V-Card:Sharing Spaces: Book 1(3)

By: Alicia Michaels


No, actually, I’m not.

I’m not, because I’m determined to just power through and do it.

The countdown is on.

60 days.

Oh God, I think I’m going to barf.





Chapter 1



Day 1





What does one wear when striking out to lose her v-card? As I stood staring at my reflection on day one, I wasn’t sure my outfit was quite right. Sure, my turquoise tank top brought out the green in my hazel eyes and my jeans made my butt look great. But was it enough? If I wanted to catch some guy’s interest, I needed to step up my game. Snatching the ponytail holder out of my dark brown hair, I decided to let the waves hang loose for a change.

“Jenn, hurry up, I wanna grab breakfast before class!” my roommate, Kinsley shouted through my closed bedroom door. The on-campus apartment I shared with her and three others was bustling with the sounds of people getting ready for the day. A radio blasted across the apartment and the shower ran. Someone was using a hair dryer, and the smell of coffee permeated every corner of the house. Of the five of us, I’m the only one with a room to herself. Really, my room is small enough to be a walk-in closet, and we couldn’t fit another person in here if we tried. But with my Ikea bed, desk, and dresser, I was able to make enough space to be able to turn in a circle without banging my shins on things.

The rest of the apartment is more spacious, but not by much. The townhouse style layout has all three bedrooms crammed upstairs, and a single bathroom. Downstairs is the living area, kitchen, and another half bathroom. I can’t complain too much; the apartment is in a prime location on campus, I get to live with my best friends, and the five-way rent split saves us all some much-needed cash.

“Coming!” I answered, turning to rifle through my dresser for something a little more inviting to wear. Tank top, jeans, and sneakers weren’t going to cut it. Leaving on the tank top, I swapped the jeans out for a cute, white skirt, and my sneakers for my favorite open-toed wedges. Thank God I’d shaved my legs and painted my toenails last night. For the next sixty days I needed to be ready for any contingency. That meant painted toenails and smooth legs. I sprayed on a little perfume and dabbed on some lip gloss; a full face of makeup for class was a bit much, but I lined my eyes with a pencil, too, to make them stand out. Ditching my backpack, I slid my books, notebook, and pen into an oversized, hobo-style shoulder bag and left my room. Kinsley was standing outside my door, an impatient look on her face.

Her sienna-toned skin was gorgeous, the same exotic shade as her Indian mother’s. Kinsley was one of those girls who was too smart to know how gorgeous she was, with cat-like, almond-shaped eyes and full lips. She was also a straight A student, vice-president of the student council, a cheerleader, and apartment 4C’s resident overachiever.

“Finally!” she said, rolling her dark eyes. “What’s with the skirt?” she asked. Tank tops and jeans are our uniform, maybe hoodies and sweatshirts when it was cold outside. We don’t dress up unless we’re going out.

I shrugged. “Just want to look nice today,” I answered. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, just waiting for Pretty Boy in there.”

I sighed and walked over to the bathroom door. Steam was coming from beneath it and the sound of Christian’s off-key singing came through the water. “Chris, move your ass!” I bellowed. The water shut off in response and a few seconds later, the door swung open. Dripping wet, with a towel wrapped around his slim hips, one of our two male roommates glared at us through the tumble of dark hair falling into his eyes. Despite the fact that he’s a football player, gorgeous, and chiseled like a stone, neither of us are fazed. He’s Christian, just one of the guys who lives with us. Besides, he’s got enough campus skanks drooling over him without us adding to it.

“What’s with the skirt?” he asks, looking me up and down. “You actually look nice today, loser.”

“Blow me,” I answered, glaring at him.

He grinned. “Is that an invitation?”

I snorted. “Dude, would you hurry up?”

The three of us have World Religions class at ten o’clock. We usually eat together in the cafeteria before heading to class. Christian always takes forever to get ready. More, I think, than the rest of us. He brushed past me and disappeared into the room he shares with Luke. Kinsley and I descended the stairs and waited for him near the front door. By the time he finally came down, wet hair gelled and tousled to perfection, we only had thirty minutes to eat and get to class.