Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Excerpt from Peer Pleasure by Danita Carter

I am pleased to present the first young adult fiction title from Strebor Books, Peer Pleasure by Danita Carter. Carter is the co-author of Talk of the Town, Revenge is Best Served Cold, and Success is the Best Revenge. I hope that you will give this book a shot, and if you have young adults or teenagers in your life, please pick up a copy for them. They will not be disappointed. Blessings, Zane

An edgy, urban, young adult novel that has all the same elements of glamour, decadence, and wealth that make the hit television series Gossip Girl so popular and addictive.
The esteemed Walburton Academy on Manhattan's Upper West Side educates some of the wealthiest -- and most hormonal teens -- in the city. Kennedy and Reagan are twin sisters who are polar opposites except for their taste in boys. They ruthlessly compete with each other for the attention of the hunky newcomer, rapper Lucas Williams. The lean and luscious Madison Reynolds is a top model living under the watchful eye of her domineering grandmother, who is formerly the great dame of the fashion world. But it's not the photographers, agents, and designers that her grandmother has to worry about; it's the boys at school who are the real predators, like über-rich, party animal Ian Reinhardt, and former child star Peyton Granger.
Peer Pleasure is a captivating glimpse into the world of privileged New York City teenagers negotiating real-life challenges as they transition into young adulthood. Written in a fast-paced, enjoyable style, Peer Pleasure depicts the intersections between the exclusive worlds of fashion, music, and wealth -- examining how the lives of the elite and the multicultural overlap and commingle, as all of these ethnically diverse students are thrown together under one roof, in one crazy city.


“We’re here at Seventh on Sixth, the seasonal industry fashion show. As you can see–” The reporter turned slightly to her left to let the cameraman get a better angle. “—the giant white tents are pitched high in Bryant Park where the actual shows are taking place. Inside, strutting the catwalk, is Seventh Avenue’s latest sensation, Madison Reynolds. Though only sixteen, Madison has more poise than models twice her age,” the entertainment reporter spoke into the camera.
There seemed to be a small village of reporters from around the globe staked out in front of Bryant Park, as well as an army of photographers inside. New York Fashion Week was a huge deal and they were there to report not only on the latest designers, but also on the fashion world’s next ingénue.
The reporter continued, “Despite her mile long legs, flawless skin, flowing red hair and emerald-green eyes, Madison would be just another wannabe model if it weren’t for her grandmother, Rene Reynolds. A top model back in the days of Janice Dickinson and Beverly Johnson, Rene still has a foothold in the industry and has used her connections to get Madison through a few tightly closed doors.”
The reporter was trying to fill up the time until Madison came out of the show, so she gave a little background information on Madison’s ever-present grandmother. After nearly an hour, the opening of the entrance tent parted and out pranced the models.
“Madison! Madison, over here!” shouted the reporter, as she exited the tent.
“Quick! Snap her picture!. Snap her picture!” the reporter instructed her photographer.
Madison stopped on the red carpet and struck a haughty pose, but before she could flash her signature smile, another photog called her name. She swiveled around on her (mucho mature) Manolos and turned, with smile in place, while the photographer clicked away.
“So, Madison, when’s your next gig?” asked the inquiring reporter.
“I’ll be doing the spring shows in Paris,” Madison answered with a smile.
“Which houses are you modeling for this year?”
“I’ll be doing the rounds as usual.” Though she was a teen, Madison was a regular on the European circuit.
“What about school? Are you taking a semester off, or are you going to get a tutor?”
“I uhh…”
Before she could answer, her ever present grandmother chimed in. “Come on, Honey,” she said, tugging on Madison’s arm, “that’s enough press for one evening.”
“Renee, will you be accompanying your granddaughter to Europe?” the reporter asked, trying to prolong her time with the Reynolds women.
Renee arched her back and cleared her throat. “Of course. Let’s not forget that not too long ago, I worked those same shows,” she said with an air of indignation.
“How could anyone ever forget the Renee Reynolds strut? You had a walk like no other,” the reporter said, stroking the older woman’s obviously fragile ego. The reporter thought that if she could get next to Madison’s bulldog of a grandmother, then maybe she’d get an exclusive interview with the young model. But before she could ask another question, another group of models came pouring onto the red carpet.
“Madison, are you going to meet us at the Gansevoort?” asked Danielle, a fellow model.
