Fresh Women

By Jodi Lipper

Cate Davis is a virgin when she arrives at Barnard, the prestigious women’s college in New York City. At Barnard, Cate believes that she’ll finally be free to study great literature and the history of her gender without the constant disruption of some horny adolescent saying that he likes her “top” when he really means her breasts. Cate is innocent, trusting, and maybe a bit too naïve, but she’s smart, sassy, and determined to use these years to discover who in the world she is meant to be.

At first, Ani Wright seems to be Cate’s exact opposite – a spoiled party girl who uses her sexuality and connections to always get her way. But as Cate and Ani connect over the same class and the mysterious professor who teaches it, the two girls grow closer than either one ever expected. Soon, Cate is left wondering if Ani is her best friend or her worst enemy, and it seems that diving head first into Ani’s tantalizing new world of sex, passion, and backstabbing is the only way to find out.

Jodi Lipper is the co-author of the bestselling “Hot Chick” book series (How to Eat Like a Hot Chick, How to Love Like a Hot Chick, and Live Like a Hot Chick). These inspiring, girlfriend-to-girlfriend self help books are sold throughout the world, have been translated into half a dozen languages, and have been featured on the Tyra Banks Show, Extra!, Good Morning America Now, and in Jodi’s regular appearances on NBC’s Today Show. Jodi’s writing has been featured in Time Magazine, Seventeen Magazine, Cosmopolitan Magazine, Essence, OK Magazine, USA Weekend, Star Magazine, Women’s Health, In Touch Weekly, the Huffington Post, Maxim Magazine, Complete Woman, Galtime, Pop Sugar, and many other print and online publications. Jodi is also a prolific ghostwriter who has collaborated with numerous experts and celebrities on books in a wide variety of genres. Before becoming a writer, Jodi worked at Atria Books/Simon & Schuster with #1 New York Times bestselling authors such as Jodi Picoult, Brad Thor, and Vince Flynn. She lives in Manhattan with her husband and two young daughters. Fresh Women is her first novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jodi Lipper
• Release date: Sep 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301223473

Jodi Lipper

Jodi Lipper is the co-author of the bestselling “Hot Chick” book series (How to Eat Like a Hot Chick, How to Love Like a Hot Chick, and Live Like a Hot Chick). These inspiring, girlfriend-to-girlfriend self help books are sold throughout the world, have been translated into half a dozen languages, and have been featured on the Tyra Banks Show, Extra!, Good Morning America Now, and in Jodi’s regular appearances on NBC’s Today Show. Jodi’s writing has been featured in Time Magazine, Seventeen Magazine, Cosmopolitan Magazine, Essence, OK Magazine, USA Weekend, Star Magazine, Women’s Health, In Touch Weekly, the Huffington Post, Maxim Magazine, Complete Woman, Galtime, Pop Sugar, and many other print and online publications. Jodi is also a prolific ghostwriter who has collaborated with numerous experts and celebrities on books in a wide variety of genres. Before becoming a writer, Jodi worked at Atria Books/Simon & Schuster with #1 New York Times bestselling authors such as Jodi Picoult, Brad Thor, and Vince Flynn. She lives in Manhattan with her husband and two young daughters. Fresh Women is her first novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Cate Davis was a virgin when she arrived at Barnard College. Now, before you picture her taking some pious oath and dancing somewhat creepily with her father, you should know that her status had less to do with religion or morality than the caliber of boys in her high school. Those poor boys left such a bad taste in her mouth (figuratively speaking, of course) that when Cate, who had planned to attend Northwestern or another similarly male-infested school, tagged along with her childhood friend Emily to visit Barnard College, a tiny woman-only oasis smack dab in the middle of Manhattan, she changed course immediately and headed straight in Barnard’s direction.

At Barnard, Cate believed that she would finally be free to study great literature and the history of her gender without the constant disruption of some horny adolescent saying that he liked her top when he really meant her breasts. Cate was pretty sure at this point that if a man were to say to her (calmly, without shaking), I like your breasts, or even something as relatively smooth as, I’m dying to bone you, she’d be so impressed that she would have no choice but to hand her virginity over to him right then and there.

But that hadn’t happened yet. All that had happened up to this point was that every once in a while a boy in her class would tousle her short brown hair in a pathetic form of flirtation or whisper something in another boy’s ear while staring at her lasciviously at a beer-soaked graduation party. More than once, this was followed by the braver of the two boys shouting across the room, Hey, Cate, nice ass! or the equally charming, "Cate, strip!"

