Prerequisites For Love

By M.J. Penn

Kara Farrington has a perfect life: she has a boyfriend her parents love, the money to buy Prada shoes, and a friend who loves shopping with her. Except, Kara has grown indifferent toward her boyfriend, doesn’t care much about her parents’ money, and hates shopping. Her motto is “fake it till you make it,” and it’s

• Language: English
• Publisher: MJ Penn Inc.
• Release date: Mar 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781952162008

M.J. Penn

My parents were adventurous and made the decision to immigrate to the U.S. when I was a teenager. We moved to Southern California, and I've lived here ever since, well, except when I moved away a few times for college. When I finally found the courage to pursue my passion for writing, I left my job as a tax and accounting Professor at the university. To feed the creative part of my brain, I write New Adult and contemporary romance novels. Just like my heroines, I'm passionate, strong, and don't claim that I'm perfect. I hope that my novels will inspire readers. I hope the readers are searching for their own truths and happily-ever-after. I've realized that the only thing that really matters is love-the deep human connections we form during our lifetime. I live in Southern California with my college-sweetheart husband and my son. I enjoy walks at the beach, and I try to keep up with my son's energy levels on most days. I also have this crazy goal of running a marathon one day.

Book preview

Chapter One

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Shivers scorch my veins and settle into a freezing sweat as I walk through the front doors of the Delta Psi fraternity house. I climb the stairs to Brad’s second-floor room. It’s still too early for the groans and grunts of the rest of the guys waking. I heard the party went on until 4:00 a.m. Brad knows I usually wake early, but he never does. The hot shivers battle with each other as I stand before his door, ready to knock. I have no idea why my boyfriend has summoned me so early in the morning to his room. I quietly knock.

He opens the door immediately. Hey, K.

Brad is already dressed in khaki pants and a navy polo emphasizing the dark blue of his eyes. He is one of those guys on campus who only has to smile, and girls drop their panties. He knows it too, but he’s never acted on it. After almost three years together, I’ve never had a reason to doubt him.

I walk inside and close the door—something I’ve done so many times before, but why does it feel so different this time?

Have a seat, he says in a formal voice, extending his muscular arm toward his bed.

I obediently do what he says. My wobbly legs don’t protest.

Brad, you’re scaring me. What’s this all about?

He leans his back on the wall opposite the bed, as far as possible from me. He’s never been a touchy person. I can count on the fingers of one hand when he has hugged me in the last three years. But that’s who he is. He’s never been one of those lovey-dovey guys. He’s always treated me right, though.

Is this about last night? I press him. Last night he and my best friend took me out to the local dance club for my twentieth birthday.

Last night? His eyebrows shoot up, and he seems to have stopped breathing.

I’m sorry I had to leave without you and Stacy, but while I was waiting for you to finish the game of pool, a guy spilled his beer on me. I just couldn’t take the smell of it and took an Uber back home.

I assumed everything was okay. I texted Brad about it last night, although he never texted me back. Shoot. I thought it was no big deal.

Brad’s eyes soften, the blue glimmer as familiar as my own hands. No, it’s not about that.

I press my lips together tightly. Will he come out with it already?

Brad glances away from me. His shoulders are slumped. His dirty blond hair is sticking up in several directions, and I can imagine him running his hands through it.

I’m breaking up with you, K, he whispers harshly.

My stomach drops. As a sharp pain cuts through my chest, I grab the soft bedsheets.

Why? is all I manage to say while trying to steady my breaths.

When he finally looks at me, he says, We’re already getting really busy at school. I’m a pre-med major and won’t have time for a relationship. He swallows hard.

This is bullshit. His eyes pierce me at my choice of words. You were just as busy in high school, but that didn’t stop you from dating me. A dull pain forms in my chest.

Brad has a short fuse, and I know he’ll tell me what this is all about.

Don’t you think it’s weird that we don’t fight anymore? It’s always awkward silence between us, he blurts out.

Seriously?

