Again

By Lisa Burstein

How far would you go for a second chance?

Eleven years after flunking out of college, Kate has finally hit rock-bottom. Losing her job and boyfriend in one drunken night, she’s determined to fix her life by going back to the moment when she let partying and sex take over. And do things right this time. At twenty-nine, she heads back to freshman year of college, with a catch.

Pretending she's nineteen with a new roommate and full class schedule is easy. When she meets her shy, sexy and seven-years-younger RA, Carter, following her self-imposed sobriety and celibacy rules is proving to be anything but.

A senior enduring years of regret, Carter is more than ready to graduate. He’s anxious to move on from the party his freshman year where he witnessed his frat brothers about to commit a sexual assault. Instead of doing the right thing and stepping in, he looked the other way and left. His guilt has made for a lonely four years.

When he meets the new freshman on his floor, spunky and confident Kate, he wonders if his time as an outcast has finally come to an end.

Kate and Carter’s growing friendship and undeniable attraction make it harder to hide the demons from their respective pasts. But when their secrets are finally revealed, will their chance at starting over together still be there?

"Lisa Burstein brings both heart and humor to this new-adult-with-a-twist gem! A witty, sexy, and touching tale about getting it right the second time around." -USA Today bestselling author of Down for the Count Christine Bell

**Stand alone, no cliffhanger. This book contains explicit sexual situations and mentions sexual assault, alcoholism and adultery.**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Burstein
• Release date: Sep 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781634520232

Book preview

Chapter One

Kate

College-take-two started with me hiding in the dorm lobby men’s bathroom. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice the urinals until after I ran inside.

I stood with my back tight against the door gulping air like it was Riesling and I was at an all you can drink happy hour.

How the hell did I think I’d ever pull this off? Pretend to be a nineteen-year-old freshman at twenty-nine years old?

Going back to college might not have been one of my best ideas—but it was the only one that might finally change my life. I wanted to change my life. I needed to. It was just hard to convince myself of that once I was actually on campus with tons of real freshman all around me.

I guess it’s a lot easier to fantasize about living your life over again than to actually go through with it.

Are you lost?

I turned and found a built, blond-haired hottie washing his hands. He dried them quickly, crossed his arms over his broad chest, and leaned against the sink.

That was the moment I realized I was in the men’s bathroom. The moment my breathing switched from gulping Riesling at an all you can drink happy hour to puking it up into the disgusting toilet at the back of the bar when drinks switched back to full price.

My knees went wobbly. My mouth was dry; my head seemingly floating on top of my neck. I couldn’t tell if I was suddenly unbalanced because of how handsome he was, or the realization that I clearly was lost.

Minus a penis lost.

Shit, I reached for the door handle with sweaty palms. At least I was making the kind of stupid mistake a real freshman would.

My wide, wild eyes probably made me look as confused by my surroundings as any other student arriving, but honestly, I was terrified and not because I’d almost caught this guy with his pants down, but because this whole idea was insane.

It’s okay, he said, walking toward me, waving his large hands to calm me. This is definitely not the worst thing I’ve seen someone do the first day back. He smiled, showing teeth that reminded me of toothpaste commercials. It brought out the sweetest dimple the size of an M&M on his chin.

Fuck me. I smiled back.

He paused, eyeing me up and down, perhaps noticing the tight body I was showing off in a desperate attempt to appear nineteen.

What makes you an expert? I asked, hoping to change his focus. Maybe he wasn’t regarding me for the reason I thought; tight body or not, I wasn’t nineteen. I was twenty-nine. Why the hell would anyone believe any different?

He pointed to his red polo shirt.

Turns out he was doing his job.

The area above his right pectoral muscle read Resident Advisor, Hudson University. There was something I couldn’t identify in his sea-glass blue eyes—almost like he was holding back, putting up a good front.

I knew his look well. It was one I’d mastered. When it got too hard to wear my own everything-is-fine mask I doused it in alcohol and sex and bad choices, but that wasn’t a solution anymore.

And clearly, everything wasn’t fine.

I need to get out of here. I grasped for the door latch again, trying to put out the fire blazing in my neck and face.

He reached from behind me and also went for the latch. His hand brushed against mine, blistering enough to brand my skin.

My pulse popped like the last minute of popcorn in a microwave. I needed to get away from him. I would have usually chastised myself for even glancing in his direction. Not that I had much choice considering I’d been the one who put us in such close and uncomfortable quarters.

Twenty-nine-year-olds didn’t spontaneously combust from a college kid’s accidental touch. But damn, this guy was fine. My RA back in college-take-one was nothing like this. If he had been I might have made it past the first semester.

