V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Fri, 16 Dec 2022 07:44:33 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Scooped (V-Card Diaries #5) Read Online Lili Valente http://www.ilovenovels.com/scooped-v-card-diaries-5-read-online-lili-valente Thu, 10 Nov 2022 23:02:30 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/scooped-v-card-diaries-5-read-online-lili-valente Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Romance Authors: Lili Valente Series: V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente
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Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)

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In the market for a hot tip? Here’s one: Don’t bang your best friend’s little sister.

Especially when she’s an investigative journalist and your investment company is the target of her latest scoop.
Unfortunately, I have a thing for high-risk bets, and Ellie’s suggestion that we mix business with pleasure is too sweet a deal to pass up. Friends with benefits is the kind of low stress romantic situation a busy New Yorker actually has time for.
But it’s not long before I’m falling harder than the post-bubble Nasdaq, hooked on Ellie’s laugh and determination to make the world a better place.
There’s only one problem…
When it comes to risking money, I’ve mastered every trick in the book.
But how the hell do I risk my heart?

Previously published as Falling for the Boss. Same fun, steamy story, new cover and title!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

Jack

They say money can’t buy happiness, and that’s probably true. But if your lot in life is to be a miserable prick, wouldn’t you rather be a rich miserable prick?

Notice I didn’t say a selfish prick.

Quite the contrary, ladies. I’m a generous man. My portfolio is massive, and I have the kind of hard assets guaranteed to deliver mutually pleasurable returns every time.

But mutual pleasure is where our arrangement ends. I learned long ago that unlike my bank account, love is not FDIC insured. So once my generous supply has met your eager demand, I’ll be returning to the welcoming arms of my one sure thing—business, baby.

And it’s booming.

My company is poised to become the go-to investment firm for elite athletes and entrepreneurs around the world. I have a penthouse apartment with a killer view of downtown Manhattan, a private office suite on the fifty-eighth floor, a vacation home in the south of France, and a net worth that just won’t quit.

And you know what? I deserve it.

Think I’m cocky? Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just numbers. Money is math and math is money—clearly defined rules, time-tested formulas, predictable answers—and that’s about as un-cocky as it gets.

No, I wouldn’t call it happiness, exactly…

But I’ve made my peace with it.

Hell, I’ve embraced it.

No complications, no emotions, and best of all—no losses I can’t recoup.

And then she sweeps back into my life, and suddenly I’m not sure of anything anymore.

Except that I don’t want her to go…

CHAPTER ONE

Eleanor

A woman about to put her tube socks

and spirit glue where her mouth is…

Day 1 Wednesday 8/1

“It’s like how colonel is pronounced KER-nal.” Stephen draws out the last two syllables for the benefit of my tiny female mind. “Even though there isn’t an ‘R’ in there.”

I blink, stunned.

This guy can’t possibly be for real. Can he?

It’s hard to believe that just a week ago, I was thrilled at the prospect of spending time in a normal work environment. One where people don’t sit at their desk in wrinkled pajamas with bed head, surrounded by coffee cups they haven’t gotten around to washing even though their kitchen is literally three feet from their workstation.

I have good housekeeping intentions, I really do, but it’s hard to care about a mess when there’s never anyone around to see it. It’s like the tree in the forest. If a mug—or a freelance journalist—goes unwashed in the privacy of her tiny Queens apartment, does she make a smell? I think not.

“You get it?” Stephen continues with a patronizing squeeze of my upper arm.

I nod, my lips pressed together to keep from saying something I shouldn’t.

This is my brother’s investment company—he and his partner Jack built it from the ground up. And Stephen is apparently a valuable member of their brokerage team, no matter how hard it is for me to imagine this douchebag closing a financial deal with anyone, let alone a famous athlete accustomed to a certain amount of deference.

“So Seyfried is like that.” Stephen lifts his hands into the air, fingers spread wide in a ta-da motion. “You pronounce the ‘G’ before the ‘F’ even though it’s not there. Because Seyfried and Siegfried are actually the same name if you look at it from an etymological standpoint.”

I shake my head, dumbfounded. “Wow.”

He grins. “Blew your mind a little, didn’t I, slugger? Bam!” He reaches for my head, but I duck, avoiding further fondling by drawing my cell from my purse.

“You did, Stephen. You really did.” I glance out across the open plan office, praying I’ll see Ryan’s head bobbing above the crowd of people packing up for the day.

