The Virgin Diaries: The Complete Series

by Lauren Landish

  “Anonymous insider? She’s got people at work talking to her about us now?” Ari exclaims.

  We look at each other, then both say, “Jacob.”

  I chuckle, and Ari growls a cute little kitten sound. “Sounds like I have something to talk to Mr. Wilkes about when he comes over for Christmas dinner. Keep it professional? Indeed.”

  “I predict that when you yell about it, Norma Jean is going to take his side and say that it wasn’t him. Protecting her source and all. You’d be better served to give her the scoop on him . . . turnabout is fair play, after all,” I tell her.

  She grins evilly. “Ooh, that’s twisted. I like it. Okay, here’s the plan . . .”

  And Arianna is off and running, her plan to jokingly get back at Jacob ending up as a rehash of the Christmas dinner menu we’ve already discussed umpteen times.

  “It’ll be fine, doll. It’s just the six of us, and I don’t think anyone is that picky,” I say, hoping she’ll relax.

  This is her first time to plan a dinner like this, though I’ve told her it’ll probably be the first of many, and it’s Christmas Eve, not Christmas Day, so the pressure should be lessened. But she’s excited to have Daisy, Connor, Norma Jean, and Jacob over. She’d wanted to ask my dad and stepmother as well, something I think Norma Jean had suggested, but I’d vetoed that quickly. I just want a nice meal around a sparkly tree, with the people we love and who love us back. She’d easily given in, wanting the same thing and understanding since she didn’t want to invite her parents either.

  And then Christmas Day, it’ll be just the two of us.

  The real thing.

  The cycle complete.

  I’ve given Arianna my heart, and she’s taken mine.

  Continue on to read Silk and Shadows, Norma Jean’s book.

  Silk and Shadows

  by Lauren Landish

  Prologue

  Norma

  Dear Diary,

  I’m doing it. I’m on my way to the top, just like I planned. Now, the university newspaper, and later, some serious investigative journalism. Business . . . or maybe politics? I’m not sure just yet, but I know I’m going to get there.

  My focus is sharp, honed through an obsession with hard work and an unwillingness to fail that I learned at the elbows of two of the greatest men I know, my father and my brother.

  Unfortunately, they’re the only men in my life. My sharp tongue and quick wit are usually a turnoff for most guys, their inability to handle a mouthy woman usually apparent before we even get to a first date. But I’m not going to change for anyone. The right man for me will match me word for word, biting retort for biting retort, and together, we’ll challenge each other to be better.

  At least that’s the plan. But honestly, I’m not sure he even exists. If not, I’ll probably stay a single virgin forever, no compromise, no wavering. I’ll be true to who I am . . . even if that means I’m alone with only my work to fulfill me.

  Norma

  To say I slept like hell last night would be an understatement. I love my barely off-campus apartment and the fact that I can live alone, unlike most sophomores on campus, but the building’s cheap walls are paper-thin. So thin that I might as well have a roommate, a freakishly loud one in the apartment next door who was moaning and groaning for hours last night. I mean, seriously, who lets their headboard thump against the wall while screaming ‘yes’ over and over . . . for hours? After that long, I’m thinking it’s not really gonna happen for you and you should give up so the rest of the world can get some sleep before morning classes. Inconsiderate skank. Yes, skank because the girl in question once shared, unprompted, mind you, that she learned to never yell the guys’ names because she got it wrong one time. Shudder. I can’t imagine not knowing the name of the person literally inside you. So yeah, inconsiderate skank.

  But maybe I just wouldn’t get it? I’ve rarely dated and have only been to second base a time or two, but I most definitely know the names of those guys. When my neighbor had first moved in, it’d been a naughty tease to listen to her nightly play by play, and in the privacy of my own place, I’d quietly gone along with it, using my fingers or the occasional toy.

  But now, I usually end up sleeping on my couch in an attempt to put more walls and more space between her auditory assault and me.

  Hence, the reason I slept like hell. My couch isn’t that comfy, making me doubly grumpy from lack of sleep and an abysmally poor quality of sleep. My dad or my brother would willingly pay for me to stay at a nicer place where I wouldn’t have to deal with this, but I’m a stubborn girl.