I might have passed my actual college-take-one classes.

Of course, I also might have spent it studying what was under his khakis.

Let me help you, he said, pushing on the latch as I continued to pull. His voice was a deep vibrato, as deep as his blue eyes seemed.

I can open a door, I said, pulling as hard as I could. Nothing happened.

Apparently I couldn’t.

He lifted his arms I-surrender-style and stood back, stifling a laugh. It’s a push.

I knew that, I looked down as I finally pushed the door open and we exited the bathroom. Not because I was embarrassed, though who was I kidding?

I kept my eyes down. I didn’t want to show him my face. Have him laugh and say, what the hell are you doing here, old lady? Or even worse, are you here helping your daughter or son move in?

It was one thing to be told you had a baby face your entire life. It was another to put it to the test next to actual babies!

That was why I’d run into the bathroom. Too bad my early-onset cataracts had obscured the mammoth M and stick figure dude.

We stood in front of the door, the dorm lobby brimming with students and their parents. I should have just walked away, but I liked the way he was checking me out, his gaze sliding from my just purchased Uggs to my just purchased white winter hat with cat ears smashed over my recently highlighted blond hair. I had been doing my best to look student-like.

But I was pretty sure I looked like Hannah Montana.

It had been easy to photoshop my high school transcript so it seemed like I graduated a year ago. Simple to change my one semester of F’s to A’s, to take the SATs again, to get a fake ID, to dress like any other nineteen-year-old. It took an hour to sublet my rent-controlled New York City apartment.

Being here and acting like a college freshman would clearly be a lot harder.

I took a deep breath, focusing on the chaos of the lobby. The bulletin board on the far wall was adorned with rainbow-colored construction paper that read Welcome Back.

Was I seriously doing this? Damn if I didn’t wish I was at an all-you-can-drink happy hour to give me a little of my tried and true liquid courage.

I could walk out now and forget this crazy scheme, but what did I have to go back to?

I’d been fired and dumped by David on the same blackout of a night and was a year away from thirty with no prospects for anything better. Considering I lived paycheck to paycheck when I had a job, it meant if I didn’t succeed here I literally had nothing.

This was my only choice. It was start over where I fucked up and flunked out last time, or give up.

I had giving up to look forward to once I hit forty. It was time to make college-take-two my bitch.

Sorry about that, next time I’ll ask for directions, I said, forcing a smile.

There’s a whole class here on how to work doors. You might want to enroll, he said, lobbing back a devastating grin.

Warmth flooded up from my stomach. I tamped it down. "I guess you already passed Smart Ass 101 with flying colors."

His face changed and he stepped back, like he was resetting himself, remembering himself. He scanned to the duffle on my shoulder, the rolling trunk suitcase in my hand. Didn’t your parents come to help you today?

I don’t have parents, I said, blurting out my first lie without even thinking. Really, my mother was very much alive and very much my mother. Being the only child to a woman who was artificially inseminated meant she had wanted me desperately. The fact that I never asked to be born didn’t seem to matter to her at all.

Wow, sorry, he said, his face downcast, his dimple hidden by his sunken chin. That’s terrible.

Shit, what a stupid lie. I should have had a backstory ready. I was more worried about convincing everyone in my current life about where I’d be for the next four years—the Peace Corps—than remembering I’d have a whole new group of people to convince about more than my age.

As penance, I’d made a donation. I wasn’t sure how many dams my small gift would build, but I figured it would do more for Senegalese farming than I could.

It’s okay, they’ve been dead a long time, I said, thinking quickly, but saying the words made me feel like crap. My mom drove me crazy, but I loved her. She’d sacrificed a whole hell of a lot to have me. She was a working single mom by choice.

My father was a sperm donor I’d never met, but apparently he had an immaculate background: handsome, a doctor, no mental illness in his immediate family tree.

When I’d been caught doing something my mother couldn’t understand: sneaking alcohol at twelve, having sex on our basement couch at fourteen, flunking out of college at eighteen, she would always tell me my genetics did not align with the person I was becoming. Every time she gave me her speech about what a mess I was compared to the stock I came from, I couldn’t help but wonder if my real father wasn’t the hotshot in the listing at the sperm bank, but was just some homeless guy jizzing in a cup to get money for a fix.

I’m not sure what to say, he replied finally. He stared at the floor, clearly uncomfortable that the wrong girl in the cute cat ears hat had wandered into his bathroom.

It was good I couldn’t ever touch this guy because I was seriously blowing it. I was a dolt who couldn’t open doors and talked about her dead parents. I mean, legally, I could touch him, but rule number one for college-take-two was: no guys

No wait—that was rule number two.

