A sex contract seemed like a good idea, until she fell in love.

When Symone Esquire fails to woo her best friend into taking her virginity, his rejection is the catalyst that inspires her to create a sex contract with a local legend, a man nicknamed “The Cherry Popper”, to take her virginity instead.Sid Cooperton is used to being solicited for sex, being the lead singer of a local rock band does have its perks . . . but when the nerdy, yet intriguing, Symone approaches him with a proposition to take her virginity in exchange for his college tutoring. It’s simply an offer he can’t refuse—even if his reputation for being a virginity exterminator is grossly exaggerated.

Symone wasn’t expecting anything more than a business relationship with Sid, but she soon realizes there’s so much more to her sex tutor than just sex. Matters become even more complicated when her once uninterested best friend, suddenly wants to take their relationship to the next level like she always wanted.

With the relationship she’s always dreamed of within her reach, Symone must make a decision: choose her best friend, the man she’s been in love with her whole life, or choose Sid, the man who has suddenly become the subject of all her fantasies.

The contract has been signed: Symone’s virginity for Sid’s B average.

It was supposed to be simple, until she broke his only rule.

She grabs my kindle and turns it on, reading from the page I’m on. “Veronica opened her legs, inside was a moist mixture of juices I couldn’t wait to taste.” She shudders. “Yeesh, it gives me the creeps even repeating it. That damn word makes poor Veronica sound like a washcloth or even worse, a cake. Cakes are moist, not vaginas. Vaginas need to be wet, possibly slick, but never moist.”“You do realize you said the word moist three times in the same sentence, right?”

“Damn it. See it should be forbidden I tell you. From now on moi . . . that word, is forbidden in my presence. You must find another word to use.”

“But what if I make you a moist vagina cake for your birthday? Can I say the word then?” I joke, grinning over my kindle.

“I swear if I didn’t love you, Symone, I’d strangle you. Please don’t ruin cake for me by making it in the likeness of a twat. At least make it shaped like a dong.” She tries her best to sound serious, but then I catch her smiling at her toes. Here it comes . . . one . . . two . . . any second now . . . she should start laughing in t-minus ten . . . nine . . . eight. And there it is, the hysterical hyena laugh Staci has become famous for. She covers her mouth and glares at me.

“You did that on purpose!”

“What?”

“Made me laugh, you know how much I hate my laugh.”

V. Kelly grew up in Reno, Nevada, but now lives in Watonga, Oklahoma, with her husband and two beautiful kids. Always a writer, it was only a matter of time before the stories in her head escaped and became available for the world to read. She is a lover of frogs, otters, all things green, reading books about compelling relationships, and spending time with her family.