I’m not sure how much more of this I can handle. If my brother doesn’t show in the next two minutes, I’ll make a run for it and text him to call me when his plane touches down in Portland.

I’ve suffered through my fair share of mansplaining, but this is the first time I’ve had a guy explain how I’m mispronouncing my own last name.

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Sparked (V-Card Diaries #4) Read Online Lili Valente http://www.ilovenovels.com/sparked-v-card-diaries-4-read-online-lili-valente Fri, 02 Sep 2022 22:09:39 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/sparked-v-card-diaries-4-read-online-lili-valente Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Romance, Virgin Authors: Lili Valente Series: V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente
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Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >70

Read Online Books/Novels:	Sparked (V-Card Diaries #4)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Lili Valente
Language:	English
Book Information:
Seven years ago, Sam and I were best friends and the goofiest computer nerds in New Jersey and, possibly, the world. We also made a pact to meet up and get busy if one or both of us were still virgins by our twenty-fourth birthdays. I assumed that was a silly pinky swear we’d both forgotten about until Sam shows up at my twenty-fourth birthday party, ready and willing to make good on our bargain. Boy is he ready… Gone is the lanky kid with glasses who made me snort-laugh when we played video games. In his place is a sex god with massive biceps, designer clothes, and a smolder that transforms women to quivering puddles of lust. I’m out of my league with this new Sam. But I’m also every bit as drawn to him as I used to be. So, when he dares me to give him a chance to prove he’s still the same trusted kindred spirit I remember, I agree. What do I have to lose, aside from my V Card? Oh, right. My heart…
Books in Series:	V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente
Books by Author:	Lili Valente

PROLOGUE

From the diary of Jessica Allison Cho

Dear Diary,

Tomorrow I turn twenty-four.

Tomorrow I will eat, drink, and entertain my best friends with my not-at-all-fly dance moves.

Tomorrow I will feel the sun on my face and celebrate the start of another Hot Girl Summer in the City.

Except, I won’t be one of the Hot Girls, of course. The only thing “hot” about me is that I drip like candle wax when removed from my air-conditioned lair, and that I can slurp down a Demon Heat Ramen bowl from the noodle place without flinching. (Also, my feet get really hot when I wear my Vans with socks but ooze cold stickiness all over the soles of my shoes if I go without. Weird, but true.)

Basically, I’m a sweaty goblin in woman form who should be locked in a tower with a laptop and all the orange popcorn she can eat and left to slide further in her abject grossness in peace.

Just looking at my party dress hanging in the closet is enough to make me want to throw up and run away from home.

As a younger person, I might have considered it.

From ages seven to ten, I crawled out my window with my backpack ready for the road more times than I can count. But I never made it farther than the end of the block before I freaked out and ran home, my heart slamming against my ribs as I scrambled up the elm tree to the second floor. The only thing more stressful than trying—and failing—to live up to my mother’s expectations for her only daughter was the thought of living in a hobo camp and eating grilled rats for dinner.

Mom’s cooking was never great, but it was way better than rats.

Thankfully, by the time I turned nine, my mother had given up on ballet class and piano lessons and agreed to let me code every day after school as long as I kept my grades up and went to church with her on Sunday without putting up a fight. I’d been arguing with my parents about the illogical nature of religion since I was eight, but an hour on a pew every week seemed a small price to pay for world domination.

That’s what coding felt like to me.

Like being the ruler of my own perfect little world.

Not perfect because I was the best at it, at least not at first, but because I was in control. I called the shots and shaped the destiny of my players. In the games I made, I decided who the bad guys were, how much power they had, and what secret combo of cupcake bombs and rainbow unicorn farts would put the Boss Dragon to sleep for all eternity.

In my games, I was a god, or could become one if I worked hard enough.

For my entire childhood and the four years it took to get my computer science degree, I worked like a woman possessed, certain that all my striving to achieve mastery would be rewarded as soon as I entered the workforce. I would get hired by Brain Chill Entertainment—my dream gig—right out of college, be promoted by year two, and be running my own division of the company, dedicated to games for women, before my thirtieth birthday.

For a while there, it looked like my dreams were coming true. My first year at Brain Chill was grueling, but amazing, and my promotion came along right on schedule.

And then…everything fell apart.

