Brock Peterman...

 

Saint.

Closet erudite.

Captain of the vaunted men’s water polo team.

Virgin.

 

Uh, yeah, you read it correctly, the big guy is a virgin.

 

You know who is neither a saint or a virgin? Me, that’s who.

 

Generally, I would be running in the opposite direction of a man with a list of attributes that look like that because he sounds like a drag, doesn’t he? Well, he isn’t. He’s sweet and smart and not in the least bit interested in me. 

 

Problem is, I’ve been nursing a tiny crush on him since he came to my rescue my freshman year. 

 

So, yeah, I’ve got it bad––and that’s not my only problem.

 

Unfortunately for me, my sordid past has finally caught up with me and I either clean up my image or face more public shaming.

 

If only a real life saint with a squeaky clean rep could help a girl out…

 

I just need to remind myself not to fall in love with him in the meantime because I’m not his type. 

 

I’m everything that’s bad…and he’s nothing but good.