Rule number one was: no alcohol which, if broken, meant I would break rule number two anyway.

Noticing the way the sleeves of his polo shirt tightened against his biceps as he shoved his hands in his pockets demonstrated he was as good a specimen as any to break rule number two with. I shook away his superbly toned arms and what the hands attached to them could accomplish. I was doing everything differently now. School came first, middle, and last. There was no way that was happening by indulging in fantasies like this on day one.

What I mean is… I paused, …it’s been long enough that it’s not on my mind all the time. I needed to stop talking about my fake dead parents. I needed to get onto the elevator across the lobby and get up to my dorm room.

I understood that without alcohol I’d need a new addiction. It couldn’t be sex. Maybe I could fool my brain into making it studying. Could you get high from library fumes?

I get it, he said, his face softening. Sometimes I wonder why the past doesn’t come with an expiration date.

Hot and thoughtful, wasn’t that just my luck?

It does, I said, swallowing hard, but you’re the one who has to enforce it.

That was what I was doing, wasn’t it? My old life was over, expired. My new life had four hopefully productive years ahead.

He didn’t reply, just watched me in a way that made my heart whack against my chest like a dog’s wagging tail. His eyes were on me and at the same time far away, clearly thinking of something else.

This was a heavy conversation to have with someone whose name you didn’t even know, but it wasn’t likely I’d ever see him again. One good thing about a college campus was anonymity.

Not that I’m an expert or anything, I said, hoping to terminate his trance.

It’s easier said than done, he said, finally shaking his head like he was waking himself from a nightmare. He cleared his throat. Sometimes I wish my parents were dead. His lips tipped up at the corners but then, realizing it was a terrible joke, he closed his mouth tight.

Everyone does, I said, sometimes.

I thought about my mother. She’d called me a month ago on the morning I turned twenty-nine at the precise moment I’d shot out of her vagina, per usual. As she sang Happy Birthday, the memory of the night before came into excruciating focus: getting exceptionally drunk (even for me) at the Franklin Law Group holiday party, a shouting match in the elevator with David, my married fuck-buddy and boss of the past year. It wasn’t the first birthday where reliving my mother’s sacrifice, I wished I could have been shoved back in.

That was what college-take-two was supposed to be about. Starting over literally as someone who would never do the things I’d done that led me to be who I was at twenty-nine—finally understanding my life could be more than just a series of bad decisions.

He ran his fingers through his curly blond hair, I’m not usually so stupid.

I wished I could have said that but, if my past was any indication, I always was. Never mind—it was time to climb on and ride the high that I was passing as a freshman. He might be sticking his foot right in his mouth again and again, but he was buying that I belonged here.

How are you usually? It was a rush. My whole body was seemingly teeming with the number nineteen, becoming nineteen. It was bubbling out of my pores like a spell being granted in a fairy tale. Maybe lying could be my new addiction.

He laughed, Actually, probably this stupid.

At least you know how to open a door.

He exhaled, his eyes focused on mine. It must be hard to be all alone.

My body chilled, seemed to fold in on itself. He understood, truly understood, loneliness. It was something I fought against. It was, if I had to admit it, one of the main reasons I drank. You could cover up anything with enough booze, even the wailing of your heart, even never knowing where half of you came from.

I’m used to it now, I said, but my voice was hollow. I wasn’t alone for the reason I’d given, but I was now. With no past and no alcohol, I had been reborn by choice into someone completely new. I had no attachments, but also no safety net.

His toothpaste commercial smile came out again. You probably don’t want to think about all this stuff. Let’s start over. He bit his lip and readjusted his stance. Welcome to Nixon Hall.

His saying it out loud reminded me: Nixon. Of course, irony assigned me to a dorm named after a liar. Hopefully, I wouldn’t end up leaving in disgrace too.

My name is Carter, but you can call me Chazz. He put his right hand on his shirt where Resident Advisor was embroidered.

I couldn’t help wanting to know what his pectoral muscle felt like under his shirt, but I definitely did not want to call him Chazz.

I cocked my eyebrow. No thanks, I said.

He smirked, a people usually do what I tell them to do and why aren’t you, smirk. Don’t like Chazz, huh?

No offense, I said, trying to forget my own cat ears hat, but it’s a little douchey.

A little? he laughed with his whole perfect body. Fine, Carter for you then.

Carter, I said, with a small wave, I’m Kate.

I don’t remember you from last semester. Did you switch dorms?

Just transferred, I said, reciting the lie that had already been planned.