  So off to the school paper I go, the only possible bright spot that could shove me out of this funk. Or so I hope.

  Those hopes are quickly dashed at Erica’s words.

  “You want me to what?” I screech, though I’m trying to keep my voice down a bit so that the other employees don’t prairie-dog out of their cubbies to see what’s going on. They’d probably volunteer for any assignment Erica would throw their way. But not this. For the love of God, not this.

  Erica, the editor at The Chronicle and better known as my boss, stares at me like I asked why I need to be the one to cure cancer. Honestly, I think curing cancer might be easier. “Look, Norma, I know it’s a big request, but you’re the best person for this assignment.”

  This ‘assignment’ is tutoring the star quarterback of our football team, something completely out of my wheelhouse. Also, it’s something I don’t have time for with my own studies and constantly working to find stories that will get me bylines in the paper. I give her a bit of a glare, tempering it only because she’s the senior in charge and I’m a newly-hired and lowly sophomore.

  “Seriously, the school got a major black eye last year when the star of the basketball team lost his eligibility right at the end of the season. That cost us big time. And Coach Jefferson isn’t willing to gamble like that. If the football team is going anywhere near a bowl game this season, he needs Zach Knight holding the ball. And for that to happen, he has to pass English.” She’s whispering, like the idea that a football jock might not be good in the classroom is some big newsflash.

  “Okay, I get that, but English?” I reply. “Why not get an English major to tutor him?”

  Erica’s eyes drop, instantly letting me know that there’s more to the story coming. I brace myself because judging by the way she’s hemming and hawing, this is bad. “Well, Coach asked for a favor.” That doesn’t surprise me. Erica does a great job highlighting our football team and has been rewarded with some private interviews in return, so she’s got a ‘scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours’ deal with Coach Jefferson. “It’s not just that Zach needs a tutor. He needs a tutor on the down low. No one can know about this. No. One. And while you’re new here, I’ve been impressed with your ability to protect your sources. So, I’m trusting that you’ll keep your mouth shut about this.”

  There’s no threat hanging in the air, just like there’s no promise of me getting a leg up at The Chronicle if I do this and succeed. But still, the implications are clear. If I help Zach, I’m making a back-scratch agreement with Erica too, and she upholds those under-the-table deals as much as she can. If I don’t do this . . . well, I can’t imagine that’d work in my favor.

  I sigh, arching an eyebrow. “Fine, you know I’m going to do this. But I need to know . . . why the secrecy? Most of the players have tutors. Hell, it’s common knowledge that a few of them basically pay people to take their classes for them. Why’s this one such a big deal?”

  Erica looks around like she’s afraid someone is listening in on our conversation, and I wonder why this is what’s setting her off, considering everything else she just said. “Do you follow our football team at all?” I shake my head. Past the fact that I could recognize a football, I’m pretty clueless. She sighs, gathering her thoughts. “Okay, so our team is at a crossroads. Zach is a top-notch player, likely pro-quality. So with him on the field, we’re a shoe-in for a bowl game. Th
at translates to money, something I know you understand.”

  I nod, though I try to keep my family’s wealth out of the picture at school, not needing any attention for something that has nothing to do with me. But Erica knows because of the article I wrote about my bigshot CEO brother, Liam.

  But I know that football and colleges go together like money and . . . money. Few of the players, in any of the top sports, are here because they’re academically gifted, but because they make money for the school. I’m not bitter about that, though. It takes all kinds to make the world go ‘round, and I’ve gotta give it to the guys who work their asses off to use their talent on the field to get a piece of paper most folks would kill for.