Madison wanted to go and hang out with the other girls, but she knew that was out of the question. There was no way her grandmother was going to let her go to the Meatpacking District and party at the trendy boutique hotel. Madison didn’t want to sound like the under-aged teen that she was, so she simply said, “No, I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
“Oh, do you have an early morning shoot?” Danielle asked.
“Nah.” In model lingo, an early day usually meant a nine o’clock shoot, but for Madison it meant that she had to get up early and go to school—high school, not college.
Madison attended Walburton Academy, one of Manhattan’s premier private schools on the Upper West Side. While the schools on the East Side educated mostly blue-blooded, old-money brats, the West Side institutions were filled with a cornucopia of first- and second-generation wealth. Being a top teen model, Madison reigned supreme over her crew of four. There was her best friend and partner in shopping, Reagan. Reagan’s biggest fan and admirer, former child star Payton Granger, better known as PG, and Ian, Madison’s boyfriend. Though it could be grueling at times, Madison loved her school. It was one of the few places where she could let loose and have some fun without the prying eyes of the paparazzi or her grandmother.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go? ’Cuz we gonna party like rock stars.” Danielle laughed and slapped her friend a high-five, ready to get the night started.
Madison quickly looked at her grandmother, who had a scowl plastered across her face.
Obviously she wasn’t happy with this verbal exchange.
“Yeah, I’m sure. You guys have fun. I’ll hang out with you at the next gig,” Madison said, trying to sound like an adult instead of a curfew-reddened teenager.
“Alright. See ya when I see ya,” Danielle said, then waved her hand and got into a waiting limo with her entourage.
Madison threw her hand up and said good-bye as she followed her grandmother to their car. She couldn’t wait until she was old enough to party without a chaperone. The way her grandmother watched her so closely, Madison felt like a specimen underneath a microscope.
“We’re going to take my granddaughter home first,” Rene instructed her driver once they were settled in the back of her sleek black-on-black Jaguar XJ8.
The driver nodded without saying a word, and took off up Sixth Avenue. Madison lived with her parents and little brother on Sixty-eighth and Central Park West, in a renovated, pre-war, three bedroom coop. Her mother—who didn’t inherit the leggy model body—was a housewife, and her father was an investment banker for Morgan Stanley. Her parents rarely attended the fashion shows, since her dad was at client dinners most nights and her mother was devoted to Madison’s baby brother, Henry. So the job of overseer naturally went to her grandmother.
“You did a good job tonight, Honey,” Rene said.
Oh here it comes, Madison thought. Her grandmother’s compliments were usually followed by detailed criticism.
“…when you turn at the end of the runway, pause a little longer so that the photographer can get a chance to snap your picture. Tonight, you turned too fast, and even if he did take a shot, I’m sure he only got the back of your head.”
“Okay,” was all that Madison said. She was used to the instruction, and let it go in one ear and out the other. She knew that her grandmother had good intentions, but at times she really wasn’t in the mood for the critique.
Luckily for Madison, her Sidekick vibrated inside of her Dooney bag before the rhetoric continued. She dug into the oversized duffel and fished out her metallic silver connection to the world. She flipped open the screen and saw that she had a text from Reagan. She punched a few keys and read the message:
“i got sme grt nws!”
Madison quickly typed a short reply on the mini keyboard:
“cant tlk. wcyl”
She pressed send, closed the phone, and put it back in her bag. From the corner of her eye, Madison could see her grandmother looking over at her. The last thing she needed was for her grandmother to try and decode one of her texts. If her grandmother had seen the message, she’d be full of questions like the freaking Gestapo. First off, she’d want to know who the message was from, and second she’d want to know what ‘wcyl’ stood for. Madison smiled slightly when she realized that even if her grandmother had seen the message, she’d never guess that ‘wcyl’ meant ‘will call you later.’ Now that she thought about it, texting was a totally safe mode of communication in front of mostly any adult, since they were oblivious to the encrypted language of texting.
“Who was that calling you so late?”
Here comes the interrogation, Madison thought. “It wasn’t a call, Nancy.” Rene had insisted that her grandchildren call her Nancy, a derivate of Nana. In her mind, she was too young to be called Grandma, and Nana was more befitting of a booty-knitting, cookie-baking grandmother, which she certainly was not. And when Madison called her Nancy at industry functions, she felt like a hip, older aunt, instead of a relic.
“You know what I mean.” She pinned Madison with one of her ‘don’t be a smarty pants’ look.
“That was Reagan reminding me that we have a field trip tomorrow,” she lied. It wasn’t exactly a lie since their class was scheduled to attend a Broadway matinee.
