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Laugh out Loud short story by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Danielle Jamie

 

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Previously published November 2017 in the Anthology, 30 Dirty Martinis

 

Birthday Date From Hell

Birthday Date from Hell!

Author: Danielle Jamie

Copyright Danielle Jamie 2017

 

When I planned my birthday weekend getaway in Daytona Beach, I was expecting to spend it partying on the beach with my best friend and some hot single guys while sipping fruity cocktails. I’ve been planning this trip for four months. I took a paid weekend off from my job, set up a babysitter for my two-year-old daughter, and booked a beach front condo so we’d only be steps away from the beach.

A big hooray to help me celebrate finally being single and free of the dead weight also known as my lying, cheating piece of shit husband. But also escape the cold, dreary winter in New York to help make turning thirty not such an awful thing. I figured turning thirty while lounging ocean side surrounded by half naked, buff guys would make the blow a little less painful.

What I didn’t plan on was my best friend getting sun poisoning the very first day here, but that’s what happens when you bring a ginger to the ocean. So now instead of getting ready with me to go out to the night club down the street to help me celebrate my birthday, she’s lying on the couch in her lace bra and panties, smothered in aloe.

“Why don’t you ask that guy to go out with you to celebrate?” Shelby asks all the while never removing her eyes from the movie she’s watching on Netflix.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I pick up my phone and pull up my text messages. “I guess. If my ex can screw little twenty somethings, so can I.” I wink at her as I open his number to write him.

I admit at first, I was against even speaking to Brennan after I found out he was only twenty-five years old. I met a guy at the beach yesterday, he is stunning, like Captain America fucking hot. He has a great personality, we seemed to click right away. Shelby had fallen asleep in the sun while I was playing volleyball with him and his friends yesterday and woke up looking redder than a damn lobster. Before we left the beach though, I made sure to exchange numbers with him, and we’ve been texting off and on all day, ever since.

He asked me to go out with his friends and him on their speedboat tubing and water skiing today, but it didn’t feel right leaving Shelby here alone all day, so I passed. At first the texts started off PG but quickly turned dirtier as he began snapping me pics of him all looking tan and smoking hot, as he hung out shirtless on the boat.

Biting the bullet, I fire off a quick text, asking if he wants to meet up at the club to help me celebrate. What better way to celebrate turning thirty than fucking a twenty-five-year-old, smoking hot one-night stand, that I’ll never have to see again since I fly back home tomorrow.

I shriek with excitement when I receive a text back telling me he’d love to. We agree to meet up at the club at ten p.m., so I quickly get to work doing my hair and makeup and picking out the perfect dress for tonight.

“You sure you’re okay with me going out? I’m totally okay with doing a girl’s night in, watch movies, eat tons of junk food and drink until we pass out.” I ask, sitting down on the coffee table in front of her.

Waving me off, she tells me, being slightly pushy, “Gooo! Have fun and get yourself some hot ass birthday sex. Happy birthday, chicka.”

I get an alert that my Uber has arrived, so I hurrying out the door, checking my makeup one more time in the mirror on my way out.

The second the car pulls up to the curb, I climb out and shoot Brennan a text letting him know I’m here. I can hear the music from inside pouring out onto the street as I approach the bouncers at the door, fishing out my I.D. and cash for the entrance fee.

My ego gets a slight boost as the bouncers who are built like a fricking linebacker, give me a one over and joking ask if my I.D. is fake, because there’s no way I’m thirty years old. They wish me a happy birthday before stepping aside, ushering me in.

My phone vibrates alerting me of a text, glancing at my phone I see its Brennan, he’s waiting for me at the bar. The second I spot him, instantly my body flushes red hot and my heart beats a little faster against my chest. His dirty blonde hair is slightly disheveled from hours out on the boat. He’s wearing jeans that make his ass look incredible. I immediately start to imagine what it’ll look like out of them and what it’ll feel like in my hands as he’s driving his dick into me.

After all the dirty things he’s said he wants to do to me while texting me earlier, I for one am hoping we’ll keep this outing short and sweet. Quickly move the birthday celebration from the club to his bedroom.

I make my way towards the bar, sliding up beside him, reaching out, gripping his bicep that’s flexed as he props his elbows onto the bar while watching the game playing above on one of the flat screen televisions. The second he feels my hand touch his arm, his head turns and his powder blue eyes that are slightly glazed over, lock onto mine. A devilish grin spreads across his face as his body shifts to face me. His arms wrap around my body as he pulls me against him and leans down to kiss me.

Immediately his cologne fills my senses…this man smells so damn good. That’s one of my things with a guy, they have a nice smile and it’s a bonus if they smell delicious too. A tingling sensation travels through my body stopping between my legs as his lips brush against mine.

The second his tongue slips into my mouth, I taste whiskey on his breath. Pulling away, he smiles down at me, swaying slightly, “Happy birthday.” He say’s sweetly before waving to the bartender to order another drink.

Laughing, I press my hand against his chest, tilting my head slightly as I peer up at him, “You’re feeling pretty good already I see.”

He flashes me a crooked smirk as he grabs his glass filled what I’m guessing to be whiskey and Coke, tossing back the remainder of the drink before handing the empty glass to the bartender for a refill. “I’m feeling slightly buzzed.” Changing the subject, he asks, “what would the birthday girl like to drink?”

“A mango meltdown sounds yummy right about now”, I answer after glancing over the drink menu.

We spend the next hour drinking and talking at the bar, getting to know each other a little better. Suddenly his hand which has spent most of the hour resting on my thigh, slowly slides its way up a little further.

