The Overlap Read Online Free PDF

class. Actually, that would be Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain IV, from Maine via Dartmouth, as he told one and all when we took turns introducing ourselves that first day of training. Apparently he was a great-great-great-nephew or twelfth cousin or something like that of some famous Civil War hero who later was Governor of Maine back in the 1800s. He wasn’t a direct descendant but shared that guy’s name, and he definitely came across as carrying an air of supreme self-importance; you know, the “legend in his own mind” type because of his pedigree rather than having actually accomplished anything yet.
    Ego aside, Josh Chamberlain was fantastic looking: almost six feet tall, not over-muscled but definitely ripped (I would get some serious close-up time with his six-pack before too long), and darker-complexioned than you would think “someone from Maine via Dartmouth” would be. Jet-black hair, $350 haircut. Canali, Armani, Burberry, and a splash of Brooks Brothers comprising what we had seen so far of his wardrobe. Pretty much a poster boy for “Ivy League guy turned junior management consultant.” He was headed to our midtown office in New York, and I could easily see him fitting in with the young, hot Manhattan crowd.
    Anyway, we had said only a couple of words to each other over the past four days, mostly because we had each gravitated towards different cliques that were forming in the class. The one I was in was all girls, seven of us, while his was a group of eight that was comprised of a couple other New England preppies and some Southern California types. Plus there were five guys and three girls in his little cluster there, and to the rest of us he seemed to have his eye on one of those SoCal girls, at least for the first couple of days.
    We started talking in the exercise room as he trailed one behind me on the machines. Mostly we talked about our training program so far and some of the people in our class: pretty safe, bland topics. But a bit of flirtation by each of us made its way into the conversation, and we made plans to be in the same group from our class heading out to dinner that evening and then to at least a couple of clubs afterwards.
    Our group went to dinner at this South Beach fusion place our instructors unanimously agreed we could not miss while we were in Miami. I sat next to Josh and of the two hours we were there, Josh and I spent probably an hour and forty-five minutes talking only to each other. We were so blatant that about fifteen minutes before we left one of the guys with us who was sitting directly across the table looked at both of us, rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, and – not caring at all what he said after about five martinis – growled: “Will you two get a room already?”
    (Already have one ready and waiting, I thought to myself. Thank heavens the firm where we worked wasn’t one of the others we had heard about that made you have a roommate for weeks while going through training. So a nice, private luxury hotel room with a king-sized bed was just waiting patiently...)
    Somewhere around 1:30 in the morning after visiting a couple of clubs with the rest of the group, Josh and I stumbled into the elevator in the hallway off the lobby and during the twenty seconds or so it took to get up to the 33 rd floor where his room was, we had picked up where we had left off in the cab on the way back from the last club we had been at. In the cab it had been some serious deep kissing, his hand high on the inside of my bare right thigh, partially and slightly underneath the very short skirt I was wearing; his fingers every so often brushing upwards to lightly graze my thong for half a second, getting me hotter than I had been in a long time. Then in the elevator he pulled me close to him as we resumed kissing and this time he slid his hands under my skirt against my bare ass cheeks peeking out from my thong...
    Everyone in the entire class, not just those who were in our group