Author: Brighton Walsh, Lorelie Brown, Amy Jo Cousins, Audra North, Rebecca Grace Allen, Jennifer Blackwood
Release Date: October 13, 2015
Six stories of sex, love, and being young in the ‘90s, inspired by songs of the decade…
My Strongest Weakness by Brighton Walsh
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. No one would find out; no one would have to know. And then once turned into twice, and twice turned into several times a week, and now pierced, punk-loving, rebellious Tia Lanning is banging Mason Brooks, the big man on campus and Mr. All American. But banging him isn’t the problem. Falling for him is. Especially when he’s content to let her remain his dirty little secret.
Worthwhile by Audra North
Jill didn’t expect her semester in Leeds to start with getting dumped by her boyfriend. Especially since she only came to England to be with him. Two weeks in, all she wants to do is go home. Finding love with someone new is definitely not an option. But when she literally stumbles into grad student Stuart’s arms, her experience abroad becomes a lot more worthwhile.
Creep by Lorelie Brown
Roni lives for the raves in Oakland’s warehouse district. Dancing till dawn in white gloves under black lights breathes life into her soul. Nothing will get her kicked out of her underground world faster than turning over Skittles, her dealer. She refuses to provide info about the underage runaway to his big brother Tom. But Tom is going to find Skittles with or without Roni’s cooperation. But Tom is special. He’s rich, handsome and bold. Roni wishes she was special. And like the rave scene she loves, nothing lasts forever.
Smells Like Teen Spirit by Rebecca Grace Allen
Rory Stone’s days of grunge and poetry are behind her, her reality now in bags of Arabian brew, and counting the change in the tip jar. Can indie singer James Griffith rock her muse back into the present?
The Belle vs. the BDOC by Amy Jo Cousins
Shelby Summerfield is a gold star lesbian, even if she doesn’t look like one. Florence Truong is the only other dyke at Carlisle College in 1993 not wearing plaid flannel, and Shelby sets her sights on seduction. But instead of a delightful tumble in the sheets, Florence calls her out for being a straight girl. With seduction off the table, Shelby settles for revenge for her humiliation. But if all she wants is to show up her campus rival, how come Shelby can’t stop herself from saving Florence instead of annihilating her?
Little Red Thong by Jennifer Blackwood
Emily Jones is ready to embark on the most epic spring break trip of her college career with her bestie, twin brother, and her brother’s best friend, Chase. Chase has been in love with Emily since the eighth grade when she kicked his ass in laser tag. He’s not going to piss away his last chance to tell her how he feels. When the group decides to play a game of Spring Break BINGO that involves body shots, a red thong, and secret hookups, this is the perfect catalyst to get him out of the friend zone. But as things get heated, they have to decide if twenty years of friendship is worth putting in jeopardy because of a game, and what will happen when they hit dry land.
My Strongest Weakness by Brighton Walsh
This is so not my scene. It’s not that I hate parties…just these parties. Snooty sorority girls with their Heathers cliques, whispering and pointing at anyone who looks different from them. Jocks who are obnoxious and irritating, doing keg stands or groping chicks in the corners or on the couches. I’d rather be just about anywhere. But when Stacy, my roommate from Freshman year, cornered me in the quad after my foreign film class and begged me to come along, saying all her other friends bailed on her and the guy she was trying to catch the eye of was going to be here, I figured why the hell not?
Plus, I thought it would be a good opportunity to fuck with him.
Him being Mason Brooks. Starting quarterback, a legacy and vice president of Zeta Alpha Tau, and Mister All-American. He’s perfection personified. Perfect hair, perfect body…straight white teeth anchoring the perfect smile. Perfect clothes. Perfect life. His parents, both lawyers, are still married. They attend every football game, or so I’ve heard, and live about an hour upstate in a suburb I can’t even afford to drive through, let alone live in. Perfect.
We’re like water and oil, never mixing well. As different as night and day. I hate him on principle alone.
A game of Quarters is going on in the corner, and he’s there, standing almost a head taller than everyone else he’s with. He looks stupid in his backward baseball cap, No Fear shirt, and jeans, just a lemming talking to his lemmings. Everything about him should turn me off, from his neatly cropped hair, to his cocky stance, to his booming voice, to all those muscles hidden beneath his clothes.
Sadly, it doesn’t, which is what got me into this situation in the first place.
He’s talking with some guys I’ve seen him with around campus. Two girls hang off each of his arms—one of whom I overheard in the dining hall say she was going to hook up with him tonight. Since overhearing that, there’s been a fissure of…something…that started low in my belly and worked its way up, and now it’s nearly overwhelming. Must be anticipation. Excitement at the shit that’s about to hit the fan. Mason hasn’t noticed me yet, and I’m kind of looking forward to when he does. The Fourth of July will have nothing on the fireworks between us when he sees I’ve broken our code and shown up on his home turf. There aren’t a lot of rules between us. In fact, there are only three: No interacting in public, no unscheduled hookups, and no home turf invasions.
I’m planning to break all three tonight, just for the hell of it.
“Tia!” Stacy grabs my arm and spins me around, pointing toward the far end of the house. “I see Brad over there, so I’m gonna try and catch his eye. You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, waving her off. “I’ll find you when I want to leave.”
“Okay, an hour, tops!”
