by Avery Aster
Love, Lex (The Undergrad Years #1) by Avery Aster
This summer, I’d planned to celebrate my eighteenth birthday in Europe with my fellow Manhattanites—Taddy Brill, Blake Morgan, and Vive Farnworth—until I caught my boyfriend screwing my mother. According to the police report, this vomit-inducing incident happened around the same time I’d supposedly blown-up my mother’s penthouse. Like I’m walking around Soho with a stick of dynamite in my Louis Vuitton purse—not! Now, my besties and I are in jail.
Officer Ford Gotti, the Harley-wheelin’ biker cop who arrested us, keeps sticking his perfectly-sculpted nose into my case. His inked body is jacked like a superhero, and he says I can trust him. He wants me to fess up. I won’t. Not again. Why should I? My friends and I had a previous stint in juvie that nearly destroyed us. I gotta protect them and keep my mouth shut. Right?
—Lex Easton, women’s studies major, motorcycle enthusiast, and virgin.
The Undergrad Years is a New Adult contemporary miniseries about first loves, independence, and everlasting friendships.
Reader warning: Contains mature content intended for readers 17 and up
Swag and reader contests can be found on Avery’s blog at: AveryAster.com
Interact with Avery while reading Love, Lex on Instagram and Twitter @AveryAster using the hashtags #UndergradYears #NewAdult
Praise for Avery Aster…
“Hilariously clever, Love, Lex is New Adult at its naughtiest.”
—S&M’s Book Obsessions
“Never did I think I could love an author as much as Avery Aster. The Manhattanites are obscenely fabulous.”
—Book Boyfriend
“The most original series I've ever read. The Manhattanites is expertly crafted like diving into a soap opera.”
—Miss Construed
“A throwback to Judith Krantz, Avery’s writing is salacious glitz, drama and glamour.”
—Talk Supe
“I took a cold shower after reading Unscrupulous.”
—Books Are Love
“Avery's voice is fresh and witty. Something not found in the market.”
—Same Book, Different Review
“Plotted like Jackie Collins, the bitches are super-bitches but underneath their tough exterior is a good heart.”
—I Love Romantic Fiction
“Sex and the City on steroids but younger and sexier, Avery Aster equates to fun romance.”
—Ever After Romance
“The Manhattanites live an extravagant lifestyle. I want to be a part of it.”
—Blissful Books
“The shock value is high and hot flash-inducing. Trust me, I've suffered a few.”
—Ripe For Reader
Love, Lex
Copyright 2014 Avery Aster
Cover Design by Cover It! Designs
Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
New York, New York 10021
Table of Contents
Foreword
Cast of characters
Part One: Riding a motorbike is just like sex, right?
Prologue: From the Desk of Manhattan School for Girls
Chapter One: Thanks, Mom, aka Birdie Easton
Chapter Two: Mister Softee
Chapter Three: Oh My Friggin’ Gawd
Part Two: Orange isn’t the new black
Chapter Four: Worse Than Reality TV
Chapter Five: Sweet Motor Cop Jesus
Part Three: Man Candy
Chapter Six: Fuck-it Buckets
Chapter Seven: The Ride of My Life
The End
About Avery Aster
There's More
Dedication & Special Acknowledgments
Also by Avery Aster
Smexy Excerpts
Belle Aurora
Contemporary romance today comes in many subgenres. New adult and coming-of-age tales may speak of angst and darkness while others are sweet, light, and fluffy. Avery Aster’s new series The Undergrad Years touches on a theme near and dear to my heart—panty-melting wittiness!
When I wrote Tina Tomic and her cast of pals in my novel Friend-Zoned, I let “quirky” lead the way in my storytelling. Tina and Nik’s romance was packed with suspense, hot sex, and, from what fans have told me, many laugh-out-loud moments. Giving readers humor is one of the greatest gifts for me as a writer because when the funny works, it sparkles.
From the insanely quotable dialogue and outrageously hilarious, larger than life characters, Love, Lex is a modern OMFG drama featuring a heroine who you’ll make your best friend forever, or as Lex Easton would say, your BFF. I know she’s already my book bestie. Enjoy!
My books are escapism in the purest form. They are romantic, snarky, and a lil’ cray-cray. The dialogue is written based on how the characters talk. Events mentioned in this story took place in 2002 and are a figment of my imagination. Have fun!
Alexandra “Lex” Easton: (17) Motorcycle enthusiast and daughter to famed rockers Eddie & Birdie Easton, Lex intends to party the week away in Paris, France by giving her boyfriend, Kelle Sterling Dolley her virginity.
Tabitha Adelaide “Taddy Brill” Brillford: (18) Emancipated from her parents, Taddy is Lex’s best friend forever and lives with Vive at her apartment on the Upper East Side.
Blake Morgan: (17) Prada fanatic and ‘out’ of the closet since the day puberty struck, Blake is the clique’s gay bestie. He’s also very close to Lex’s mother, Birdie.
Viveca “Vive” Farnworth: (18) Lhaso Apso lover and heiress to Farnworth Firewater Liquor Company, Vive is a party girl who met Lex, Taddy and Blake while in boarding school.