“Oh,” Rene said, satisfied with the answer. She knew that she was being overprotective at times, but didn’t want her granddaughter to grow up too fast. Modeling was a cutthroat business, a business where young girls were used and abused on a regular basis. And it was her responsibility to make sure that Madison didn’t get involved with alcohol, drugs or grown men looking for a ripe young virgin.
Before the interrogation could continue, the car was pulling up in front of Madison’s building. She was glad to escape the prying eyes of her grandmother, and couldn’t wait to be alone in her room, so that she could answer Reagan’s text freely.
“Goodnight, Nancy.” Madison pecked her grandmother on the cheek. “Thanks for dropping me off.”
“Anytime, my darling.” She gave Madison a tight hug. “Now get some rest, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
“I will, and thanks for coming with me tonight.” Even though Madison resented her grandmother’s presence at times, a part of her was actually glad that she was there to run interference with the groupies that she didn’t want to be bothered with.
“Hey, Sam,” Madison greeted the doorman once she was inside the building.
“Good evening, Miss. Another late night, I see.”
“Yeah, I was modeling in a fashion show tonight.”
“I don’t know where you get the energy, between school and your modeling career. It’s a wonder you don’t have dark circles under your eyes.”
“Trust me, Sam, I make up on my sleep time on the weekends. Besides, I’m young and can handle the pressure.” She chuckled. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Miss.”
Madison rode the elevator up to her family apartment. She quietly opened the door. The apartment was dim, with only one lamp on in the living room. Madison didn’t hear her noisy little brother bouncing around, which could only mean that he was asleep, which meant that her mother was also alseep, since she mirrored her son’s sleep pattern. Madison was grateful for the peace and quite, because the only person she wanted to talk to was Reagan. She made a beeline for her bedroom and immediately called her best friend.
“It’s about time,” Reagan whispered into the phone. “I’ve been on pins and needles waiting for your call.”
“You know I couldn’t talk with Nancy listening to my every word. What’s up?”
“You know that stupid field trip we’re going on tomorrow?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Well…” Reagan paused for effect. “We’re not going!” she shrieked softly.
Madison kicked off her heels, sat on the bed and rubbed her aching toes. The high heels were cute, but not the most comfortable shoes. “Why? Was it cancelled?”
“You could say that,” Reagan said mysteriously.
“Come on, Rea, stop teasing, and tell me what the heck you’re talking about.”
“PG called earlier this evening and told me that Ian’s parents are going to their house in the Hamptons in the morning, so that they can attend some film festival. And Ian will have the penthouse all to himself for the next few days. So instead of going to some stupid play, me, you and PG are spending the afternoon at Ian’s!” she whispered excitedly.
“That’s awesome! I could use some down time after working and being spied on all evening. I love my grandmother to death, but I swear sometimes she drives me crazy; acting like my private bodyguard.”
“Ms. Thang, you don’t have to worry about prying eyes tomorrow, because the only people at the penthouse will be us. Ian’s going to send the maid out for the day, so we can really cut up!”
“Now that’s the kind of field trip I’m talkin’ about! No teachers, no parents or grandparents, and no nosey housekeepers! Party over here, ooh, ooh,” Madison sang out in a soft tone, so that she wouldn’t wake her mother.
“Okay! Girl, I can’t wait. Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.”
“I love Ian’s absentee parents. They care more about socializing than staying at home looking after their kid, unlike my mom, who’s always at the house with me and my brother,” Madison said.
“I saw Ian’s parents in the society section of The Times last week, photographed at some party with the mayor.”
“Ian’s left alone so much, it’s like he’s an orphan.”
“An orphan with a fabu penthouse, don’t forget!” Reagan laughed.
“This is true.”
“Wait a minute.” Reagan paused for a second. “I think I hear my mom walking down the hall.
Unlike Ian’s mom, mine is on constant patrol. Let me go before she comes storming in here, snatches the phone out of my hand, and demands I go to bed.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Madison hung up. With visions of a stress-free afternoon lying ahead, Madison danced around her room in her bare feet, anticipating a day of unsupervised fun with her friends.


“Magdala, I need for you to run some errands for me today,” Ian addressed the housekeeper as he came out of his bedroom.
“Mr. Ian, I have work to do for you mother,” she said, holding an arm full of clothes. “Before she left, Señora instruct me to take these things to cleaners, and then…”
He cut her off. “Magdala, you can drop them off on your way to the Bronx.”
“BRONX!” She bucked her eyes, and raised her voice. “Me no go to Bronx.” She shook her head back and forth.