I’m still not sure who’s to blame—my “team” of saboteurs who made it their mission in life to ruin my game or myself for not figuring out how to get them in-line, but it doesn’t matter now. Yesterday I handed in my resignation and tomorrow I’ll be ringing in my twenty-fourth birthday as an unemployed loser human, without a single prospect in sight. I wasn’t fired, but my bosses couldn’t be less happy with me. The chances of getting a good recommendation from them are slim to none, and I don’t have the capital to go indie and launch games on my own.

Even if I did, I’m so burnt out by the past two years of grueling code labor that the thought of jumping into the hustle and grind of creating something new makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry.

And I never cry.

Crying, especially in public, is for people with problems far bigger than mine. Aside from my perfectionist, church-loving mother bossing me around a little, I’ve had a ridiculously easy life. My parents both love and believe in me, my grandmother was convinced I was the most adorable child ever to set foot in New Jersey, and I have three best friends who have had my back since I was a kid. I also got lucky in other ways. From my highly functional and capable brain to my even-keeled emotional state to my ability to eat massive amounts of junk food without gaining weight, I’m fully aware that I won the DNA lottery.

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The Best Friends to Lovers Bargain (V-Card Diaries #3.5) Read Online Lili Valente http://www.ilovenovels.com/the-best-friends-to-lovers-bargain-v-card-diaries-3-5-read-online-lili-valente Wed, 10 Aug 2022 01:09:50 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-best-friends-to-lovers-bargain-v-card-diaries-3-5-read-online-lili-valente Genre: Contemporary, Funny, Romance, Virgin Authors: Lili Valente Series: V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente
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Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 11130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 56(@200wpm)___ 45(@250wpm)___ 37(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	The Best Friends to Lovers Bargain (V-Card Diaries #3.5)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Lili Valente
Language:	English
Book Information:
Sam drags his thumb across my cheek, triggering a meltdown across the surface of my skin. I’m not exactly sure what’s happening to me, only that it reminds of having a low-grade fever and riding a rollercoaster, all rolled into one. But I’m not sick. I might be completely inexperienced, but I know what this feeling is. It’s longing... AKA lust. I’m lusting after my best friend, and I have a feeling nothing is ever going to be the same between us again…
Books in Series:	V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente
Books by Author:	Lili Valente

CHAPTER ONE

Jessica Allison Cho

A seventeen-year-old who already

knows she’ll die a virgin, surrounded

by a fleet of sentient robots

and five obese cats…

“Or maybe six obese cats?” I turn to Sam, who slouches in the camp chair next to mine, lazily swatting the occasional mosquito brave enough to breech the smoke drifting from the campfire. “What do you think? On the one hand, five cats feels like the right number of cats, but there’s something to be said for an even half dozen.”

Sam sighs. “You’re not going to die surrounded by cats.”

“What about robots? Sentient robots I programmed to love and care for me in my old age because no one wanted to reproduce with me, and I couldn’t train my cats to do anything but meow and eat too much and plot how to divide the tastiest parts of my corpse once I’m gone?”

“If you really want to be posthumously devoured by animals, you should keep pet pigs instead. Pigs eat people all the time.”

I wrinkle my crispy nose. No matter how much sunscreen I apply, every time I step out in the sun, I end up with a red clown nose that throbs and peels. More proof I belong indoors in front of a computer and not out in nature. I wish coding camp were held inside an abandoned shopping mall, and we spent our downtime roller skating past creepy, locked up shops, pretending we were in a zombie movie, instead of playing sandpit volleyball—badly—or kayaking, hiking or swimming—also, badly.

We’re all nerds. Our recreation time is the stuff comedy is made of.

“Really?” I grunt as I consider this new information. “Well, I guess that makes sense. And it would be poetic justice. After the amount of bacon I’ve consumed in my life, being eaten by pigs might rebalance the karmic scales.” I nod. “I’ll take pigs under consideration.”

“Do that. And skip the robots.”

“Why?” I shift in my chair, narrowing my eyes his way. “You don’t think I can create sentient life?”

“Quite the contrary. I think you’d pull it off no problem. Then, once you died, your devastated Frankenstein robots would wipe out the human race in a fit of grief, Terminator-style.”

“You could be right,” I say, flattered by Sam’s approval. Yes, he’s been one of my best friends since were kids and I’m well aware he’s a goofball with an unholy love for Pokémon cards and The Legend of Zelda, but he’s also the smartest person I’ve ever met. Whenever my faith in my own fabulousness falters, I can count on Sam to remind me that my brain is big and beautiful and that’s way more important than being able to land a boyfriend or a first kiss.

