Charlie is down to her absolute. Total. Last. Resort.
Despite a thoroughly comprehensive list of potential cherry poppers, er…suitors, and careful plotting, Charlie is three weeks into her devirginization campaign, still untouched, and getting desperate. In the movie of her life, this aspiring screenwriter is giving herself a PG, for please, get some.
Her project goes into freeze frame when her mom checks herself into rehab and packs Charlie off to live with her estranged, or just plain strange, grandfather, Monty. How is she supposed to get a date when she has to go pick up his Depends?
Enter Eric, a hot rehab grad on the road to redemption, and the only one who can make Charlie rethink her strategy. The more she gets to know him, the more convinced she becomes that is the one, and not just another to add to the list of people who will abandon her.
In this hilarious and heartbreaking story of one girl's detoured road to womanhood, Charlie's list develops a life of its own - right when she realizes there's so much more to lose.
The question comes from a guy around my age. Tall, cute, and wearing a faded Zeppelin T-shirt over a long-sleeved hoodie, a black fisherman's hat pulled low over his ears, his index finger hovering over a panel of glowing moons.
I blink and the world comes into focus.
My pulse knocked in my throat. Okay, which floor did I need?
Blinking hard, I stared at the blur of people streaming past the glass windows. Why did they have glass elevators in a hospital anyway? What if someone you loved died and you wanted to have yourself a nice private little meltdown on the way to the morgue? What if you just needed a moment before facing the world?
"Hey," his eyes narrowed, "you're not going to pass out are you?"
The floor lurched beneath my feet.
"I don't know." I swayed. "Am I?"
I felt weird. My legs went numb. I staggered.
He caught me with a grunt, propping me against his chest, his hands spanning my ribcage. We froze. My fingers clutched the soft black cotton at his waist, grasping for additional support. Pushing his hoodie upward. My knuckles skimmed warm, taunt muscles hidden underneath. His sharp inhalation pushed his chest harder into mine.
Somewhere I felt a hammering, a construction drill cranked to life like it was trying to blast through concrete. And then suddenly, not a drill. A heart, beating out of control.
His or mine?
1 comments:
Thanks for this awesome giveaway! :)
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