Ian handed her a season schedule for the Yankees, with red circles around two dates. “I want four tickets to these games,” he said, pointing to the outlines.
“Me no can go,” she said, still protesting.
“Yes, you can, and just for doing me this favor, I’m going to also buy you two tickets,” he said, softening the negotiation.
Magdala smiled. Her husband was a huge Yankees fan, and would flip over seeing the game live.
“Oh…” Her eyes bucked wide again, but this time in delight. “Okay. Okay, Mr. Ian.” She grinned.
“Good. Then, I’ll need for you to take the train to Brooklyn, and stop by Cake Man Raven’s bakery on Fulton Street and pick up a red velvet cake.”
“BROOKLYN!” Her grin quickly disappeared. Clearly she didn’t want to go from one borough to the next. “No, no, Mr. Ian,. Too much; too many trains,” she said, shaking her head. “Me supposed to be here with you, not on train.”
“That’s silly. I’m not a baby. Besides, I’ll be in school all day.” Ian reached into his pocket and took out his wallet—which was always stocked full of cash—and handed her three crisp one-hundred dollar bills. “Here, and keep the change,” he said, knowing that money talked louder than words.
Magdala took the money, and slid the bills into the pocket of her apron. “This between me and you, no?” she asked, nodding her head up and down.
“Don’t worry. I won’t say a word.” Ian put his index finger to his mouth and made a ‘sshh’ sound.
Magdala scurried down the hall with her loot. Ian went back into his room, grabbed his backpack, and headed out the door for school. With his unofficial overseer out of the house, traveling through three of New York’s boroughs for the better part of the day, Ian figured that he and his friends had at least a few hours of uninterrupted fun, which was more than enough time. Once he got the word that his parents were off to The Hamptons for the Annual International Film Festival, he wasted no time hooking up a little get-together. It was perfect timing. Their class was scheduled for a field trip, but instead of seeing a Broadway show, he and his friends would be spending the afternoon at his penthouse.

“I certainly hope that everyone has brought their permission slips for today’s field trip,” said, Mrs. Carey, the fine arts teacher, as she led the class out of the building.
“Mine is right here,” Ian patted the breast pocket of his school’s monogrammed blazer, “forged by yours personally.” He laughed underneath his breath.
“I bet you’ve been signing your mother’s name since before you could spell,” PG remarked.
“And I bet you’ve been signing autographs since you were in pre-school,” Ian shot back, making a dig about Payton’s former career as a child television star.
“Now, now, boys, let’s not bicker,” Reagan chimed in.
“Oh, Rea, why stop the fun? They’ve only just begun,” Madison said.
Reagan, Madison, Ian and PG were in line with the rest of their class, walking to the waiting bus outside of their school.
“Slip, please,” Mrs. Carey said to Ian before he boarded.
“Here you go, Mrs. Carey,” he said, ever so politely, with a fake smile.
She glanced at the signature, and didn’t even notice the forgery. She stood at the entry to the bus, and repeated this protocol until every single student had handed over his permission slip and was on board.
“So how are we going to get from the theatre to your place?” Madison whispered in Ian’s ear once they were seated on the bus.
“Don’t you worry your head about that, ‘My Pretty.’” He smirked, using the phrase from The Wizard of Oz.
“I don’t care how we get there, as long as we’re back at the theatre before the buses leave. The last thing I need is for my mother to find out that I skipped school,” Reagan said.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. If Nancy knew I was escaping for a few hours, she’d have me fitted with an ankle bracelet. And, no, not the decorative kind, the gross kind that people wear when they’re under house arrest,” Madison commented.
“You’re right about that! Your grandmother is the strictest person I know,” Ian said.
“She’s not that bad. You’re not used to answering to anyone since your parents are never around,” Madison said, coming to her grandmother’s defense.
Ian hung his head, as if Madison had hurt his feelings. “You’ve got a point,” he said, picking his head off of his chest. “My parents are definitely not the warm and fuzzy type, but I like it like that. At least I don’t have to worry about them hovering over me on a daily basis. Besides, where else would we hang out if they were always at home?” Ian said, with an air of cockiness, but deep down inside he felt conflicted. On the one hand, Ian did enjoy having the freedom to go and come as he pleased, but on the other hand, he secretly longed for some parental supervision. If his parents were around the house more, he’d probably be inclined to keep out of trouble, but as it were he was his own gatekeeper, and the gate swung nearly off its hinges on any given day.
“Point taken.”
