*This books is rated M for Mature due to graphic sexual references and some profanity.
If you've ever wanted to know exactly what it's like to be Zac Efron's girlfriend, this story gives you a chance to find out.
This book, told from the perspective...
We were up at four and in a taxi on our way to La Guardia by 5 AM. We didn't say much as we made the 2 hour drive west from Charlotte to Asheville. It wasn't because we didn't have anything to say to each other, but nothing seemed like the right thing to say.
What do you say to someone who is about to lose their parent?
"Thank you for coming."
"You don't have to thank me. I know you would have done the same for me."
We turned onto a private drive that took us into the mountains for miles before we finally came up to the house, a massive country estate that looked much more like a castle. I knew it had been in her family since the early 1900s, but I could not have imagined something this grand in my wildest dreams.
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We pulled up to the back of the house and a valet came out to park our rental car and a butler appeared to take our luggage away.
"I'm actually staying at a hotel in town," I protested.
"You're not staying here?" she asked me.
"I told you I got a hotel."
"Why would you do that?"
"Do you really think your family wants me here?" we bickered as the poor butler, caught in the middle turned towards the door of the house or back to the car with every exchange.
"I want you here," she said sternly.
I sighed. I knew it was futile to argue with her in this state. "Fine," I said as I gently motioned for the butler to take our bags inside.
"Zac, this is Michael."
"Pleasure to meet you," I went to shake his hand, but they were both full with our luggage.
"I assume there is a guest room available for Zac to stay in?" she said and I picked up a hint of sarcasm from her.
"Of course, ma'am. Your room is all ready for you. I'll put Mr...."
"Zac, please," I said.
"I'll put...Zac...down the hall from you."
"And my father is?"
"On the veranda," Michael replied.
"Ok, we'll be out shortly."
"Certainly, ma'am."
Michael headed off with our luggage, leaving us alone in the hallway.
"This is where you grew up?" I whispered harshly.
"No," she replied in an equally harsh whisper. "We just summered here," she replied, clearly uncomfortable.
"Oh. You just summered here," I said sarcastically. "How many bedrooms is this little shack?"