Without another word, she takes off in that direction, her long hair flying behind her, and I’m left without a buffer. There’s no denying Stacy fits in here with the rest of the crowd in the house. She’s everything I’m not. Styled blonde hair and trendy clothes, bubble gum personality to my black licorice. When we were assigned the same dorm Freshman year, I thought it’d be a disaster. Turned out we clicked despite our differences and managed to keep in touch even when we moved on to other living arrangements. Head held high, I ignore the thinly veiled looks of judgment tossed in my direction as I make my way through the crowd. God forbid I not be here in a schoolgirl skirt and a baby tee clinging to my tits, all my goodies on display for everyone to see. The chains of my necklace jangle as I walk through the party, not really sure where I’m going. But moving is better than standing still, waiting for the vultures to strike.
Even though I’m on my third year here, I’ve managed to make it my entire college career thus far having yet to actually step foot into a frat house. Until tonight. It’s bigger than I thought it would be. Cleaner, too, even with all the people around. I was picturing a slum, basically. Bug infested, maybe, with garbage lying all over the place, beer-stained carpets and cigarette burns on the couches. How could it not be, with a horde of guys living under the same roof and multiple parties here every week? They must have someone in to clean, because there’s no way any males from the ages of eighteen to twenty-two could keep this shit up.
There’s a wall to my right showcasing dozens and dozens of photographs. I don’t know a lot about fraternities, but I know enough to realize they’re pictures of members of Zeta Alpha Tau, going back several years. Mason is in those photos, somewhere, though I don’t allow myself to stop and look.
I’m on a mission, and reminding Mason our agreement is tenuous is priority number one.
This is so not my scene. It’s not that I hate parties…just these parties. Snooty sorority girls with their Heathers cliques, whispering and pointing at anyone who looks different from them. Jocks who are obnoxious and irritating, doing keg stands or groping chicks in the corners or on the couches. I’d rather be just about anywhere. But when Stacy, my roommate from Freshman year, cornered me in the quad after my foreign film class and begged me to come along, saying all her other friends bailed on her and the guy she was trying to catch the eye of was going to be here, I figured why the hell not?
Plus, I thought it would be a good opportunity to fuck with him.
Him being Mason Brooks. Starting quarterback, a legacy and vice president of Zeta Alpha Tau, and Mister All-American. He’s perfection personified. Perfect hair, perfect body…straight white teeth anchoring the perfect smile. Perfect clothes. Perfect life. His parents, both lawyers, are still married. They attend every football game, or so I’ve heard, and live about an hour upstate in a suburb I can’t even afford to drive through, let alone live in. Perfect.
We’re like water and oil, never mixing well. As different as night and day. I hate him on principle alone.
A game of Quarters is going on in the corner, and he’s there, standing almost a head taller than everyone else he’s with. He looks stupid in his backward baseball cap, No Fear shirt, and jeans, just a lemming talking to his lemmings. Everything about him should turn me off, from his neatly cropped hair, to his cocky stance, to his booming voice, to all those muscles hidden beneath his clothes.
Sadly, it doesn’t, which is what got me into this situation in the first place.
He’s talking with some guys I’ve seen him with around campus. Two girls hang off each of his arms—one of whom I overheard in the dining hall say she was going to hook up with him tonight. Since overhearing that, there’s been a fissure of…something…that started low in my belly and worked its way up, and now it’s nearly overwhelming. Must be anticipation. Excitement at the shit that’s about to hit the fan. Mason hasn’t noticed me yet, and I’m kind of looking forward to when he does. The Fourth of July will have nothing on the fireworks between us when he sees I’ve broken our code and shown up on his home turf. There aren’t a lot of rules between us. In fact, there are only three: No interacting in public, no unscheduled hookups, and no home turf invasions.
I’m planning to break all three tonight, just for the hell of it.
“Tia!” Stacy grabs my arm and spins me around, pointing toward the far end of the house. “I see Brad over there, so I’m gonna try and catch his eye. You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, waving her off. “I’ll find you when I want to leave.”
“Okay, an hour, tops!”
Without another word, she takes off in that direction, her long hair flying behind her, and I’m left without a buffer. There’s no denying Stacy fits in here with the rest of the crowd in the house. She’s everything I’m not. Styled blonde hair and trendy clothes, bubble gum personality to my black licorice. When we were assigned the same dorm Freshman year, I thought it’d be a disaster. Turned out we clicked despite our differences and managed to keep in touch even when we moved on to other living arrangements. Head held high, I ignore the thinly veiled looks of judgment tossed in my direction as I make my way through the crowd. God forbid I not be here in a schoolgirl skirt and a baby tee clinging to my tits, all my goodies on display for everyone to see. The chains of my necklace jangle as I walk through the party, not really sure where I’m going. But moving is better than standing still, waiting for the vultures to strike.
Even though I’m on my third year here, I’ve managed to make it my entire college career thus far having yet to actually step foot into a frat house. Until tonight. It’s bigger than I thought it would be. Cleaner, too, even with all the people around. I was picturing a slum, basically. Bug infested, maybe, with garbage lying all over the place, beer-stained carpets and cigarette burns on the couches. How could it not be, with a horde of guys living under the same roof and multiple parties here every week? They must have someone in to clean, because there’s no way any males from the ages of eighteen to twenty-two could keep this shit up.
There’s a wall to my right showcasing dozens and dozens of photographs. I don’t know a lot about fraternities, but I know enough to realize they’re pictures of members of Zeta Alpha Tau, going back several years. Mason is in those photos, somewhere, though I don’t allow myself to stop and look.
I’m on a mission, and reminding Mason our agreement is tenuous is priority number one.
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