Ugh, kissing…

Admittedly, it seems sort of interesting, but also gross. When you stop to think about it, rubbing tongues with another life form is a pretty nasty way to spend your time. What about all the germs and tiny pieces of food stuck in the other person’s teeth and the risk of stank breath? If there’s one thing camp has taught me, it’s that boys don’t brush their teeth nearly as well as girls and that flossing in teens—male or female—is an almost non-existent activity.

Shudder.

The oral hygiene around here is so poor I’ve taken to flossing twice a day just to set a good example.

In light of the general grossness of my peers, I would have been happy to forget about kissing for six weeks and concentrate on my game design if everyone else at camp hadn’t found a make out buddy and dedicated their non-code-writing hours to slobbering all over each other in public. By the lake and the craft corner and over phallic, foot-long hot dogs in the cafeteria—someone is always tongue wrestling around here.

Except for me.

And Sam.

“What about you?” I ask. “Want to take any bets on whether you’ll die a virgin?”

He sighs again and drags a hand through his shaggier-than-usual dark brown hair. After weeks at sleepaway camp, his hair is down to his ears, and he’s managed to sprout an impressively thick beard. But sadly, none of the girls here seem to find skinny boys with lumberjack scruff attractive.

Hence, why we’re the only campers at the s’more-making event instead of off in the woods making out, taking advantage of our later-than-usual final night curfew.

“Come on, let’s go,” Sam says, rising from his chair.

“Go where?” I ask, clinging to my sticky roasting stick. “There are still two packages of marshmallows.” I nod toward the s’more-making supplies the college-age counselors set out for us before also disappearing into the woods.

But I’m pretty sure they’re smoking pot, not making out. Gale and Kristen are both lesbians, but they have girlfriends at their respective colleges and don’t seem like the cheating kind.

Not that I would know, of course. I’ve never met a cheater in real life. I am the definition of “sheltered.” I’m not allowed to date or hang out alone with the opposite sex at all aside from Sam and Cam, boys I’ve known since I was practically a fetus. I wasn’t even allowed to go to dances until junior year and then only if I went with friends and promised not to “grind or hump” on the dance floor.

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Screwed (V-Card Diaries #2) Read Online Lili Valente http://www.ilovenovels.com/screwed-v-card-diaries-2-read-online-lili-valente Sun, 01 May 2022 12:46:03 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/screwed-v-card-diaries-2-read-online-lili-valente Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Funny, Romance Authors: Lili Valente Series: V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente
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Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >69

Read Online Books/Novels:	Screwed (V-Card Diaries #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Lili Valente
Language:	English
Book Information:
My best friend’s older brother excels at many things—being a bossy grump, a jerk, and...this hopeless virgin's fake fiancé? I need a guy who understands that this is all pretend, and who better than a man who can't stand me—and vice versa? Besides, Derrick is the kind of cocky, confident, successful dude bro my gram will adore. We'll convince my ailing grandmother I’m not going to die alone, Derrick will honor that favor he owes me, and we'll part ways as enemies with NO benefits. It’s a rock-solid plan…until it isn’t. Turns out I may have made a slight miscalculation. Now Derrick is charming my family, sweeping me off my feet, and making me want crazy things. Suddenly, I think I might actually want him to be my first and maybe…my only? Yeah, I’m screwed. So bleeping screwed.
Books in Series:	V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente
Books by Author:	Lili Valente

Prologue

From Harlow Raine’s TOP SECRET Diary

* * *

Dear Diary,

* * *

It’s just a penis. A cock. A dick.

There are literally millions of them in this city and it’s not like I’m looking for Mr. Right. I just want a dude bro who knows what he’s doing in the bedroom, with a personality just obnoxious enough to keep me from falling for the guy.

You would think that kind of casual bang-buddy situation would be an easy thing to find.

You would, sadly, be wrong.

Let’s look to the dating log for all the depressing details, shall we?

* * *

Brad One: Emotional. Cried easily. Allergic to synthetic fabrics. Or possibly was using his “fabric allergy” to excuse his second crying fit. Wanted to hold my hand fifteen minutes after meeting and kissed my forehead twice.

* * *

My thoughts: Feelings are not on my radar right now, tears make me nauseous, and forehead kisses are creepy on a first date.