I didn’t see this coming. Yesterday, Brad and I drove together to the mall to pick up Stacy, and I welcomed the silence in the car. As soon as Stacy sat in the back seat, we had to turn up the radio because her favorite jam was playing. Then last month, we drove to visit his parents. During the two-hour slow drive to LA, I enjoyed looking out the window. But now I understand better why Brad was in a bad mood, fidgeting in his seat and grabbing the steering wheel tightly. I thought he was annoyed at the horrible LA traffic, but I guess I didn’t interpret the signs correctly.

I don’t wanna fight with you.

You don’t want to fight with anyone, K.

My nervousness is replaced by pure annoyance.

Brad Meyer, I say through clenched jaw, why are you breaking up with me? I’ll keep pressing until he tells me. I must have done something to disappoint him.

Brad crosses his arms at his chest and sighs loudly. I roll my eyes at him—something I often do, and he hates it. Is that why? But honestly, I’ve put up with his mood swings for almost three years now; I deserve to know the truth.

It just didn’t turn out as I expected…I thought you’d be more committed. He drops his gaze to the hardwood floor. I want to know if there is something better for me out there.

What? I’m surprised by my voice. I didn’t know I could get it that loud. You’re telling me… I stop to absorb the news and think it through. I’m not marriage material. Not good enough for you?

When we visited his parents last month, they brought up the topic, at which Brad’s face had changed several different shades of red. At that time, I thought that his parents had put him on the spot and he wasn’t ready to talk about it. Again, I’d misinterpreted the signs for what they were. He must have already known about the breakup.

Brad attempts to say something, but I interrupt him. And you want to sleep with other girls.

He shuts his mouth, which tells me I’ve nailed it. I grimace. Brad Meyer is well-mannered, handsome, and as my mom says, has potential, but he’s without compassion.

Although I’m sitting, my knees grow weak. My throat closes with painful tightness. My eyes are wet, but I swallow back the tears and break eye contact with Brad. Sweat clams up my palms. I regrip the covers of the familiar bed.

I need to get the heck away from him. Away from my failure as a girlfriend.

Away from the disappointment.

I hop up from his king-size bed, but my legs give in, and I feel my blood rushing away from my head. I sway a little.

Are you okay?

He has the audacity to ask me if I’m okay, but I say nothing. My hands are on my waist as I take a few steps toward the door.

You’ve changed. What’s gotten into you?

And he dares to narrow his eyes at me.

You’re just…different. You are so indifferent most of the time that I wonder what’s going through your head.

My eyes dart around his room. Every single item here has become familiar to me—the comfortable oversized bed with smooth brown sheets, the fluffy throw pillows, the black leather bean bag, his perfectly-organized wardrobe, and Brad. I’ve grown accustomed to him, too, for the last three years.

Why didn’t you break up with me last week? You waited to do it on the day after my birthday?

No, K. Of course not. He takes a tentative step forward.

Don’t. I put up my hand and give him my most menacing glare.

He freezes, and his eyes go wide. We had plans for your birthday, and I didn’t want to disappoint you.

Breaking up on the day of my birthday was not an option, but the day after is so much better. Can he even hear himself?

Oh, but I’ve disappointed you all these years. Obviously, I’m not enough or not good enough since you want to screw around. The words come out before I even blink.

Disappointed. A word my parents use a lot. A word that’s turned my world upside down. Yes, that’s me. I’ve officially disappointed my family and now my boyfriend—correction: ex-boyfriend. The only person I haven’t disappointed is Gramps. At least not yet. I wish I could talk to him right now.

Brad starts running his fingers through his already-messy hair. K, please. It just feels like you’ve lost your…passion.

Passion? I gape at him.

But the dull pain in my gut is telling me he may be right. I’ve been lying to myself. I’ve been pretending, and it’s all catching up now. I glance at his bed in the middle of the room. The last time I was in his bed must have been three or four weeks ago. And when I was intimate with him, I faked it. I take a deep breath.

K, please sit down. You look like you’ll faint any minute. Do you have one of your panic attacks coming on?

I’m shifting foot to foot, unable to get comfortable. I rub the palm of my hand into my jeans. My vision is blurring, probably because of the oncoming tears. Take a deep breath, Kara. My heart is pounding, trying to burst through my chest.

Brad’s voice brings me back to the moment. Are you getting anxious about what your parents…your mom would say about the breakup?

