When Holly loses her virginity to Paul, a guy she barely
knows, she assumes their encounter is a one-night stand.
After all, Paul is too popular to even be speaking to
Holly...and he happens to have a long-term girlfriend,
Saskia. But ever since Holly’s mom died six months ago,
Holly has been numb to the world, and she’s getting
desperate to feel something, anything--so when Paul keeps
pursuing her, Holly relents. Paul’s kisses are a welcome
diversion...and it’s nice to feel like the kind of girl that
a guy like Paul would choose. But things aren’t so simple
with Saskia around. Paul’s real girlfriend is willowy and
perfect... and nothing like Holly. To make matters worse,
she and Holly are becoming friends. Suddenly the
consequences of Holly’s choices are all too real, and Holly
stands to lose more than she ever realized she had.
Excerpt We were parked at Point Dume, Paul and I, the two of us
tangled together, half dressed, half not. Paul's car smelled
like sea air and stale smoke, and from his rearview hung a
yellow and pink plastic lanyard that swayed with the breeze
drifting in through the open car window. I hung on to Paul,
thinking, I like your face, I love your hands, let's do
this, let's do this, let's do this, one arm locked
around the back of his head, the other wedged between two
scratched-up leather seat cushions, bracing myself against
the pain while wondering, idly, if this feels any different
when you love the person or when you do it lying down on a
bed. This was the same beach where I'd spent
millions of mornings with my mother, wading around at low
tide searching for sea anemone and orange and purple
starfish. It had cliffs and crashing waves and seemed like
the appropriate place to do something utterly unoriginal,
like lose my virginity in the backseat of some guy's
dinged-up, bright red BMW. I didn't really know
Paul but that didn't really matter. There we were, making
sappy, sandy memories on the Malibu Shore, fifteen miles
from home. It was nine p.m. on a school night. I needed to
be back by ten. "That was nice," he said, dragging
a hand down the back of my head through my hair.
"Mm," I nodded, not really sure what to say back. I hadn't
realized the moment was over, but there it was -- our
uncere-monious end. "It's getting late, right?" I dragged my
jeans over my lap. "Maybe you should take me home?"
"Yeah, absolutely," Paul shimmied backward, buttoning his
pants. "I'll get you home." He wrinkled his nose, smiled,
then swung his legs over the armrest and into the driver's
side seat. "Thanks," I said, trying my best to seem
casual and upbeat, hiking my underwear and jeans back on,
then creeping forward so we were seated side by side.
"You ready?" he asked, pinching an unlit cigarette
between his bottom and top teeth. "Sure thing." I
buckled my seat belt and watched Paul run the head of a
Zippo against the side seam on his pants, igniting a tiny
flame. I turned my head toward the window and pressed my
nose against the glass. There, in the not-so-far-off
distance, an orange glow lit the sky, gleaming bright.
Brushfire. "Remind me, again?" He jangled
his car keys. "Hillside. Off Topanga Canyon."
"Right, sorry." He lit his cigarette and turned the
ignition. "I'm shit with directions."
Our Past Week of Fresh Picks
|