Cate did not have an enormous ego but she did possess a healthy amount of pride, and could not for the life of her fathom becoming intimately involved with one of these boneheads. As her high school years ticked by, she was consistently equal parts amazed and disgusted when one after the other of her pretty, bright and seemingly self-possessed friends was cast under the mysterious spell of a nervous, jerky, and often obnoxious boy. Even Emily, who was their class’s valedictorian and Cate’s best friend, decided over the summer before college not to join Cate at Barnard after all so that she could stay at home in suburban Boston to be near Dennis, a lifeguard she’d met that summer, who happened to be a sophomore at Harvard. When Cate heard lifeguard and Harvard, she thought that maybe Emily knew what she was doing, that perhaps this Dennis kid was actually worth it. But when Emily brought Dennis to Cate’s going away party, he cornered the guest of honor in her childhood bedroom and asked in a barely audible voice, Can I come visit you in New York without Emily?

Emily was so googly eyed over Dennis that Cate couldn’t bring herself to tell her best friend what had happened. Instead, she tried to at least get to the bottom of the googly-eyed-ness itself by shamelessly asking Emily all about their sex life. She figured it was her last chance to ask such invasive and ignorant questions before arriving at college, where her virginity wouldn’t be as widely accepted or (hopefully) known.

Is it amazing? Cate asked excitedly during their final sleepover before she left for college. Do you become physically and spiritually one? Does he give you orgasms that make you pass out and scream and finally believe in heaven? She was hoping for good news, for proof that she at least had something to look forward to with a college guy of her own one day – hopefully soon.

Well, not really, to be honest, Emily started, and Cate could sense her fidgeting uncomfortably in the darkness, but the good thing is that it’s usually over really fast and then sometimes he’ll kiss me on the forehead and hug me for a while and that part’s really nice.

Cate thought this sounded terrible, and hopefully you do, too.

And so she arrived at Barnard alone, but (looking on the bright side) she was also free, without a best friend to compete against or a high school boyfriend dragging her down. She could be anyone she wanted, and what better place to figure out who on earth that was than a peaceful four-block stretch of grass in the middle of Manhattan?

So far, though, it hadn’t been what she’d expected.

There had been one, count them, one, girls-only orientation event, and even that had been a little strange. The entire class was asked to come out of the quad, where all the first years lived, into the courtyard, where all of the Barnard upperclassmen (or were they upperclasswomen?) stood in a mob on the grass between the four buildings clapping and cheering for their brethren. Cate actually heard a few of them shout, You go, girls! She was disappointed, having expected to meet like-minded women with a legal dose of self-respect, and her disenchantment grew once the remainder of orientation moved across the street to the co-ed, official Ivy League crowd at Columbia University and nearly every conversation at Barnard simultaneously devolved into a version of the classic female triptych – I’m fat, I shouldn’t be eating this, and How is my lip gloss?

The other girls, though, seemed nothing but thrilled to rush across Broadway to meet the opposite gender – so much so that Cate wondered why they’d chosen to attend Barnard in the first place. Co-ed colleges, after all, weren’t all that difficult to find. On their second night at school, all Cate wanted to do was stay back in her dorm room on the eighth floor of Reid Hall and enjoy some already much needed privacy, but her two roommates (lucky Cate had been placed in the tiniest triple this side of Broadway) dragged her across the street to Columbia’s so-called Orientation Barbeque Blowout, which technically wasn’t either a barbeque or a blowout, but they did serve frozen veggie burgers and hot dogs on checkered tablecloths, and Cate figured that was close enough.

Cate’s roommates, Arden Gray and Beth Stein, were about as different as night and day, which aren’t actually that different when you think about it, but at first glance they appear to be very different, which is exactly the point about Arden and Beth. Arden was beautiful, tall, lithe and winsome, plus every other adjective you might use to describe someone who looked like a movie star. She was golden; her skin, hair, and eyes the color of varying grades of maple syrup. Technically speaking, Arden really should have already been a movie star – her mother was a successful screenwriter and her father a famous director who’d already cast young Arden in a few small, unsuspecting roles – but despite having grown up in Los Angeles, Arden was brilliant. She’d been valedictorian of her LA boarding school and was determined to be pre-med.

Beth, on the other hand, was one of those girls who was almost pretty, close to being sexy and nearly likeable, but she didn’t believe that she was any of these things and so none of them came to fruition. She was more book-smart than street-savvy, and having grown up in one of the few Jewish families in a small Midwestern town, was completely accustomed to not fitting in. Cate instantly pitied Beth upon meeting her, noting the stubborn baby fat that refused to let go of her cheeks (and other places, to be fair) and her overly eager demeanor that tempted you with the obviousness of your power to roll your eyes and crush her spirit at once.