Nerves flutter in my stomach. He might as well take a sharp knife and stab me in my chest. Oh, my mom. My anxiety level goes up a notch. Inhale deeply through the nose. I’m trying to remember the breathing techniques I learned from the nurse at our old high school. Keep shoulders relaxed. Exhale slowly through mouth. Repeat.

I won’t tell them or my parents until you’re ready to face them, he says in a low voice.

I want to punch him in the face when he starts acting like this. Generous. As if he’s doing me a favor. I crack my knuckles, but instead of swinging at him, I squeeze my hands into fists until my fingernails dig deep into my flesh and the unbearable pain forces me to release. What is my mother going to think of me if I swing at a guy—correction: her favorite person? That’s not how a proper daughter acts.

My legs wobble and don’t want to cooperate, so I turn to the door.

K, please.

But I don’t stop or turn back.

The hallways are still as quiet as when I first came in, which suits me fine. I don’t let people see me cry. The tears start pouring the moment I get in my car. It’s a silent cry. No sobbing. Just numbness. I need to talk to Stacy. I send her a quick text before I start driving.

Me: Brad broke up with me. I need you.

Itake the stairs to our campus apartment way too fast. Stacy and I have been living here since we started college a year ago. She insisted we get a three-bedroom apartment, so she can use the extra room for the new clothes she anticipates buying. Stacy, Brad, and I grew up in the same bubble community in LA. The place where only money and perception matter. My mother is firmly in that bubble, and Stacy is happy living in one too. Stacy is a shopaholic, but who am I to judge, because I was just like her a year ago. But since we’ve moved in together and we’re spending even more time together in college than in high school, my patience is thinning. And it takes patience and effort to keep up the fake life.

Brad is the hot boy-next-door. His family has always lived next to us, and we went to school together. One day, my mom set me up with him. I complied because that is what’s expected from me. Dating him during high school helped me avoid the other guys. If it weren’t Brad, my mom would’ve matched me with someone else. Someone who met her prerequisites.

I sigh.

Stacy is standing in the middle of our living room, her long blond hair coming down in waves on her shoulders. Her eyes are bloody red. I haven’t seen her since I left the bar last night while she was playing pool with Brad. I assume she has a hangover. Given the moaning I heard late last night, I’d say she’d picked up someone from the bar and brought him here, which happens often. Her longest relationship was two weeks.

Are you okay? her voice is a whisper.

She’s acting weird, too. By now she would’ve already hugged me and opened up a bottle of wine, which we would drink in the next hour, discussing how all men are mean and heartless. I’ve done it with her enough times. But instead, she’s grounded in her spot.

I lean on the kitchen countertop and groan. Honestly, I didn’t see myself with Brad forever. I don’t know what I was thinking, Stacy… I trail off when I see her mouth moving, but words don’t come out.

You’re not mad? she finally manages to say. Tears start gushing down her cheeks, but as I look closer, I realize she’s been crying for a while. My stomach churns.

I’m mad at Brad, but… I guess I’m mad at… myself too.

Stacy’s eyes are widening, and she puts her hand on her mouth as a loud sob escapes. I freeze.

Listen, K.

I swallow a bitter taste. Somehow deep down, I’ve known it all along but denied it. My chest tightens.

Brad didn’t tell you, I assume. She’s stuttering, trying to take a breath. Her lips are pale and dry, but her cheeks are streaked with mascara.

My lungs are not letting air in just as my brain is not letting her words in.

I’m really sorry…so sorry, K.

I can barely understand her from her loud sobbing. I’d usually run to her for a hug, but I can’t bring myself to even move an inch toward her. A dull pain settles deep in my chest.

Stacy. Tell me what’s going on.

All color has left her face. Brad and I hooked up last night. Her voice is a whisper.

My hand flies to cover my mouth. The moans. Oh, God. That was…you two? My throat constricts. I thought my heart couldn’t take on more, but here I am again with a stabbing pain in my chest.

I put my hand over my chest as if I can stop my heart from bursting out. But then anger overtakes me, flooding my already-injured soul. My hands shake, and I squeeze them into fists.

Why would you do this to me? You threw all our years of friendship out the window. I can’t recognize my hoarse voice, which is full with frustration.

