Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Repeatedly.
To my face.
Mother fucker.
My palms were sweaty as all hell beneath the bright morning sun. I felt completely out of place surrounded by such luxury, but I put some steel into my spine as I parked behind a black Range Rover with sweet matte black rims and tinted windows.
Money, something I desperately needed and this family had in abundance.
Money that they owed me or, more specifically, what that little fucktard Jacob owed me for tutoring services.
Doubt tried to worm its way into my head, telling me that maybe driving up here unannounced wasn’t the best idea, but I was out of options. Jacob had skipped our last three sessions. If he didn’t show up, I only got paid twenty percent of what I would have earned. I knew he was trouble as soon as I was assigned to him—another spoiled pretty boy who didn’t give a damn about academics, because Mommy and Daddy paid for everything. He drove a BMW, wore fancy clothes, and I’m sure his designer sunglasses were worth more than my car, but that didn’t mean he got to blow me off.
Repeatedly.
Worse yet, he played me. I have a kind nature—it’s who I am, and I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. I like helping people and taking care of them. I pride myself on trying to give everyone a chance and trying not to stereotype. Who knows? Jacob could have been going through some serious shit, like a death in the family or something. So I gave him the benefit of the doubt, and he played me but good.
When Jacob first gave me a sob story about being sick, I believed him and emailed him a study guide then coached him through it. The second time, he allegedly got food poisoning, and once again I took time I didn’t have to spare to try and help him pass his class. Stupid me, he probably didn’t even glance at the study guides I spent so much time putting together. His shitty grades certainly didn’t reflect a person who’d reviewed the material I carefully compiled for him.
This last time, he swore up and down that he’d be there, that I didn’t have to worry, that I had his word. Yet, at 7 pm on a Thursday night, I sat in Arizona State’s library waiting…and waiting, and waiting for his ass. Finally, at nine, I gave up and went home, but I was pissed. Really pissed. When I get pissed, I do something about it. But this morning, when I arrived at his frat house, ready to ream him a new one, they told me Jacob went home to Sedona for the weekend. Instead of waiting until he came back on Monday—like any normal and well-balanced person—I pulled up his personal file, got his home address, then hopped on the freeway and drove, fuming the whole time.
If Jacob didn’t give a shit about failing out of college, maybe his parents would make him care.
My door creaked as I opened it, the hot breeze instantly drying the nervous sweat that had beaded my nose as I tried to look poised and professional, not the easiest thing to do when you’re built like a chubby porn star.
I hit puberty early at eleven, grew quickly into a full double D cup, and since then, my breasts had been the bane of my existence. First, they drew the attention of any tit man who happened to be in my immediate area—and the vast majority of them saw nothing wrong with staring at some strange woman’s chest, even if she was just a teenager. Second, it was hard to dress with an hourglass figure in a world that seemed to cater to women without curves. Shirts never fit right, because my breast to waist ratio was on the extreme side. They were either fitted on top and super loose around my waist, or fitted around my waist with my bewbs about to bust out. Third, some people looked at my body and instantly assumed I was a slut or a bimbo. Having naturally curly dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and dimples didn’t help people take me seriously, nor did the fact that I was only 5’3”. People liked to judge, so when they looked at me, their first impression was rarely flattering.
The world isn’t kind to people who didn’t fit society’s narrow stereotypes about how a person should look. Fortunately, I had a strong mother who equipped me well for dealing with a world full of assholes. And my evil bitch older sister had flayed my soul alive with her foul words when we were teenagers, so it took a lot to piss me off. Going through the hell my sister had put me through, and coming out the other side alive, gave me the strength to pull myself together and not chicken out.