And Cate? She would fall right in the middle – at twilight – in terms of beauty, brains, and even street smarts. Her stature and features were petite and her figure a perfect hourglass, the time it told shifting a bit over the years, but there was something indefinable about Cate that made her sexier even than lovely Arden. It may have had something to do with her innocence or perhaps her aforementioned pride, but the way she carried herself spoke to men (men, not boys) in a language that Cate herself hadn’t yet spoken.

Arden and Beth had been successful in convincing her to join them at the blowout by simply refusing to believe that she’d rather stay in the room alone than go with them. Ultimately, Cate was swayed by the fact that they wouldn’t take no for an answer – she found their obstinacy impressive. It was just before sundown when the three girls stood amongst a horde of others on the Broadway median, waiting for the traffic light to change, and Beth asked, a bit nervously, Do you think they’ll be confused by us?

You bet, Cate replied, holding her arm out to support Arden as she bent over to straighten the strap on her heel. The poor things have probably been doing trust falls with their J Crew collars up all week, and now they’re about to be infiltrated by a swarm of freshman harpies.

Cate, don’t you dare, Arden chided as she straightened back up with a look of mock revulsion on her otherwise flawless face. Didn’t you hear Dean Handelsman at orientation? How could you even dream of calling us freshmen?!

That’s right, Beth chimed in eagerly, imitating Barnard’s First Year Dean by puffing up her shoulders and speaking sternly. ‘Freshmen is a gendered term and therefore not acceptable for use at such a prestigious women’s institution. You are to refer to yourselves strictly as first years – a neutral and all inclusive name’.

"Yeah, God forbid we consider ourselves gendered, Cate said sarcastically. Braless in a camisole and skintight jeans, her sexuality may have been unintentional, but it was anything but neutral. Just then, the traffic light finally turned green, and as the two hundred Barnard first years" marched across the street, the collective clacking of their heels could be heard from several blocks down Broadway.

They had barely entered the campus gates when two boys approached. That didn’t take long, Cate murmured to Arden with a sly smile.

Hey ladies, the cuter of the two started, holding out his hand like the most polished of businessmen. I’m Jason. The girls took turns introducing themselves as he shook their hands one by one. This is Brent, he said, pointing his thumb in the direction of his friend.

So, Jason continued, seeming happy to have an audience before him, are you guys freshman?

First years, Arden corrected with a hint of laughter in her honey colored eyes, across the street at Barnard.

Jason pointed at Arden as if remembering where he recognized her from. Hey, I’ve heard of that! It’s the girls’ school, right? There was a round of reluctant nods all around. So what’s the deal with that?

It’s part of the university, Beth said, and Cate cringed internally, wishing she didn’t sound so defensive.

I heard it’s, like, a safety school for girls who can’t get into Columbia, Brent said, implementing Cate’s least favorite (but all too common) male tactic – flirting by insult.

No, I thought it was a school for dykes, Jason deadpanned. He and Brent chuckled, and then actually performed a fist bump. All three girls rolled their eyes and walked away in unison, heading wordlessly for a food table with the promise of more pleasure than these two could possibly provide.

That was awful! Beth hissed once the boys were out of earshot. I’m so embarrassed.

They’re obviously huge jerks; who cares what they think? Cate said, and she meant it.

Arden sighed, contemplatively. All that does is make me miss Jax even more. Jax was her boyfriend of three years who was now a freshman at UCLA. Cate secretly wondered how long their whole long distance thing could possibly last.

You two are ridiculous, Cate said. Why did you even come here if all you care about is boys?

It was rhetorical, of course, but as the silence grew between the three of them, Cate found that she really did want an answer. Her almond-shaped eyes darted between the two girls imploringly, hoping that they would reveal similar motives to hers, to get away from adolescent boys so that she could spend her college years putting herself first.

Finally, Arden caved. I’m a third generation legacy; it’s not like I had a choice, she said. My mother doesn’t care what career I choose, but I’ve always known that I had to come to Barnard.

Beside her, Beth blushed deeply. Don’t tell anybody, she began, but… it was my safety school. I didn’t get into Columbia. It was the answer Cate had dreaded hearing but that by that point hardly surprised her.