I look at my hands, surprised at the strong emotions going through my body. Then, I narrow my eyes at Stacy. She’s standing there with fire in her eyes.

Without thinking, my legs take me to where Stacy stands, and I shake her shoulders so hard that her head is bobbing.

K, stop. You’re scaring me.

I’m scaring myself. I’ve never acted like this before. To have Brad betray me is one thing, but for my best friend since eighth grade to do so…and here in our apartment so I could hear them? When did I get so bad at picking the people in my life?

Why? Why, Stacy? Why? I feel sweat drops forming on my forehead.

After a moment of silence, Stacy says, I think it’s best if you find a new place. Her voice is trembling.

I’m not going anywhere.

Stacy sighs. I honestly didn’t think you’d react like this.

What? Did you think I’d just say okay? Please, next time you screw my boyfriend, text me to give me a heads up, I say in a mocking voice.

No, you…I thought you wouldn’t care so much…

Oh my gosh.

Stacy puts her hands on her tiny waist. No more sobbing. "You know that you have a perfect life. You have everything. You didn’t care that I liked Brad in high school, and I noticed him first. You didn’t even know his name, and he lives next to your parents. He chose you, I guess…but you’ve changed."

Traitorous tears are about to pour, choking my voice. I try to blink them back. She is so wrong—I don’t know how to even explain it.

And then it hits me.

I’ve been pretending in front of everyone, so she doesn’t know that I’m not Miss Perfect. Although my mom tries really hard to keep up appearances, our family is not perfect. I can tell that my dad’s late nights in the office and his constant work calls upset my mom. And all she does is clench her jaw and grind her teeth. They don’t talk much besides when my parents need to sync their calendars for mutual events. I can’t even remember the last time Stacy and I talked about something other than expensive shoes. And I don’t care about expensive shoes.

You’ve become…boring. She waves her hand up and down, staring at me, this judgmental bitch. Your hair is always in a ponytail. Look at your clothes. You keep finding excuses not to go shopping with me. Your wardrobe is full of jeans, sweatpants, and yoga pants. What happened to sassy K? Her voice is a pitch higher, and I don’t like it.

So Brad broke up with me because I’m not a prima donna anymore…because I used to be stuck up and selfish like you?

I walk back to the kitchen area, which connects to the vast space in the living room. I need to get away before I scratch her eyes out. I try to swallow back the nausea forming in my stomach. I hear her soft voice again.

K, given the situation, it’s best if you just go.

Just go? Like I have somewhere to go.

You’re rich, K. You’ve got money. You’ll figure it out.

Oh, that is the end of my rope. I hurl the first thing that my hand finds lying on the kitchen countertop at the wall next to me, and it happens to be Stacy’s favorite small bonsai pot, which she spends hours taking care of. It shatters on the wall with a loud thud.

She gapes at me. What’s wrong with you? I’m gonna tell your parents you acted all crazy, and I’ll tell them about the breakup.

She’s right. But crazy feels good. At least I feel something right now. My lips become dry. Oh, yeah. Tell them. I dare you. You’re a traitor anyway, so it won’t be out of character, I lash out.

She’d probably make it sound like it was all my fault, and knowing my parents, they’ll believe her instead of me.

I narrow my eyes at her. Brad didn’t have the balls to tell me himself. Such a coward.

He’s not a coward.

I look at her with disbelief. She’s the one acting crazy…unless she’s fallen for him and I haven’t even noticed. My heart stops for a beat. Again, I’d misinterpreted the signs.

He was afraid you were going to pass out. You know how you…don't handle pressure well. Stacy takes a deep breath and starts walking toward her room but turns abruptly. You know those tickets I got us for the Las Vegas show? You turned me down as usual. God forbid you go to an event that I like and you don’t. I’ll give the ticket to Brad. He’s a good friend.

This is about some stupid tickets? Are. You. Kidding. Me?

You haven’t put any effort into our friendship lately. You don’t see it…do you? Our friendship has been failing for a long time.

Ouch. My heartbeat pauses. That hurts. Because she’s right.

The next few moments are a blur. My brain can’t take on the hurt caused by the people closest to me. My mind refuses to accept the fact that I’ve been betrayed by the people I trusted. Or did I? I rub my temples in anticipation of the imminent headache.