  “So, if there’s a question as to his eligibility, the money machine that is ‘football’ around here could grind to a halt. No one wants to watch second-string guys play. They want to watch greatness on the cusp of something even greater . . . and that’s Zach. The athletic director already had to pull some strings with the dean so that Zach can maintain eligibility for now, but that’s a temporary solution until you help him.” Her eyes plead with me to understand what she’s saying. “Coach said that there’s a lot of pressure for quarterbacks with pro scouts too. The scouts want guys who are good on the field, but these days, QBs are team reps, so they need to be good-looking, well-spoken, and relatively intelligent. So if word gets out that Zach, while he’s definitely good on the field and gorgeous, is as dumb as a rock and might be putting the entire season for the team in jeopardy, it’ll start a chain reaction of bad news for the school, Coach, and even Zach. Do you get what I’m saying?”

  I let her words mull over in my mind. “Just to be clear, though, I’m not doing his work for him. I’ll tutor him, but he’s going to have to study himself, do the papers himself, and take the tests himself. I will tutor him. I’m not taking his English class for him.”

  Erica sighs in relief. “Of course. That’s all I’m asking, Norma. But there is one more teeny-tiny piece to the puzzle.” She holds up her finger and thumb an inch apart.

  I look at her expectantly, decidedly not liking the look of horror on her face and the way she’s not looking me in the eye now. “What, Erica? How bad is it?”

  She takes a breath, fortifying herself, and then whispers, “Coach is concerned that even if you keep your mouth shut, there’s a risk that this could all be found out. Zach’s the star so people pay attention to who he’s seen with. So he wants a . . . cover story, if you will. I need you to basically be undercover as his tutor. It’ll be good practice for when you actually are an investigative journalist.”

  She’s rambling a bit and I’m not quite following her train of thought. “And my cover would be . . .?” I prompt.

  Her eyes meet mine. “Zach Knight’s girlfriend.”

  My mouth drops in shock. “What the hell, Erica? Absolutely not! That’s ridiculous. I’ll just tutor him discreetly and it won’t even be a big deal. Happens all the time.”

  But even as I protest, Erica is shaking her head. “No, Norma. You have to. Please. It’s just so no one will question you two hanging out together. Nothing more. People who date hang out together at the library for study dates. And just for a little while, until his grades are up. The faster you get his GPA in check, the sooner you can be done with the whole scam. But this is make-or-break for Zach, and probably for the school. And us too, if we can pull this off for Coach.”

  She’s laying it on thick, guilt-tripping me while simultaneously digging at my school spirit. But my parents made sure that I was made of sturdier stuff than that and I won’t be forced into something this crazy. However, one thing I also know is that sometimes, the best opportunities come in really shitty plain-brown packages. And I think this might be one of those times. I’m willing to tutor Zach—that’s not an issue—and if I have to go to a few games and wear his jersey to sell the lie, what’s the harm? It’s not like I’m busy with a real boyfriend anyway.

  And the potential rewards could be great. I’ll have an in with Erica and Coach Jefferson, and the undercover practice might help down the road.

  I narrow my eyes. “Okay. I’ll do it. But this is a big favor and I want you to know that I recognize that.”

  Erica looks relieved. “Thank you. I won’t forget this.”

  I look her square in the eye, a lesson I learned long ago from my dad. “I won’t either, Erica.” I let a pause lengthen to add impact to my words before continuing, “So, when does covert operation ‘Save the Jock’ begin?”

  “Today. Luckily, the team had today off from field practice so you’re meeting with Zach at five at the library. Be there and be square. Good luck. We’re counting on you.” Erica breaks out into a huge grin and I can’t help but feel I just got played a bit.

  But I know that I’m new, and being agreeable, even when it’s something as crazy as being a fake girlfriend to hide the fact that I’m tutoring a football player, can only help me on my path. Helping Zach helps me.

  I try to remember that as I search my brain for what I know about our football team and Zach Knight. Admittedly, it’s not much, but even someone as unaware of sports as I am knows of Zach. Erica called him gorgeous and she’s not wrong. Zach is nice eye candy, tall and broad-shouldered, with thick muscles that somehow don’t look bulky but are lean, and a face that has lit up our Jumbo Tron more than a few times. Blond hair that he’s usually running his fingers through from just taking his helmet off, blue eyes, and a square jaw. He’s the quintessential All-American guy, football god and all. And apparently, as of five o’clock, my new fake boyfriend.

