s sitting alone in her apartment on a Friday night eating ice cream right from the carton? Did I mention this particular college senior just happens to still be a virgin because she’s too hung up on a guy who doesn’t even know she exists?
Pathetic sums it up pretty damn well. Right?
College was supposed to be my wild years. I was supposed to live it up, sleep around, and make all the horrifying memories that I’ll laugh about in the years to come. But graduation is only a handful of months away, and so far, the most daring thing I’ve done is get drunk at a house party, throw up in a garden of rose bushes, and demand my best friend, Becs, take me home. Did I mention this was all before 8 p.m.?
Surely there’s another word for pathetic. How about pitiful? Deplorable? Hell, miserable seems like a good substitute. No wonder I’m practically invisible to the opposite sex. But to that one specific guy, Izaac Banks, I’ve been especially invisible since I was a kid.
A knock sounds at my door, and I groan, grabbing my comforter and yanking it up over my head. “Go away,” I call through my small studio apartment, knowing exactly who stands on the other side. Though the bigger question is, how the hell did she get through the main entrance downstairs? I sure as hell didn’t buzz her in. I bet it was Nathan on the third floor. He’d let just about any woman into the building if she smiled at him.
“Open the damn door, Aspen,” Becs hollers from the hallway. “There’s no way in hell I’m about to let you spend your Friday night eating a pint of ice cream in your ugly-as-fuck, stained Grinch pajamas.”
My gaze drops down my body, taking in my old pajamas. How the hell did she know? Am I that predictable? But more importantly, how does she know they’re stained? My accidental ice cream spillage only happened twenty minutes ago. You know, after I made my way through the first pint of ice cream. Though, admitting that I’ve made it to the halfway mark of my second pint isn’t going to help my case.
“First off, don’t be an ass about my Grinch pajamas. They’re cute,” I call back. “And second, I’m not your project tonight. Find some other unsuspecting loser to corrupt.”
“I won’t hesitate to kick this door down,” Becs warns. “I’ll need you to loosen the hinges from inside first, but mark my words, Aspen Ryder, I’ll do it.”
Ahh shit.
I groan again, rolling my ass off the couch and trying to balance my feet on the hardwood floor. Carrying my second pint of ice cream with me, I make my way to my front door and reach for the deadbolt. My unruly bun flops to the side of my head as I hold the ice cream spoon in my mouth.
Twisting the key that permanently lives in the back of the door, the last of my cheap security obstacles are out of the way, and I pull the door open, finding Becs looking like every man’s wet dream. Her thick blonde hair is out and free while her makeup is flawless, but her body though . . . shit. She’s outdone herself this time. Becs is undoubtedly gorgeous, but tonight, she looks like a Victoria’s Secret model, gift-wrapped to perfection in the smallest black dress I’ve ever seen. Her thigh-high boots add an extra six inches to her already towering height.
Then before I even get a chance to tell Becs that whatever grand plan she’s worked up for the night isn’t going to happen, I’m blinded by a bright flash coming from the back of her phone.
“Say cheese,” Becs grins, flipping her phone around and glancing at the screen. A booming laugh tears out of her as my brows furrow, having absolutely no idea what the hell is going on. But where Becs is concerned, I can guarantee that I’m not going to like it. “Oooh, that’s a good one.”
She barges past me into my small apartment, and I kick the door closed behind her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Becs quickly scans my living room, and I can feel the disapproval dripping off her as her lips twist in disgust. Her gaze comes back to mine before she turns her phone and shows me the horrendous image of me plastered across the screen.
My stained Grinch pajamas stare back at me, but that’s not even the worst part. My hair is a mess, there’s a spoon hanging from my mouth, and I’m clutching the half-eaten pint of ice cream like a weapon. I might have felt pathetic before, but this picture sure as hell confirms it.
I’m a fucking mess. No wonder my virginity has stuck around so long. I might as well Google the local nunnery to join. My dad is going to be so pleased, but unfortunately for Mom, she’ll have to wait until Austin undoubtedly knocks someone up to get the grandbabies she’s desperate for.
There are no wild oats being sewn over here. The only wild oats I have are the ones stashed in my cupboard, and to be completely honest, I wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole. I’m pretty sure they went out of date at least two years ago.
“See this picture?” Becs says, a clear warning in her tone, reminding me that I’m supposed to be focused on the horrifying reality staring back at me. “Either you come out with me to this new club I found, or I’m uploading this to a sugar daddy website with your number and the captionHelp me, Daddy. This dirty girl needs a spanking.”
I fix her with a hard stare. “I really fucking hate you right now. You know that, right?”
“Trust me, when you find out where I’m taking you, you’re going to love me,” she says, stepping into me and taking the pint of ice cream out of my hand. “Besides, you were only telling me yesterday that you’re ready to start living. Don’t tell me I sat on your filthy-ass couch and listened to that hour-long sob story and it was all bullshit.”
Damn it. I hate it when my words come back to bite me on the ass.
“My couch isn’t filthy,” I say, personally offended. “It’s just got character.”
“Aspen,” she says, fixing me with a hard stare. “I pulled a whole Pop-Tart from between the cushions last night. Your couch is a treasure hunter’s wet dream. Now, tell me that you meant everything you said. That you’re finally ready to pull the Izaac-shaped thorn out of your asshole and start living life like a normal twenty-two-year-old college student.”
I let out a heavy sigh, rolling my eyes. “It wasn’t bullshit,” I groan, regretting my decision to be an open book last night. It must have been the tequila. “I meant every word. I want to start enjoying myself, but I didn’t mean that I needed to start right this very minute. Ease me into it.”
“Ease you into it?” she scoffs.
