Call Me, Poppy (The Undergrad Years #5) Read online

  (The Undergrad Years #5)

  Love, Lex

  “Hilariously clever, Love, Lex is New Adult at its naughtiest.”

  —S&M’s Book Obsessions

  “Out of all the books I’ve read by Avery Aster, Love, Lex is my favorite. The story shines with a mixture of reality meets fantasy.”

  —Piece of My Mind

  “Tongue in cheek humor with the Avery Aster story telling that we’ve all grown to enjoy make Love, Lex a great story about a sassy young woman and a hot Harley riding cop.”

  —Kirstie's Passionate about Reading

  “A brilliant 'getting to know you' novel about my favorite heroine, Lex Easton.”

  —Mrs. B’s Books.

  “Love, Lex has you crossing your fingers for Lex, cursing her mom and ex-boyfriend, itching to slap her best friend, then fanning yourself down when her luck turns for the better with Officer Ford.”

  —Written Love Blog

  “Avery Aster is definitely a must read author. All new adult fans should give Love, Lex a go!”

  —Turner’s Antics

  “Snarky, irreverent, and hilarious, Love, Lex is a ‘I just can't get enough’ novel, like the IT Girl and Gossip Girl. One of my new favorites for sure.”

  —Katsmiao Books Are My Life

  “Avery Aster has managed to make the tale of the poor little rich girl into something engaging, captivating, and sexy with very memorable characters.”

  —Deluged with Books Café

  “Avery Aster is totally amazingly. I'm in love with The Undergrad Years. I can't wait to read the other books in the series.”

  —Reader’s Heaven

  “These four delightful friends draw you into their world with a twist and a shake of sheer insanity. Love, Lex brightened up my day.”

  —Jezebell Girl & Friends

  “I have a soft spot for Lex. Getting into her head was freaking fantastic. Lex’s daydreams of seduction were both laugh out loud and hot!”

  —The Dirty Smut’atter

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed so hard while reading a book. I was drawn into the story with Avery Aster’s witty writing, clever plot, and hilarious characters.”

  —Old Victorian Quill

  “All in all, Love, Lex is an amazing book that makes me want to relive my undergrad years with Lex as my BF4L.”

  —1 Million Pages Later

  “If you ever want a sure thing book, grab anything by Avery Aster! I had such a great time with Love, Lex.”

  —Saucy Reviews on Kinky Korner

  “Love Lex moves at 100 mph. I loved every minute of it. Avery Aster is a master of creating a wild and crazy bunch of characters. Enjoy the ride.”

  —Lauren King Book Reviews

  Yours Truly, Taddy

  “Best friends, hot sex, and adventure are sprinkled throughout the pages of Yours Truly, Taddy. “Readers will end the book with a smile on their face and a keen sense of anticipation for the next novel in The Undergrad Years.”

  —Little Read Riding Hood

  “I highly recommend Yours Truly, Taddy to anyone looking to escape inside a wonderful story.”

  —Loves All Things Books

  “Yours Truly, Taddy is well written. I adored the characters and loved how the book turned out.”

  —Escape into a Book

  “In the midst of tragedy Aster still manages to make me laugh. I love the story as it reads like you're having an afternoon of girl talk. I am hooked and need to find out what happens to these friends, specifically hoping to see one centered on everyone's favorite GBF.”

  —SBM Book Reviews

  “Thank you Avery Aster for these wonderful characters. Yours Truly, Taddy shines!”

  —Anny's Book Reviews

  “Taddy Brill is my favorite Manhattanite. I was happy to learn how her love of Candy Land came about.”

  —Mummy's Naughty Corner

  “Entertaining from beginning to end, I felt for Taddy. Her inner strength is palpable.”

  —Piece of My Mind

  “Even though there are some pretty heavy topics covered in this series, Avery Aster finds a way to tell the story giving readers lots of laughs but without minimizing the seriousness of the situations that this group of friends face.”

  —Em & M Books

  “There is more snarkiness, sexiness, craziness, awesomeness and a whole bunch of other ‘nesses’ in Yours Truly, Taddy.”

  —Books Are My Life

  “Much deeper than I expected, Yours Truly, Taddy isn’t just all sex and laughs. There’s also serious soul searching done by Taddy and it did not disappoint.”

  —More Than Words

  “This is a wonderful read about growing up. I love how the stories flow from one to the other. Avery’s characters have such a quirky outlook on life.”

  —Love of Books

  “The humor in Yours Truly, Taddy specifically the way these girls talk about their V Card and other private things is hysterical. They enjoy themselves and that’s what many teenagers now a days seem to forget to do.”

  —Trina's Tantalizing Tidbits

  “The Fab Four sparkle and Yours Truly, Taddy is a pure joy to read. I can’t wait for XO, Blake and Always & Forever, Vive.”

  —Jennifer's Book Obsession

  Often while reading Avery Aster’s books, readers have been known to experience hot flashes, orgasms, and laughter to the point of peeing in their pants.