They continued chatting, and before long the bus was pulling up in front of the Astor Theatre. While the students filed into the lobby of the auditorium, Reagan, Madison, Ian, and PG hung back, and huddled close together, so as not to be separated.
“Before you’re seated, please turn off all cell phones, and any other electronic devices that you may have. We don’t want to interrupt the show with those annoying little gadgets. No loud gum chewing. And absolutely NO TALKING!” Mrs. Carey emphasized, spouting off a list of “do’s and don’ts” of proper theatre etiquette.
While the rest of the student body took out their phones and turned them off, Ian took his out, dialed the car service and confirmed his pick-up location.
“Yes, Mr. Reinhardt, your car is waiting right outside. It’s car number twenty-three.”
“Thank you,” Ian said, in a hushed tone, and quickly clicked the phone off before the teacher caught him.
“Okay, now that we’re clear on how to act at a Broadway show, you may take your seats,” Mrs. Carey said, leading the way into the theater.
Ian, Reagan, Madison and PG, brought up the rear of the line, but lagged behind. Once Mrs. Carey, and everyone else had settled into their seats and the house lights dimmed, the four of them quickly did an about face and snuck out the front door, right into the waiting Town Car.
“Now that Mrs. Carey has seen us, and collected our permission slips, we won’t be reported MIA, even if we are MIA!” Ian laughed.
“Aren’t you the clever one?” Madison said.
“I hope you scheduled the car to pick us up before the play is over,” Reagan said.
“We’ll be in the lobby before the final curtain falls,” Ian said, full of himself. He was proud that he had orchestrated their escape.
Once the car pulled in front of Ian’s massive apartment building, they all piled out and made a beeline towards the bank of elevators.
“Come on in, guys,” Ian said, opening the door to his family’s palatial penthouse in the Time Warner Center.
“I love this view,” Reagan said, walking over to the triple-paned window. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered spectacular panoramic views of Central Park to the northeast, and the Hudson River to the west. “I only live a few blocks from here, but our view is nothing like this. About all I can see from my place is a little piece of the park.” Reagan walked away from the window, and took a tour of the living room. “I love your place. Every time I come over, it’s almost like the first time.” She lightly ran her hand across the bottom of the huge flat screen plasma Bang & Olufsen that was mounted on the wall. “I’ve been trying to get my dad to buy one of these, but he’s such a cheapskate, and says it’s a waste of money.”
“Obviously, he’s never seen the picture quality from one of these babies,” Ian said, proudly, as if he’d forked over the credit card to pay for the extravagant television.
“You’re right. I love it,” she said, rubbing her hand once again across the smooth surface.
“And I love how your legs look in those shoes,” PG commented, leering at Reagan from behind.
“Thanks. They’re the new Juicy Couture wedges. Just because we have to wear these boring navy-and-gray uniforms doesn’t mean we can’t trick ’em out with some bad kicks. Isn’t that right, Madison?”
“Totally. I bought these Marc Jacobs the other day,” she said, extending the midnight-blue, round-toed shoe for emphasis.
PG focused his attention back on Reagan. “And I love how you pull the knee-socks up past your knees. It’s such a sexy look, especially with the school sweater tied around your waist,” he said, pouring on the compliments.
Reagan ignored Peyton’s comment. She was immune to his constant compliments. It was no big secret that PG had a gargantuan crush on her. He made it known every chance he got that he worshiped Reagan. PG, with his lanky, muscle-less frame, and pimpled face wasn’t her type, but she tolerated him anyway. Reagan may not have been in love with PG, but she was in love with the expensive gifts that he showered her with. Peyton Granger had been the lead actor in Little Buddies, one of the top-rated sitcoms of the mid-nineties. Though he hadn’t worked in over ten years, he still raked in the royalty checks, thanks to the reruns on Nickelodeon five nights a week.
PG walked up to Reagan, so close that she could feel his hot breath on her face as he spoke.
“Thought you might like this,” he said, handing her a robin’s egg-blue Tiffany’s box.
“PG, what’s this?” she asked, fingering the white ribbon tied neatly around the small box.
“Open it and see.”
Reagan pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid. Inside was a beautiful eighteen-karat, white gold Atlas lariat with the Roman numerals, twelve, three, six, and nine surrounding a circle of pave diamonds. “Oh, PG, you shouldn’t have.” She took the necklace out of the box and held it up to the light. “But I’m so glad you did.”
“It was a tad spendy, but you’re worth every dime,” he said, making sure she knew that the gift-du-jour was expensive.