It had been an all around disappointing week for Cate, but when her first day of classes finally arrived, she felt an excitement in the pit of her stomach that hadn’t yet been jaded out of her. This was what she was here for – to learn among other smart women, from other smart women, and hell, even about other smart women. As she slid confidently into a seat in the front row of Professor Solano’s First Year Seminar, she smiled, thinking this was the one place where her potential would finally shine through. When she looked up, though, and saw that Professor Solano was very much oppositely gendered, she let out an involuntary, but nevertheless audible gasp…and not exactly for the reason you may think.

Chapter 2

Ani Wright spent the first eighteen years of her life on a quest to never be alone. She found this surprisingly difficult for a girl growing up in Manhattan. Despite being constantly surrounded by the city’s countless millions, her home was stark, quiet and almost always empty. You might have guessed by now that Ani’s parents were rich. Her father had worked his way up the many rungs of the fashion industry after meeting Ani’s mother at NYU’s Business School where she was studying to become an entrepreneur in the world of green technology. Single-handedly saving the environment was her passion, but once her husband was named chief fashion buyer at Barney’s, Ani’s mother discovered that she’d had an even stronger passion lying dormant all those years – being a society wife and philanthropist. Giving away her husband’s money brought Ani’s mother respect, acclaim and most importantly, attention. The latter, Ani knew, was her mother’s one and only true passion, though she never would have admitted it.

Competing with her mother for attention was the overarching theme of Ani’s childhood. It began, of course, with fighting for the attentions of Ani’s father, who was never home enough. Even when he was at home, he couldn’t seem to stop making seemingly innocuous comments about this supermodel he met at work or that one. He’d fallen in love with Ani’s mother precisely because she was different from them – smart and ambitious with more important things on her mind than clothing and accessories – but since she lost her drive to change the world so that she could focus on the latest technologies in facials rather than alternative energy sources, he had a hard time remembering why he’d ever preferred her over one of the younger, dumber, and lower maintenance models (both uses of that last word intended).

Ani’s mother conveniently chose to blame Ani for the southward bound direction of her marriage, and by the time Ani was a precocious two year old, her mother already viewed her as the enemy. She nevertheless continued to give her daughter what she truly believed was good advice, hoping that Ani would avoid making the same mistakes she had. The words, Never trust other women; they will only be jealous of you and stab you in the back every time, had been drilled into Ani’s head for years. And so Ani, like any eighteen year old girl worth her salt, rebelled by choosing to attend a women’s college where she would be surrounded by the enemy at all times. Ani’s mother was horrified – Why should I pay fifty grand a year for you to major in becoming a lesbian? – but ultimately cut the check after a fellow board member of the Metropolitan Opera mentioned that Barnard was actually quite a prestigious college after all.

Despite Ani’s rebellion, her mother’s advice had managed to sink in. She didn’t have any female friends unless you counted Skylar Osborn, the daughter of New York’s most famous socialite and heir to the biggest media dynasty in the country. This was one friendship that Ani’s mother encouraged, fostered even, as Mrs. Osborn was her own best competition for society page mentions and board seats. But Ani and Skylar could more aptly be described as partners in crime than true friends. They both knew that the other girl would throw her under the bus without a moment’s hesitation if the situation called for it, but they enjoyed mutual gossip, shared clothing, and especially going out on the town together, since two society girls always got more than twice the attention of one.

The combination of their looks also worked to garner Ani and Skylar the maximum amount of notice. Ani had a nearly six foot tall swimmer’s body of toned curves and bright green eyes that were always (seriously, always) flirting. Skylar, meanwhile, was the most diminutive creature imaginable – barely five feet tall with no curves, silky brown hair to her waist, and perfectly proportioned elfin features. She draped herself in long, flowing fabrics while Ani liked to show as much skin as humanly possible, and together they could charm the pants, quite literally, off of anyone.

That leads perfectly to exactly how Ani managed never to be alone despite having absent parents and zero friends – she found the company of men. As a child, she soaked up the adoration of the gay men at Barney’s when her father brought her into work to shop from the racks of samples and they would dote over Ani as if she were their own beautiful little girl. Ani ate this up to such an extent that before long she was visiting the showroom on a weekly basis. By the time she was fifteen, she had inadvertently become quite the fashionista. Then one day, an up and coming designer who Ani thought was gay like the rest of them invited her to his studio to look at sketches for his next collection and bestowed on her an altogether new but not entirely unpleasant type of interest. She instantly became hooked on those precious few moments of wholly undivided attention she received when bringing a man to pleasure, and was soon dividing