  It’s suggested that you have a bucket of ice nearby, along with a chilled glass of champagne and your favorite sex toy—fully charged—before reading this story.

  Please note that Avery’s writing is not suitable for prudes, slut-shamers, or uptight readers who don’t have a sense of humor about money, sex, or fame. Avery’s books are not intended for anyone under the age of 18.

  Have fun!

  Swag and reader contests can be found on Avery’s blog at: AveryAster.com

  Interact with Avery on Instagram and Twitter @AveryAster

  using the hashtags #UndergradYears #NewAdult

  Call Me, Poppy

  Copyright 2017 Avery Aster

  Cover Design by Cover It! Designs

  Formatted by Mark's Ebook Formatting

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  New York, New York 10021

  www.AveryAster.com

  Author's Note

  Part One: The Break-In

  Prologue: Dear Dolores

  Chapter One: You’ve Gotta Be Frickin’ Kidding Me

&nbs
p; Chapter Two: Who Is This Chick?

  Chapter Three: Dirty Dancing

  Part Two: The Chase

  Chapter Four: Farnworth Fortunes

  Chapter Five: Move Over, Mochaccino

  Chapter Six: Live to Ride, Ride to Live

  Part Three: Fucked

  Chapter Seven: Buh-Bye, V-Card

  Chapter Eight: My Dearest, Dolores

  Love, Lex

  Hey. Wait!! There's More...

  Also by Avery Aster

  About the Author

  Connect with Avery

  Hello Gorgeous Reader!

  Join my newsletter and get a free dirty book: http://www.eepurl.com/CQ665

  New to this series? Don’t worry, you won’t be lost. My novels are written like a soap opera. You can pick one up at any time and know exactly what’s going on. I promise. Plus, I’ve thrown in the first in the series, Love, Lex as my gift to you.

  This book was inspired by one of my favorite 80s movies called Thief of Hearts. In it, a young Steve Bauer steals a woman’s diary and then attempts to make all of her sexual fantasies come true. Over the years, this movie stuck with me. Who wouldn’t want to go to bed with Steve Bauer in the 80s? I wondered what it would be like to have a stranger know everything that turns you on, then set out to make all of your desires come true.

  Find out in Call Me, Poppy. After reading this naughty new adult adventure that takes place about ten years ago, be sure to join Poppy White in the present day, as she’s on the run from the CIA in Undercover in my erotic romance series The Manhattanites.

  Love,

  Avery

  The Break-In

  “Since our days at Avon Porter, especially now that we’re juniors in college, our Manhattanite circle of besties has grown to include peeps like Poppy White. Moving to New York City from Pittsburgh on a full scholarship from the Miss Pennsylvania World Beauty Organization makes Poppy a beauty queen. But underneath her pretty façade is one high IQ’d, busty, and ruthless diva. She’s the host of her own daytime talk show and we haven’t even graduated from college yet. I’m not jelly, I swear, but I know others who are. They’d kill for a chance to hang out with Poppy.”—Vive Farnworth, heiress to a liquor fortune, Chanel handbag aficionado, and Lhasa apso lover.

  Dear Dolores

  Over the Years

  Poppy

  Grabbing my diary, which I fondly call Dolores after silent screen goddess Dolores Costello—who, like me, is also from Pittsburgh—I fall onto my bed, turn to a fresh clean page, and write:

  Entry 1,038

  Dear Dolores,

  Surely, I should’ve given up my V-card by now. Right? I mean, it’s the end of my freakin’ summer as a sophomore. Maybe renting that all-girl beach house in the Hamptons wasn’t such a good idea. There were men around, but they all seemed to want something from me: my fame, money, and attention. But did they deserve it? No!

  Just once, I’d like to meet a guy who didn’t know me as Poppy White, the TV host, but just a girl, a virgin who really wants to give up her V-card. I’ve been having this insane fantasy lately. It entails me meeting a man in a dimly lit dance club, not knowing his name, and he has no clue who I am. We go back to his place and I spend the weekend tied to his bed while he’s kissing every square inch of my flesh, making me orgasm over and over again, giving me moments to sleep to recharge my energy, feed me, bath me, and then we make love all over again.

  Then I leave. No names. No expectations. No numbers. No future planned. I just go back to my normal life as a full-time student and talk show host.

  Hornier than a cat in heat,

  Poppy

  Rolling over in bed, I glare at the alarm. It’s nearly 3:00 a.m. Ughhh. My journalism class is in four hours. I should’ve never hung with the girls tonight. They always get my mind racing with thoughts. Naughty ones. I grab Dolores.

  Entry 1,531

  Dear Dolores,

  Earlier, my besties and I watched porn together. It was their idea, not mine. Ever since they lost their virginity, they’ve become somewhat obsessed with sex, especially these films that feature three guys on one girl. Crazy, right? For a moment though, I wondered what it would like to be the woman in the film—laying on that bed, one man’s face buried between your legs, eating your vajayjay, another kissing your mouth while playing with your breasts, and a third underneath you, drilling his hard cock into your anus. Vive said it looks exhausting. Taddy asked if we all wanted to masturbate together. Naturally, demure and innocent Lex bolted and left us to go hang out with our friend Blake.