Reagan didn’t say a word, she ignored his tacky comment. She hated it when PG alluded to how much money he spent, as if he were broke.
“Here, let me put it on you.” He took the necklace out of her hands, lifted her hair and secured the clasp. Once the necklace was fastened, he let his hands linger on her shoulder blades, then leaned down and kissed the side of her neck.
Reagan swung around. “PG, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, pulling away from him.
“Just trying to get a little thank you kiss.” He blushed shyly.
“A verbal thank you will have to do, ’cause I ain’t kissing you today, and I don’t want you kissing on me,” she said, and huffed away.
“Who wants a Red Bull and Belvedere?” Ian asked, breaking the tension in the room.
“I do,” Madison said, followed by Reagan and PG.
Ian retreated into the kitchen, and came back with four cans of the energy drink. He sat the blue and silver cans on the bar in the living room, filled four tall glasses with ice, double shots of vodka, and then poured in the Red Bull until it reached the top of each glass. “To field trips,” he said, handing each of his friends a glass of the potent beverage. They clinked glasses and toasted. The guys gulped their drinks, while the girls sipped politely.
“Turn on some music. I wanna dance,” Madison told Ian.
Ian picked up the remote that was sitting on the bar, clicked it in the direction of the wall mounted B&O stereo, and within seconds, the sound of an old Black Eyed Peas tune filled the room.
“What you gonna do with all that junk inside your trunk…?” Ian sang in unison with the song and danced up close to Madison.
“I’m, I’m, I’m gonna get you drunk…” she sang back, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Reagan felt a twinge of jealously surge through her body as she watched Madison and Ian gyrate to the music. Madison seemed to enjoy his touch, as his hands roamed up and down her back. They made such a cute couple, and Reagan wanted to be one half of a pair more than anything else. PG wasn’t a serious contender; he was somebody to pass the time with, but he’d have to do until she met her soul mate.
“Do you guys need anything else?” Ian asked.
“No, we’re cool,” PG said, taking a sip of his drink.
“In that case, we’ll be back in a few,” Ian said, taking Madison by the hand.
“Don’t be too long; remember we have to get back before the play is over,” Reagan said, her frienvy continuing to grow as Ian and Madison disappeared into his room.
“So, why didn’t you let me kiss you earlier?” PG asked Reagan. “I know it’s not because you and Madison are so pure.” He nodded his head in the direction of Ian’s bedroom.
“’Cause you ain’t my man,” she said, sucking her lips.
“I know I ain’t your man, but I’m trying to be,” he confessed. “Why do you think I keep giving you these extravagant gifts?”
“’Cause you’re generous?”
“Yeah, I’m generous, but I ain’t no fool. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m crazy about you, Reagan, but I can’t keep holding on forever.”
“Don’t be silly, PG. I don’t think you’re a fool.” Reagan walked over and gave him a quick peck on the lips. She was trying to appease PG. Though she wasn’t into him into him, she didn’t want to lose her generous gifts.
“Wow, a kiss!” He put his hand to his mouth in mock surprise. “What made you change your mind?”
“I don’t get it. Either you’re complaining when I’m not kissing you, or complaining that I am kissing you. Make up your mind!” Reagan said, seemingly annoyed at him.
“No, no, I’m not complaining. Trust me. I’ll take whatever I can get.”
“Good. Now shut up, and let’s dance.”
About twenty minutes later, Madison and Ian reappeared. “Girl, what happened to your hair?” Reagan asked, pointing to Madison’s tousled hair.
Madison quickly ran her hand over her unruly tresses. “What are you talking about? My hair is fine.”
“But your blouse isn’t.” Reagan walked closer, and tugged at her friend’s top. “Since when did you start using the wrong button holes?”
Madison pulled away. “Stop being all in my business.” She gave Reagan a look that read, ‘You know good and well what I was doing.’
“Okay, okay, I can take a hint. We’d better get back to the theatre before we get busted,” Madison said, ready to leave.
“Yeah, you’re right. Come on, guys,” Ian said. “I told the driver to wait. He should still be downstairs.”
They filed out, and once inside of the limo, Reagan couldn’t help but to think again how much she wanted a real relationship of her own, not like the buddy-buddy thing she had going on with PG. But until she met someone new, who was fine and generous, PG would just have to do.

If you enjoyed this excerpt, please pick up a copy of the book at your local bookstore or you can purchase it online at: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/product-description/1593092504/ref=dp_proddesc_0?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books


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