In the 90s …
texting involved paper and a pen …
… our selfies were Polaroids ...
… our favorite music was on mix tapes.
Sex was dangerous, music was raw, and falling in love felt nostalgic.
We were friends and lovers.
We thought we knew everything.
We knew nothing.
We were here.
Set in the early 1990s, a time before the internet, social media, and smart phones, We Were Here is the prequel to Geoducks Are For Lovers.
This book can be read as a standalone.
"This story has it all! Just like a mixed tape; we get a dose of steamy romance, angsty ballads and sweet love songs woven together in a compelling, heartwarming and sometimes heartwrenching journey of self-exploration." Helena Hunting, New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author
Maggie, Freshmen year
After being quizzed about the Dewey Decimal system, and failing, I returned to my room in shame. At this rate, if I wanted to work on campus, I’d be washing dishes in the dining hall. Nothing could be grosser than the used food and unclean dishes of thousands of college students. I gagged at the thought as I opened our door.
Inside, Jennifer—my perfectly nice and perfectly normal roommate—was straddling a guy on my desk chair, making out.
She might have been trying to eat his face. I couldn’t really tell in the two seconds I stared at them before clamping my eyes shut. I know I spied her tongue. Outside of her mouth. All I could see of him were his dark hair, long legs, and brown Wallabee boots.
Panicked about interrupting something, and simultaneously feeling like a prude, I backed my way through the open door. After it quietly clicked close, I pressed my head against the cool metal.
I could go back to the library, except I left there ten minutes ago. The dorm lounge was an option, but this time of day meant it would be filled with some random club. I couldn’t remember if Thursday’s meeting was German Lovers or Save the Geoducks—our school mascot. Neither appealed to me.
I stared harder at the painted metal, wishing the make-out session on the other side would end sooner rather than later.
“Are you locked out?” The blond guy from down the hall rested his head on the bulletin board next to my room. “Or are you praying?”
Pressing my cheek on the door, I twisted to see him more clearly.
“It’s okay if you are. Pray if you’ve got to.”
“I’m not. Just thinking.”
A loud moan sounded from inside the room. “Oh, oh, oh God.”
“Sounds like someone in there is praying.” His lips curled into a smile. “You might want to step away, lest someone think you’re a pervert for eavesdropping.”
I jumped away from the door. “I wasn’t listening!”
Chuckling, he held up his hands in defense. “Not judging you. Praying and voyeurism both have their places, usually in Madonna videos.”
Another not so soft groan carried from my room. I took a step farther away. My favorite black on black Swatch showed the time as four o’clock. Too early to go to dinner. Looks like I’ll be going to the lounge after all.
“You want to come hang out in my room until they finish whatever they’re doing in there?” His offer sounded genuine and his smile was more than friendly. He gestured over his shoulder to the open door across the hall and down a few rooms. “I can promise you my roommate isn’t in there making out with anyone. We should be safe.”
About Daisy Prescott
USA Today Bestselling Author Daisy Prescott writes romantic comedies with heart.
Her Modern Love Stories feature characters in their thirties and forties finding and rediscovering love in unexpected and humorous ways. Her Wingmen books star regular guys who often have beards, drive trucks, and love deeply once they fall.
Born and raised in San Diego, Daisy currently lives in a real life Stars Hollow in the Boston suburbs with her husband and an imaginary house goat. When not writing about herself in the third person, Daisy can be found traveling, gardening, baking, or lost in a good book.