  I’ll be honest—I could’ve masturbated. Seriously. Is that bad? What’s wrong with me? If I don’t get laid soon, I’m going to go out of my mind.

  Thinking about a gang bang,

  Poppy

  Freaked out of my goddamn mind, I lock my door, turn every light on in my room, and open Dolores.

  Entry 2,040

  Dear Dolores,

  Started my junior year at Columbia University last week. It’s okay. I’m still living in the dorms. I figured it was a good publicity move for my talk show, you know, to be with my fellow students on campus. Last night there was a break-in at the boy’s dorm across the courtyard from my own. They stole a ton of Gucci clothing and fine men’s cologne from my gay bestie Thor Edward’s room.

  I’m scared to death. I can’t believe with all this on-campus security and surveillance cameras that they haven’t caught the guy yet. Maybe I should take self-defense lessons. There’s a really hot guy teaching self-defense over at Morning Side Heights Karate.

  Worried in Manhattan,

  Poppy

  You’ve Gotta Be Frickin’ Kidding Me

  Columbia University, New York

  Poppy

  “Oh. My—” Thor shouts the second I unlock the deadbolt and open my door.

  “Gawd,” finishes my frenemy-turned-#1 bestie Vive.

  A shockwave rockets through me as I draw my hand up over my mouth and hold back a scream.

  “Taddy! Call the police.” My curvy galpal Lex points to the phone on my nightstand.

  Frantically, I search my room. My heart’s racing in my throat. I will die if they stole them. “Where are they?”

  “What are you searching for?” asks Lex, glaring at me in confusion.

  “My diaries. I keep three volumes, one for each semester we’ve been in college.” My eyes sting with tears. “Please help me look for them. They have all of my secrets in them.”

  Picking up the phone, Taddy calls the police, tells them what happened and gives our address, and hangs up. She then calls campus security and basically does the same thing all over again.

  “What kind of secrets are we talking about exactly?” asks Vive, bouncing her right hand on her skinny hip.

  “Sexual ones.” Unable to look at my friends, I close my eyes in embarrassment.

  “Wow! Our virgin keeps a naughty journal.” Lex crosses her arms over her full breasts and shoots me a look as if she’s floored. “Miss Poppy White, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “Spare me,” I snap. “We all have thoughts and feelings.”

  “Not me,” Vive jokes. “Haven’t felt anything in years.”

  “That may be true.” Thor laughs.

  “Mine are somewhat perverse,” I admit.

  “Gurl, mine are too.” He nods.

  “What if the diaries get out? I can just see the New York Post running an article on my horny perversions.” My three-and-half-year career hosting a TV show on public access, which got picked up this year for syndication nationwide, flashes before me.

  “Do you think someone from your show, a guest you’ve wronged, is out to get you?” Taddy asks as she hangs up the phone for the second time and purses her red shimmery lips together, making a frown.

  “Nooo. Everyone we have on the program is paid handsomely. And even when I broadcast a guest’s bad side, I always try to give them a chance to redeem themselves. I’m balanced fair journalism.” That’s
what’s made my show so unique over the years. Unlike Fox News, CNN, or even ABC, I give the viewer the facts and let them draw their own conclusions. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from idols Megyn Kelly and Katie Couric, it’s to keep my mouth shut.

  “Let’s think positive here,” Vive tries to make a point. “Rumor has it these are mafia thieves—you know, mobster boys. They’ve been stealing from this campus for the past few weeks. They’re looking for cash, jewelry, and electronics. Your diaries, while important to you, are most likely unimportant to them and in the trash someplace here on campus. I mean, thieves don’t read. And if they do, it sure as shit ain’t going to be your boring memoirs.”

  “They aren’t boring.” I stomp my Jimmy Choo.

  “Really, Miss Thang?” Thor snickers annoyingly. “When’s the last time anything salacious happened in your personal life?”

  “Well—”

  He stops me. “Not on your show, but in your real life.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Gurl, puh-lease tell us.”

  Glaring at the ground, admiring my python-skinned pumps, I manage to reply, “Never.”

  Who Is This Chick?

  Hell’s Kitchen, New York

  Yves

  My roommate, Jesse Wild, glares at me. “Do you have any idea whose room we just robbed?”

  “Keep your voice down.” We live in a railroad apartment where our nosey neighbors can hear everything. “Who?”

  “Poppy White. That’s who.” He throws a passport at me.

  Flipping it open, I smile at the picture staring back at me. Hazel eyes, black hair in a bob, full pouty lips lacquered in baby pink matching her hot pink blouse. Born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, she stands at 5’7 and is twenty years old.

  “Pretty girl.” I toss it back in his direction. “Stunning, actually.”

  “Not just a girl. A former beauty queen-turned-socialite and TV star.”

  “Quelle?”

  “Dude, I swear you were born under a rock.”

  “No, asshat. Born in Lebanon. Raised in Paris.” I wish Jesse spoke French. It would make my life so much easier.