* * *

V-Card Status: Still Un-punched

* * *

Steve: Referred to breasts as “tiddies.” Kept wanting to talk about fishing. Hit the bathroom right before the check arrived and stayed there until I paid, making me think he was waiting to return until the bill was taken care of.

* * *

So, yeah, this douchebag was in the running…right up until he gave his leftovers to a homeless man outside the restaurant and offered to buy drinks and dessert at the bar across the street since I covered dinner.

* * *

My thoughts: These small kindnesses weren’t much, but they were enough to make me fear falling prey to First Dick Fever like so many of the Raine women before me

.

What is First Dick Fever you may ask?

* * *

First Dick Fever (aka FDF)—Noun—falling stupidly and irreversibly in love with the first man to put in more than “just the tip.” A malady that slowly kills your single hopes and dreams and for which there is currently no known cure.

* * *

My mother married her first dick and has remained locked in fractious matrimony with my father for nearly thirty years, despite the fact that they can’t go more than an hour without shouting at each other until they’re red in the face.

She says “verbal sparring” is their love language.

I say she’s got a bad case of FDF.

First Dick Fever also came for my cousin, Sheila, who followed her first cock to the Philippines, where she now lives in a tiny apartment with Joshua and his big sister, Jane, who hates Sheila like a lollipop covered in dog hair and keeps trying to scare her off by putting hissing roaches in her shoes.

Ditto for my big sister, Lauren, who was knocked up by her first dick at seventeen and subsequently gave up her scholarship to Cornell to stay in New Jersey and help her now husband, Chuck, run his family’s plumbing business.

And, sure, Lauren seems happy enough for a woman with three kids under the age of ten—albeit permanently exhausted—but I can’t help but wonder what her life would be like if she hadn’t let Chuck’s dick shape the course of her future.

This is why I have to be careful.

I have big dreams and none of them include settling for the first trouser snake that slithers along. I’m one of the only women in the most challenging forensic accounting master’s program in the country. I’m determined to graduate top of my class and land an incredible first position, one I’ll choose based on my own preferences, not the needs of a partner who wants to stay close to his family or his own (likely lower paying) job.

And when it comes to significant others, I want my future husband and I to have a top-notch sex life, and how the hell will I know if it’s The Stuff if I have nothing to compare it to?

Nope.

One and done isn’t the path for this Raine woman. I’m glad my mom and sister are happy with their lots in life, but I refuse to be derailed by a case of FDF.

* * *

Which brings us back to Steve, and why he had to go.

His flicker of human decency wasn’t much, but it was enough to be dangerous. On the off chance that a close encounter with his dick would be enough to convince me that “tiddies” was an acceptable term for breasts, I had to make a swift escape.

I thanked him for a nice night, pretended to have tragic diarrhea, and left.

Useful takeaway: Mention of diarrhea—especially a tragic case—on the first date is an excellent way to ensure a man never calls again.

V-Card Status: Un-punched.

* * *

Carl: Picked his nose in public. Twice.

V-Card Status: Grossed Out.

* * *

Kyle: Called me Snow White, presumably because of my pale skin and dark brown hair. Spanked my ass within five minutes of starting our walk around Central Park, told me I smelled like asparagus, but in “the good way,” and then picked his nose in public.

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Scored (V-Card Diaries #1) Read Online Lili Valente http://www.ilovenovels.com/scored-v-card-diaries-1-read-online-lili-valente Thu, 03 Mar 2022 16:17:10 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/scored-v-card-diaries-1-read-online-lili-valente Genre: Contemporary, Romance, Sports, Virgin Authors: Lili Valente Series: V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente
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Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	(V-Card Diaries #1) Scored
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Lili Valente
Language:	English
Book Information:
Begging my brother’s best friend—aka NHL superstar, Ian Fox—to help me ditch my V Card wasn’t part of my “make it big in NYC” plans. But after years of being “cute little Evie,” I’m tired of waiting for Mr. Right. I’m ready for Mr. Right Now and Ian is everything I’ve ever wanted in a first time. He’s kind, funny, confident, and has a legendary…stick. Seriously, his stick has its own page of search results, complete with gray sweatpants shots hot enough to make even a clueless virgin drool. And yes, my brother will murder us if he finds out, but we’re both grownups. We can keep a secret. We have to since I just landed an art therapy job working with his troubled team. All we’re doing is a little practice. (Or…ehem...big practice.) Too bad my heart didn’t get the memo.
Books in Series:	V-Card Diaries Series by Lili Valente
Books by Author:	Lili Valente

Prologue

DEAR DIARY

Evie

* * *

Dear Diary,

* * *

Three months! Just three months until I’m a twenty-four-year-old virgin. As if being a twenty-three-year-old virgin isn’t bad enough. At this point, I only have sixteen years until I’m old enough to be the star of a HYSTERICAL romantic comedy about having the oldest V-Card on the planet.

