By Kay Marie

Kindle Edition

Copyright 2015 Kay Marie (Kaitlyn Davis)

Cover Art: Manipulated by Kaitlyn Davis from an attribution licensed flickr creative commons photo by Tania Saiz, a dreamstime.com image © Ginosphotos | Dreamstime.com - Girl Blowing Kiss Photo, and a dreamstime.com image © Dirima | Dreamstime.com - Woman Showing Tablet Screen In Autumn Photo.

Title and Chapter Heading Font: Dancing Script by Pablo Impallari (permission granted by artist)

The right of Kaitlyn Davis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be direct infringement of the author's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblances between the characters and persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

All Works By Kay Marie

Confessions

Confessions of a Virgin Sex Columnist!

Confessions of an Undercover Girlfriend! – Coming Soon!

All Works Writing As Kaitlyn Davis

Midnight Fire (4 Books)

A YA Paranormal Romance

Once Upon A Curse (2+ Books)

A YA Dystopian Fairy Tale

A Dance of Dragons (3 Books, 4 Novellas)

A YA Epic Fantasy

To my family for their unconditional love,

my friends for their overwhelming support,

and my fans for their incredible enthusiasm.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Table of Contents

All Works by Kay Marie

All Works Writing As Kaitlyn Davis

Dedication

Table of Contents

Confession 1

Confession 2

Confession 3

Confession 4

Confession 5

Confession 6

Confession 7

Confession 8

Confession 9

Confession 10

Confession 11

Confession 12

Confession 13

Confession 14

Confession 15

Confession 16

Confession 17

Confession 18

Confession 19

Confession 20

Confession 21

Confession 22

Confession 23

Confessions of an Undercover Girlfriend – Preview!

More Books by Kay Marie

About The Author

 

I'm a sex columnist. Okay, well, that's not really the confession. I'm sort of, kind of—I'm a virgin…sex columnist.

 

 

I'm having a panic attack.

Well, at least I think I'm having a panic attack. Rapidly beating heart that shows no sign of slowing? Yes. Inability to breathe resulting in the strangest sounds known to man escaping my lips? Yes. Fingers shaking so badly that it took three attempts to press my button on the elevator? Yup. Feeling totally and completely detached from my surroundings? Um, well, I'm standing in front of my apartment door with no recollection of the subway ride and ten minute walk that brought me here…so, yeah, that too.

Crap.

Definitely a panic attack.

"Bridget!" I call through the front door. She's my roommate, my best friend, and in this moment, my hopeful savior. But there's no answer.

"Bridget!" I call again, flinching at the high-pitched shriek.

Is that my voice?

Oh god, my throat is tightening. I can hardly breathe. Is my vision going too? I cannot pass out in the hallway with my keys still in my hands. What would my neighbors think? What if someone robs me? I'd be prime bait. What if—?

I shake my head. So not the time for that. I need to breathe. Just breathe and get the door open. Easy, right? I force my hand to still long enough to shove the key in the lock and jiggle the knob until finally it clicks. With one hard shove, the door swings open and I jump inside, falling back against the wood just as it slams shut.

I close my eyes.

I breathe.

I'm home, finally.

"Bridge, are you here?" My voice already sounds smoother, calmer. But my heart is still thumping painfully in my chest—this isn’t over, not until I tell her the truth, not until I tell someone the truth.

I'm a farce.

A complete and utter farce.

An answering grunt comes from the kitchen. She must be eating, but that's okay because that means she won't be able to say anything until I'm done. Or she’ll spit her food out all over the floor that I washed yesterday.

Worth the risk.

"Bridge, I need to tell you something and I don't want you to say anything until I'm done because I'm freaking out and if I don't say it now I'm not sure I ever will. Okay?"

Silence. Good, she agrees.

Opening my eyes, I push off the door and spare a glance at our galley kitchen as I make my way to our small living room. The fridge is open, and she must be behind it because I hear someone rummaging through the food. But that's good, because it'll be easier to say this without having to look at her. After all, I've been lying to her for the better part of three years. Lying—to my best friend!

And here comes the hyperventilating again.

"Okay, so," I start as I fall onto the couch and bury my head between my knees. I read somewhere that it's calming, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much now. Maybe I'm supposed to close my eyes? But all that does is start a somewhat nauseating dizzy spell. Open, definitely keeping them open. I start to count the lines in the hardwood floor below my feet—why haven’t we bought a carpet yet? We've lived here for three months already.

I shake my head—so not the point.

Just spit it out.

"Okay, Bridge, well the thing is, I told you something a few years ago because I was embarrassed and at the time it seemed like no big deal, like something I would fib about for a little while, but soon enough it would be true and it wouldn't really be a fib anymore. Anyway something happened today and I need your help, but in order to get your help, I need to tell you the truth about this fib, that grew into a lie, that exploded into this constant gnawing at the back of my mind because I was keeping a secret from my best friend. Does that make sense?"

I shake my head miserably.

Of course it doesn’t. I don’t even understand myself.

I take a deep breath and try again.

"Okay, never mind. Don’t answer that. The thing is, do you remember that first weekend home after freshman year? We were at that party—I think Stephanie hosted it? Doesn’t matter, but we were at that party and no one had hung out since Christmas, and someone suggested we play that game, Never Have I Ever. You know, the one where you start with five fingers up and if you've done whatever someone says they never have, you need to put one finger down, and the first person who's done five of the things loses? Well, do you remember we were playing and at some point I was the only one with all five fingers up because obviously I was the mega-prude of the group? And then someone gave me this challenging stare and they said, 'never have I ever been a virgin?' And everyone looked at me, and everyone put down a finger, and everyone was waiting, and judging, and wondering if I really truly got through freshman year at college without having sex? And I was a little drunk, so I gave into peer pressure and put my finger down? And then I looked at you and your eyes were about as wide as dinner plates and you grabbed my arm and hauled me away demanding all of the details, and then I gave you all of those details? Well…what I'm trying to say is none of those details were true. Are true. Have ever been true."