Officer Ford Alessandro-Vollero-Gotti: (21) NYPD motor-cop Ford is inked, jacked like a super hero and eager to make Lex tell the truth about her wrongdoings.
Birdie Easton: (39) Lex’s pill-popping, addicted mother, she suffers from sexual compulsive disorder, is an ‘80’s Playmate and heavy metal icon.
Kelle Sterling Dolley: (18) Lex’s high school sweetheart who’s promised Lex they’d make love just as soon as she lost a little bit of weight.
Riding a motorbike is just like sex, right?
“Lex rode her Suzuki scooter with a helmet. Her Chanel fashions were always pressed. After graduating from Avon Porter she got into an Ivy League university and was still a virgin. She didn’t do drugs or get drunk. So how could my very best friend (VBF) be the daughter to two of the world’s most infamously eff’d-up partying icons and not be an utter mess? The answer is obvious, you ninny. It’s because of us. We’re her besties.” —Vive Farnworth, wealthiest teenager in New Y
ork, socialite and aspiring gossip columnist.
From the Desk of Manhattan School for Girls
October, 14, 1988
Dearest Mr. & Mrs. Easton,
I am a huge fan of your music and films. We are honored to have your only daughter, Alexandra, at our school. However, it has come to our attention, that she eats gummy bears and drinks chocolate soda for breakfast. This may be the cause for her outbursts in class which disturb other students. Enclosed is a high-protein, low sugar nutritional handout for a kindergartener of her age and….size.
Yours fondly,
Principle Rooney Belding
March, 10, 1993
Dear Mr. & Mrs. Easton,
Today your daughter rode a motorcycle to school, all by herself. While we applaud her independence, a 5-speed Yamaha dirt bike is not permitted. Since Alexandra is ten and not sixteen, she broke the law. Authorities have impounded her wheels. Child services will be in touch.
Take Care,
Principle Rooney Belding
June 1, 1996
Mr. & Mrs. Easton,
Alexandra ‘Lex’ is articulate and reading at the college level—outstanding for a thirteen-year-old. Regardless, after the recent physical altercation where she punched another student who admittedly called her fat, coupled by your continued failure to work with Lex on her behavioral issues and the ongoing paparazzi trespassing on our grounds in an attempt to take her picture, she poses a threat to our entire student body. We simply cannot invite her back for the fall term.
I’ve attached a recommendation for Lex to board at the Avon Porter Academy in Connecticut where she’ll be out of the spotlight and protected. Her humor and wittiness in class will be missed.
Goodbye,
Principle Rooney Belding
Thanks, Mom, aka Birdie Easton
August, 2002
Soho, New York
“Fuck me!”
Ugh…
Loud, perverse words came from Mom’s bedroom as I stepped off the penthouse elevator into the foyer.
Carrying my Louis Vuitton over my arm, I hooked my motorcycle helmet, a purply fiberglass, biker-chick, must-have accessory, on the wall near the entryway.
“Come to mama, lover boy.” Mom’s words echoed throughout the ten-thousand square-foot floor.
Looking out the window at the sunny, blue skies, I couldn’t believe my mother, Birdie Easton, hooked up again, and so fast. Only gone an hour, I was at the pharmacy stocking up on nicotine gum. Three different Duane Read and two Walgreens later and I’d finally bought some at a bodega. And here I thought I looked over eighteen, so why they’d kept asking me for my ID was infuriating.
Did I, Lex Easton, smoke? Heck no! This gum suppressed my appetite. Only ten or so more pounds to go till my BF and me would be making l’amour in Paris for my eighteenth birthday party with my BFF, VBF, and GBF. Wait let me clarify. Only my BF and I are doing it together. My BFF, VBF and GBF are staying in separate rooms down the hall. Gross.
I sure hope I can shed the weight in twelve-hours before we go. I have to. Losing my virginity, more commonly known amongst my friends as Lady V, depends on it.
While removing my riding gloves, I tried to think back to whether Birdie had a dude stay over last night or not. The piney, ammonia stench of marijuana in the air hinted at her dealer, Don Juan Escobar, as today’s possible “lover boy.”
My father, Eddie Easton, didn’t give a flip who or what Birdie spread for. He was in Asia touring for his new album. Think Elvis Presley meets Gene Simmons, that’s Daddy. Their marriage had been “open” long before they’d had me. But did I have to hear her?
The Prince Street penthouse was more Mom’s place than mine. I’d moved in with her after graduating from the Avon Porter Academy back in June. Although up until a few weeks ago, I’d called boarding school more my home than here. I’m sure Taddy Brill, best friends forever (BFF), Vive Farnworth, very best friend (VBF), and Blake Morgan, gay best friend (GBF), would agree with me.
I’d only been here a few weeks, and already I’d caught her lighting the cashmere sofa on fire while trying to clean out her pipe. Then she’d entertained the New York Fire Department after they’d put her mess out.
Well, the mess was still here, people. Hello!
One might say I’d forgotten about Birdie’s insatiable appetite for the company of men, sometimes women, and yes, many inanimate objects.