  Five o’clock comes and goes, and I feel like an idiot standing in the middle of the library foyer, looking for all the world like a girl who just got stood up on a study date. There’s no sign of Zach, and I decide not to waste time and to get some of my own studying done while I wait.

  There’s a piece of me that wants to just leave, mentally telling myself that if he can’t even deign to show up on time for me to help him, then he doesn’t deserve the help. But this is helping me get ahead too, I remind my inner bitch, so I give in and wait. Looking around, I pick a quiet corner on the first floor where no one will see us carry out his first lesson. If he shows.

  I head over to the table, keeping an eye on the main entrance as I pull out my own work, setting up my laptop and opening the textbook I’m reading from. But though my eyes scan, I’m not really seeing the words on the pages. Instead, I’m fuming.

  I’m not too surprised that he’s late. I figure the entitled ass probably lives by his own clock, not even bothering to give lame excuses but rather assuming everyone will wait on him. Ironically, considering where I’m currently sitting, he wouldn’t be wrong in that assumption.

  With a sigh, I force my eyes to focus on my own studies and make some good headway, making notes on the entire third chapter of my World History textbook. I do a bit of color coding and formatting so that it’s an easier study later and save my progress.

  Time seems to have flown by because when I look at the clock, I realize it’s well after six. I’ve seriously waited for this ass for over an hour and he’s still a no-show?

  This is bullshit, I fume to myself, wondering how I let Erica talk me into this. I shut down my computer and shove it and my book back into my bag. “I should’ve known,” I mutter quietly. Though whispered, my voice takes on a sarcastic edge, the one Liam says can slice and dice an ego at one hundred paces. “Asshole desperately needs help but can’t be bothered to actually show up to get it. Fuck that self-entitled prick. He can fail for all I care.”

  Suddenly, a deep chuckle right behind me interrupts my rant. It’s a guy’s voice, his faux-supportive anger mimicking me. “Yeah, fuck that self-entitled prick!”

  Zach

  I was told I was meeting a redhead, and when I heard her grumbling about a self-entitled prick, I knew I’d found her. At my statement, she turns around, fire flashing in her eyes. When I said it, I was just seeing if I cou
ld get under the skin of the sexy little wood sprite I’d been checking out as I walked across the library, only to discover her griping about me. I was curious to hear her response.

  Well, that and I fully expect her to pull a 180 and grovel at my feet like most girls do. Hell, like everyone does. I don’t ask for it. It’s just what happens.

  But I’m surprised she’s not relenting. She’s glaring daggers, even more so now that she recognizes me. Oh, yeah, I can tell she does. Usually, that makes girls go stupid and soft, simpering into puddles at my feet. But not this one. I offer one of my panty-melting smiles, but she scowls fiercely, her baby blues filled to the brim with attitude.

  She looks cute as fuck when she’s mad. All fiery hair and fair skin, with a few freckles sprinkled across her cheekbones. She’s small enough that I could easily pick her up, but she puts off an aura of anger I haven’t seen in some of my defensive linemen. She’s frighteningly intimidating for such a pretty little thing. The contrast is interesting.

  I offer her a hand. “I’m Zach Knight. But I guess you can call me self-entitled prick, if you prefer.” I’m joking, not really apologizing but acknowledging in a slightly self-deprecating way that I’m late. It should be enough to soothe her ruffled feathers.

  But no. She doesn’t flinch under my gaze, the steel in her spine obvious as she takes my hand for a quick shake. “Norma Jean Blackstone. I’m afraid our session was scheduled for five to six, though, so you’ve missed your opportunity today. Perhaps we can schedule for tomorrow and you can be on time?” Her voice is saccharin sweet, but the barbs are clear as she tilts her head, looking at me expectantly.

  A grin forms on the corners of my lips at her refusal to back down and I cross my arms over my chest to resist grabbing a lock of her red hair. My wide stance blocks her from moving around the table to leave. I think the challenge in my stare has something to do with her staying too. Goddamn. She has bigger balls than some of the guys on the team. I’m either going to kill her or fuck her . . . and I know which I’d prefer.