And sure, sixteen years is a long time, but look how fast the past sixteen years have zipped by. It seems like just YESTERDAY I was turning eight years old. Maybe the day before yesterday, but you get it.

I can still remember the smell of the scented markers I got for my birthday and how Dad freaked out when I gave myself “tattoos” all over my face with them.

Ugh, I wish I had a pack of scented markers right now. Cam is experimenting with collard greens in the kitchen. The entire apartment smells like death, covered in lemon juice and the bitter zest of dying dreams.

I know, I’m being dramatic.

I’m just so tired of being overlooked, ignored, or passed by for someone with a better sex vibe. Or…any sex vibe.

Maybe Vince was right. Maybe I’m about as sexy as a lump of cold mashed potatoes, covered in collard green slime.

If so, I’m not sure what to do about it. How does one develop a sex vibe, Diary, and do high heels have to be involved? Like so many things that are supposed to make you beautiful and attractive to the opposite sex, heels just…hurt.

Am I crazy to think that beauty and sex-vibing shouldn’t have to hurt?

Yes?

No?

Heavy sigh…

I continue to be disappointed with your lack of answers, Diary.

Please remember to hurl yourself into a fire if I meet an untimely end, okay? I don’t want my legacy to be a journal filled with whining about my hymen. Ha! We should write a song—“Whinin’ ’Bout my Hymen.” Or YOU should write it. I’m a visual artist, not a musical one.

So, get on that, okay? If you’re not going to answer questions, you can at least spend your free time wisely.

* * *

Virginally Yours,

Evie

Chapter One

Evie Eleanor Olsen

* * *

A (nearly) twenty-four-year-old virgin

about to be disemboweled by a colored pencil

* * *

This is it, I guess.

This is how I die.

I always hoped I’d die in bed, surrounded by loving children and grandchildren—or at the very least that there wouldn’t be large amounts of blood involved—but you don’t always get what you want.

I learned that a long time ago.

Around age eight, in fact, when my mother left.

Dad had no idea what to do with a girl (and made zero effort to learn). My much-older brother, Derrick, attempted to make up for our father’s lack of interest by becoming the kind of hyper-protective big bro my girlfriends thought was the swooniest thing ever, but that secretly drove me insane. Derrick was always in my business, from bullying me into eating healthy foods instead of Pop-Tarts, to cleaning my room, to questioning my love of bug-themed school projects and my preference for spending time with art supplies over most people.

But if I had to guess, I’d bet my brother’s constant hovering is part of the reason I became an artist in the first place.

When I was lost in my art, I forgot that my brother cared too much, and my father cared too little. With a paintbrush in my hand, layering washes of watercolor to create the perfect fall maple leaf, I didn’t feel anxious or worried or not good enough.

I felt like I was where I belonged, doing exactly what I was supposed to do, and that I had everything I needed to make my dreams come true tucked away inside my own creation-loving soul.

I was hoping to cultivate some of that same calm, steady confidence within the twenty-seven professional hockey players glaring at me from the card tables set up in the old equipment room the New York City Ice Possums’ management appropriated for my two weeks of art therapy class. I thought the guys would be excited for a break from murdering each other on the ice, brutalizing their bodies in the weight room, and talking about feelings with the group therapist brought in to help defuse the Possums’ pervasive attitude problems before the preseason.

After all, I’m not asking anyone to talk about their feelings. I’m asking them to draw them, using shiny new pastel crayons and high-quality colored pencils.

Colored pencils like the pink one currently aimed at the center of my chest, held by the agitated goalie towering over me in my slip-on Vans, making me wish I’d worn my tennis shoes with the platform soles.

At five foot two, I’m never the tallest person in the room, but I’m feeling especially wee today, surrounded by enormous men with bruises all over their arms from scrapping on the ice and a collective bad attitude so intense it felt like I was wading through a swamp of icky vibes as I handed out their “anger iceberg” drawing templates at the beginning of the session.

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