I don’t know how I ended up in my car, but I find myself driving back to Brad’s frat house. I bang so hard at his door that the guy who lives in the next room comes into the hallway.

Brad, open up. Coward. You don’t wanna face me, Brad? I shout my lungs out, anger pouring out of each word.

Hey, K. Please don’t make a scene, Brad’s neighbor says.

Oh, yeah? A scene? Did he tell you that he was screwing my best friend?

I can’t remember his name, but I’ve seen this guy before at the parties.

Brad left, K, he says slowly while backing into his room.

I march right toward him.

I bet you he’s hiding in your room.

But before I can even get to his door, he’s closed it, and the lock clicks.

With muffled voice behind the door, he says, You are acting strange. This isn’t you. Please leave.

Before I kick his door hard, my brain fires warning signals. I am acting like a crazy person. Or maybe I’m not that crazy. Everyone around me is used to my fake persona of being compliant and cooperative, always happy on the outside, but inside my sinking heart is empty.

A few other guys quickly leave the house or retreat to their rooms. Their faces are familiar, but right now, my brain can’t remember any of their names.

Stacy is nowhere to be found when I walk into our apartment. Correction: former apartment. I’m not wanted here anymore. I’m not a good enough girlfriend or best friend. In the next hour, I pack as many of my personal belongings as I can fit in my car. I can buy more stupid clothes later. Where do I go from here?

I quickly send a group text to my sorority sisters and plead for any available rooms to share temporarily. After waiting what seems like an eternity, I call the sorority president. I’m ready to hang up when she finally picks up the phone.

Hello?

Hi, Jess. I have an emergency. Any chance I can share a room with you and the girls for a day or two? I hold my breath.

There’s silence on the line.

Hello? Jess. Can you hear me?

I can hear you, K. No. Please don’t come here. She spits out, and I can hear giggles and talking in the background.

You were voted out of the sorority.

My shoulders go rigid. What is that supposed to mean? I swallow with disbelief.

I’ve never been very close to Jess, but I’ve always been there for her: when she didn’t pass Biology, when her parents got divorced, when she had breakups.

When did you vote me out of the sorority? I don’t think that’s how it works, Jess.

News travels fast. Your breakup is all over the campus social media app. And we don’t need a lunatic in our sorority. You’re out. Her voice is ice—cold and sharp.

I take a deep breath. Is this really happening?

You’re making a mistake. Maybe Jess can see my point. Do you know that Brad slept with Stacy? She should be voted out. You never do that to another sorority sister. I sound like I’m begging, but I don’t have any choice.

Some guys from the frat house posted your attempt to knock down Brad’s front door. It’s kind of entertaining. Never seen you that angry.

Now thanks to some dude who took a video of me, I’ll have a reputation on campus for being angry. I wouldn’t care about it unless Stacy decides to forward the video to my mom. I wouldn’t hear the end of it. A proper girl doesn’t act like that, and especially toward Brad, who is my mom’s favorite person in the entire world. I swallow hard.

Jess, I supported you when you needed me. I voted for you and helped you with all your crazy party ideas, stupid field trips, trivia games—

The line clicks, and Jess is gone. I’m sitting in my car with the phone to my ear, my heart pounding. Was I the only one who didn’t see this coming? I rest my forehead on the steering wheel.

After a while, I feel the leather digging into my skin.

My ex-boyfriend has been faking our relationship, Stacy has been a fake friend, and my friends—correction: ex-friends—are just as fake. I shake my head to clear my mind. I only joined the sorority because Stacy and Brad convinced me that it was an important thing to do in college for us. Stacy and Brad often talked about us versus the others, as if we were better than other people somehow. But that person who tagged along with them wasn’t me. I wasn’t a real friend. I didn’t fit in with them. I was fake too.

Why didn’t I end the relationships sooner?

Because I was comfortable. Because I thought pretending was the only way.

I finally drop the phone to my lap and stare at the screen. My finger trembles over the social life app button. What is everyone saying about me?

Screw this. I delete the app instead. Well, that’s one small win for me at least.

It’s Sunday afternoon, and I have nowhere to go or stay. Tomorrow Stacy, Brad, and I have a speech course