Amelia’s Pov
Ivy was my first experience with another girl. She and I were roommates in our first-year student year at college, crammed into a two-bed, two-desk and one-closet dormitory room on the third floor of a sixth-floor dorm. We didn’t pick each other; we were assigned our rooms by the college’s computer. In retrospect, that computer did a wonderful job.
We were both eighteen, both from small towns, and both eager to start “college life.”
Beyond that, we were quite different. She was a petite brunette with a curvy figure and dark eyes that captured your attention immediately. And she had perfect white teeth behind that her kiss—me, swollen lips. (It turns out her father was the town’s primary dentist.) In contrast, I am tall, blond, and long-legged, with modest breasts and boyish
