Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
But I wouldn’t be contacting him again.
CHAPTER 1
Honestly, my biggest fear about becoming a zombie is all the walking.
-Gracelynn’s secret thoughts
GRACELYNN
“Are you sure?” my friend, Anisa, asked.
I glanced over at her and wondered if she’d give it up if I agreed to go with her.
Probably not.
I sighed. “If I go, will you leave me alone for a week about ‘going out’ and ‘making friends?’”
Anisa’s lips twitched into what one could only assume was a version of a smile.
Really, she so rarely smiled that I didn’t know what it looked like on her face.
“Yes,” she promised. “If you go with me, I’ll promise to leave you alone for another seven days. But only seven days.”
“What if I lose my virginity tonight?” I asked. “Will you leave me alone then?”
There was a long pause as she digested my words, then she turned, crossed her arms over her chest, and said, “If you lose your virginity, I’ll leave you alone for two weeks.”
I threw back my head and laughed. “That’s all I get?”
“If you lose it to someone hot, then I’ll agree to three weeks. But only if I deem them hot. Not if you deem them hot,” she argued.
I didn’t bother to contradict her statement.
Anisa had particular tastes.
Anisa was Indian. Not Native American Indian, but India Indian.
Anisa was, for all intents and purposes, living her life through me.
We’d met through mutual friends when we were eight, and since then, we’d been the best of friends.
Though, that was likely because our upbringings were so strict.
Anisa’s family originated from India, while mine originated from Utah.
Though Anisa’s family was strict, she’d chosen to still be a part of their lives despite her disagreements.
Me, on the other hand? I couldn’t handle the lifestyle of my family anymore. There were only so many times I could walk past a coffee shop and say ‘no’ before I decided to give it a try.
For the first seventeen years of my life, I was a good little rule-following girl. I wore tasteful clothing. I did my hair the way my mother wanted me to. I didn’t eat meat, nor did I indulge in coffee, tea, or alcohol. I made sure to always do what I was told, and be a helping hand wherever I needed it.
Then, I met a boy.
The boy I met wasn’t a bad boy. He was just a normal boy. A boy who liked to say curse words upon occasion.
A boy that introduced me to coffee and tea. Who taught me how to say my first swear word. He showed me how much fun it could be to be… bad.
And though we hadn’t gone all the way into sexual relations or anything, we had experimented.
And that experimentation had gotten me pregnant.
Did you know that it was possible to get pregnant despite not having sexual intercourse?
I didn’t.
My sisters didn’t.
My parents didn’t, either.
Which was why, at the age of seventeen, I was kicked out of my house and shunned. Because there was no way in hell that I could’ve ever had that happen and not lied about how it happened.
Let me just tell you something, Utah winters are freezing cold. So cold, in fact, that you can get severely sick with prolonged cold exposure.
After trying to survive outside under an underpass for a week, I then tried to go find the boy that’d gotten me pregnant without actually doing anything too ‘bad.’
Only, he’d moved.
He and his parents had heard of what had happened, and they’d moved out sometime in that week that I’d tried to make it all alone.
Upon seeing them gone, I’d tried to live in their garage for a week.
Though, it was then that I’d realized just how dangerous it could be, surviving in the cold without adequate protection.
At one point, I’d passed out in that garage.
The new tenants had found me when they’d tried to park their car inside.
I’d survived by the skin of my teeth.
My baby, however, did not.
Fast forward years and years, and I’d finally found my way, without my parents’ help.
Now, at the age of twenty-nine and three-quarters, I was officially the oldest virgin in the world. But at least I could say that I was finally legitimate.
I was an official graduate of culinary school.
I’d also had a job interview that morning at a local bakery in Intercourse (yes, that’s really the town’s name), Texas.
A famous bakery that was now seen on every freakin’ list known to man.
Hell, even Oprah had mentioned the place in her last Christmas issue.
Which had to be why they were hiring bakers and cooks.
I’d been cooking since I was eight years old. I’d been baking for just as long.
They were my passion.
What wasn’t my passion was going out to clubs and parties when I had to get up at six the next morning to impress my new almost-boss with my culinary skills.