That part of my backstory was kind of true. I should have transferred after I’d flunked out of college-take-one first semester, but instead I’d moved back to New York City. College didn’t want me, so I didn’t want it either.

It’s amazing how stubbornness appears reckless in hindsight.

Lucky for you, I’m the RA for floor twelve and a senior, he said, smiling purposefully. "So, if you have questions about anything, I probably have an answer. Including where your bathroom is."

I’m on floor twelve, I said, skipping over his joke. Crap, apparently I would be seeing Carter again and again, probably daily.

There was something I couldn’t pinpoint in his eyes. You sure you don’t want help with your bags? he asked.

Thanks, I got it, I said, moving away from him quickly. Carter in my room on day one was not a safe way to start college-take-two. It was hard enough to imagine having to stay away from him when he was coming down the hallway from the shower half-naked and glistening.

I headed to the elevator, trying to ignore him watching me as he greeted more students and parents. Forget rule number one, with Carter around rule number two might be the bigger problem.

Chapter Two

Carter

You can call me Chazz? What an idiot. Being a second semester senior made me a lot more confident than I had a right to be, especially when I said stupid shit, but something about Kate made me aim to impress her.

I have a nickname, impressive.

Maybe it was because she seemed like she’d been through a lot more than the average freshman.

Maybe it was because when we were alone in the bathroom, I wished she wasn’t in such a rush to leave.

She also had no idea yet about what happened to me my freshman year. A blank slate was incredibly attractive considering I’d spent years wishing I could erase mine.

My friend Tristan, the RA for floor ten, came up behind me and slapped me on the back. He shoots, he misses, he said, laughing like only a friend can at your perceived embarrassment.

Tristan was a senior too. He’d been my roommate freshman year. He knew what had happened, but believed I wasn’t lying about it unlike most everyone else. It had been three years since then. Long enough that people didn’t talk about it anymore, but that didn’t mean they didn’t think about it every time they saw me or one of the other guys who used to be in the since- disbanded TKE fraternity.

She’s on my floor, I said. It’s good I missed.

It would be hard to avoid her on my floor or not. I liked her confidence. It was damn sexy and rare. There was something else, too—the way her brown eyes reminded of a deer’s, the same hollowness—almost like they’d been through too much to give away anything. Maybe because of what had happened to her parents. You never fully recovered from tragedy, from experiencing the worst of human nature.

I knew.

Tristan scoffed. Who follows that archaic hands-off rule?

I follow every rule.

Tristan paused, assessing me. Forbidden fruit, he finally said, is the sweetest of all.

I’m a semester away from graduating. I don’t need any fruit, especially not forbidden freshman fruit, I reasoned, as much to him as to myself. Part of my atonement for what had happened my freshman year was working as an RA, giving back to the university that was nice enough to let me stay. My father’s sizeable endowment hadn’t hurt either.

Then why are you still staring at her? He waved his hand in front of my eyes.

Shut the hell up, I said, smacking it away.

Couldn’t have your view blocked for even a minute? I heard a chuckle in his voice. Damn, you’ve got it bad, Chazzy.

I’d received my nickname in my frat. I still told people to call me that as a reminder. Everyone kept telling me to forget what happened, to move on, but I couldn’t. I never wanted to forget the night I discovered I was a coward.

Kate was clearly the opposite. Maybe I hoped she could teach me how to be as strong as she seemed.

She’s new, isn’t she? he asked, rubbing his palm against his buzzed scalp, his own red RA polo pulling up from his waist to show off his hairless stomach. Tristan was on the diving team. He was good, Olympic trials good. He became an RA to do his best to avoid the temptations college had to offer.

That was probably the real reason my father made my being an RA a stipulation of his endowment. He was willing to do anything to make sure I didn’t fuck up again.

Yeah, so? I responded, even though we both understood what new meant. It meant she didn’t know what Chazz and his frat brothers had been accused of doing to Jeanie Pratt, what Chazz had actually done, or even worse, not done.

So that makes you the helpful RA, instead of…

Just because Tristan believed me, didn’t mean he could talk to me about it. No one could.

I only asked her if she needed me to carry her bags.

There are lots of other people around here to ask. He gestured around the busy lobby.

He was right—there were tons, but none of them had walked into the men’s bathroom and gotten adorably stuck inside. None of them had her wistful eyes.

She was alone. Her parents are dead, I added, though I immediately regretted revealing that. Maybe Kate didn’t want to tell anyone.

I knew all about wanting to keep certain things secret. Not that what had happened my freshman year was a secret to anyone—even the students who hadn’t