Maybe I was in denial. Alright, I was in complete and utter denial about what a reckless, sexually compulsive, whacked-out celebrity Mom had turned into.
Her last album had dropped when I was like twelve. So she has too much free time on her hands to get into trouble. Come to think of it, there was no “turned into” anything. She’d pretty much always been this way. Uh-huh, I’m growing up, seeing things for how they’ve always been. It’s sad.
Thankfully my Daddy had turned down MTV’s offer last year for a reality show. If a camera crew had filmed what went on in this place, my life would’ve been o-v-e-r. Last I’d heard, the network had asked my Father’s music bud Ozzy to do it with his family, the Osbournes.
Rolling my eyes, I pulled my cell out of my stretchy-jeans pocket and noticed the time.
12:10 pm on Saturday.
My boyfriend, Kelle Sterling Dolley should be here soon. Today we are going back-to-school shopping in his new Ferrari. He lives down in the Financial District and claims since we’re going to be starting college up in Morningside Heights, he needs wheels.
Kelle thinks he is too good for a yellow cab, let alone the subway. Pretentious as white trash winning the lottery or my parents once their albums had struck platinum, I told Kelle I wouldn’t be caught dead in his tacky-ass racer. But he got himself one anyways.
He should’ve invested his father’s money wisely—on a motorcycle. That’s how us Easton’s rolled. I wouldn’t have minded if Kelle’s wheels had been new or an antique. It could’ve been a Harley, Ducati or even a freakin’ Honda, just no pussy sports cars.
Vamp is what I named her, my Suzuki scooter. Mechanically speaking, Vamp is not a motorcycle. She’s a single-cylinder, sporty thing with a seat that fits my bum and painted in my favorite color, think dried blood meets dark purple. She coordinates with my short nails.
Whenever I’d beg Daddy to buy me a motorcycle for my eighteenth birthday, he’d reply, “Baby girl your mother and I will get you a new set of wheels after we see your first semester’s grades at Columbia. ‘B’ or higher on all subjects. We clear?”
Please let my first semester go well.
Pretty cray-cray considering how messed up my folks were to be projecting academic righteousness. I’m not their Pollyanna Voodoo Doll, although I’d grown used to it. Those who can’t do, preach.
After Vamp, my dream bike was the Honda VFR400. Birdie had hers custom made in Japan and nicknamed it after her vibrator, The Pocket Rocket. I rode her as often as I could. I’m talking about the bike, not my mom. Ugh, totally gross!
Oh…that throttled feel, such a heady mix of power and diesel fuel pumping through the engine, between my legs, purring at my innocence. After I’ve lost my virginity, Lady V, I imagine future sex with Kelle will be similar to riding The Pocket Rocket. Hopefully minus the constant stop and go between traffic lights.
Back to Kelle—I admit that, when one looks as yummy as him, he could peddle a pink Huffy bike along the West Side Highway and get away with it. So I’m sure he’ll be fine in his Ferrari.
Vive always jokes, “Lex, your Kelle is total gorgeousness! Give ‘em your Lady V already. Or Blake will snatch Kelle’s juicy booty from behind and I’ll take his ding-a-ling from the front.”
And according to The Manhattanite Times, Kelle was the hottest teenager to have hailed from an American political family. Granted, most of the boys I’d met over the years, who’d been born into politics had not…been attractive.
I’ve dreamt of, lusted after, kissed on, and doted over Kelle Sterling Dolley since I was like fourteen.
“That’s it. Right there. Tap it hard. Ah-huh. Harder,” Birdie shouted in her drunk or high voice.
Usually, I could tell the difference. Today? Not so much. That meant she was probably a mix of both.
Unzipping my bag I took out a piece of that gum, popped it in my mouth and rolled the wrapper between my fingers. The directions had clearly stated not to chomp all day. So I’d spit it out in a few.
Aside from the excess salivating, that made me appear to be Cujo, the rabid dog, followed by bloating—which I corrected with Gas-X and a spritz of Diorama perfume—the gum wasn’t half bad. Shhh. I didn’t read the second half of the warning label where it had listed the other flu-like symptoms. Seriously, I can’t freak myself out about chewing this stuff. It’s mind over matter and right now my mind was focused on getting skinny and getting laid.
Plus what I jonesed for wasn’t cigarettes. I wanted sweets.
Clothing designer Ralph Lauren’s daughter, Dylan, had opened up a candy shop on the Upper East Side near Vive’s apartment called Dylan’s Candy Bar.
The world’s largest sugar shop served over 5,000 goodies. You go gurl! I effin’ double-hearted that place. Hungry for gummy bears and Sour Patch Kids, I craved a sugary zing like twenty-four-seven. Probably the same way Mom did her cocaine.
Please universe, make my apple fall far away from Birdie’s tree.
“My, my, my.” Birdie moaned, “Now I know what my daughter sees in you, Kelle.”
What?
Un-frickin’-believable! Did Mom just say his name from her bedroom? I nearly peed. True story, I crossed my legs while standing, to brace myself from the utter horrid shock.