“You ready to get out of here?” He asks, sliding his hand up just enough that his fingertips gently rub along my lips pressing against my soaking wet, silk panties.

Gripping his shoulders to steady myself, I climb down off the tall bar chair, and slip my hand into his, leading him outside. Within minutes our Uber is pulling up and whisking us back to his place.

The entire car ride to his beach house, he whispers into my ear all the dirty things he’s going to do to me. Promising me the best birthday sex of my life. I admit I’m slightly nervous that he might vomit on me due to the amount of alcohol he consumed within the hour, and who knows how much while out on the boat all day today.

Fuck.

What if he drank so much that he gets whiskey dick?

My eyes shift to the crotch of his pants and notice instantly the slight bulge from his hardening dick. Hopefully that’s a good sign that he’ll be able to back up all this dirty talk.

We walk up the pathway past the row of palm trees and enter the beach house that’s filled with people. There’s a full-on party going on with people filling the small beach house. I notice a few of his friends from the beach yesterday, they all yell out his name as we make our way inside. One guy is wearing a fucking floaty around his waist, while sitting in a small plastic pool full of Jell-O out on the lawn.

“Why is there a guy in a pool full of Jell-O?” I ask.

His friend Tom twists the top off a beer before shoving it into his hand before answering for him, “It was supposed to be for the girls to wrestle in; Jake, is just a drunk dumb ass, and decided to plop himself in it with that damn duck floaty he stole from some little shithead kid down on the beach.

I really would like to get away from this party and continue what we started in the car. Not stand here watching him drink more and visit with his friends.

Tugging on his hand I silently signal that I’m ready to move things to his bedroom.

He pulls me into his side and leads me through the crowd of party goers towards a short hallway before stopping at the furthest door. “Let me apologize in advance for the mess.” He says, swinging open the door.

Immediately I’m hit with the smell of stale beer and sweaty feet as we step into the bedroom. There are clothes tossed all over the room, and empty beer bottles and Gatorade bottles stacked all over the dresser.  This is most definitely not the romantic setting I was envisioning, but I guess I shouldn’t expect any less from a twenty-five-year-old who looks like a frat boy.

I step over a bra and a condom wrapper, my stomach flip flops as thoughts of who the bra belongs to and who used the condom fill my head.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when I feel his lips press against my neck and his hands begin to raise my skirt up. His fingers find my waist band and yanks them down, I try to gracefully step out of them but lose my balance thanks to one too many mango melt downs. I fall forward onto the bed and feel the bed bounce as Brennan lands onto the small twin size bed beside me.

Laughing I roll over to face him, leaning in to kiss him, trying to salvage the mood. Climbing onto my knees, I get to work unbuttoning his pants and shimmying them down, while he grips my dress, slipping it up my sides and over my head before tossing it onto the floor.

I shimmy down his pants and hold back a laugh when I see he’s wearing boxers covered in big yellow bananas.

He lifts his ass and helps me slide his boxers down, freeing his semi hard cock.

Really? That is, it? I think to myself as I grip his four-inch dick in my hand and gently stroke it. His hand finds the back of my head, and he pulls my mouth down to his, kissing me passionately, but I can’t get into it because all I can smell is the stale beer and man sweat that fills the room. His dick finally gets semi-hard enough that I attempt to slide down onto it…fucking whiskey dick…ruining my goddamn birthday.

How can a guy this fucking hot, have a dick so goddamn small? I cry internally as I attempt to fuck his semi-harden fricking pickle of a dick. For a man that talked a big game all day, he sure as hell isn’t backing it up now.

I’m caught off guard when he suddenly rolls me onto my back, and begins to kiss, no, not kiss, more like slobber all over my neck. He’s so drunk, the idiot can’t even kiss right anymore.

Why did I think I could hook up with a guy this young? They think binge drinking is a fucking sport for crying out loud. Not caring at all about the poor girl that must try to fuck a dick that feels like something she made from playdough.

Finally, feeling like this is going nowhere and I should just end it now, I push against his chest telling him, “I think I should just go home.”

His face drops as his body stills. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get it up—I just need a minute.” Pulling away from me he kneels between my legs looking lost in thought for a moment, before bringing his eyes back to mine. “Maybe if you suck it for a minute?” He suggests, giving me puppy dog eyes.

At this point I just want to get this over with and get the hell out of here, “Alright, I’ll try to get it up, but I think your ass drank too much today breaking your damn dick.”

His eyes look sad as he stares down at me all while now straddling my face which now has his balls swinging so wonderfully in my face. I can’t stop the eye roll that happens after the third time his damn balls smack against my chin.

“I know…I’m so sorry. I didn’t think, I get carried away partying.”

Wanting to end this conversation, I grip his dick and bring it to my mouth, praying to God that it gets hard so that he can get off and I can leave. The entire time I’m sucking his squishy little dick, I keep thinking to myself it’s such a shame that God wasted a gorgeous face like this on a guy with the littlest dick I’ve ever seen. It finally starts to get hard again, so he pulls it out of my mouth and quickly moves down the bed so that we can attempts to fuck again.

“I want to fuck your pussy so bad.” He tries to whisper in a sexy tone, but it comes out a little more like a slurred whisper scream. I force myself to bite back a smile and hold my breath so that I don’t burst out laughing, blowing his mini weenie straight out of my hooha, because of the face he’s making as he tries to get his dick in me. “Maybe if I just focus really hard…” He mumbles as he begins moving his hips like he’s suddenly Peter Cotton tail trying to procreate, jackrabbiting into me at an awkward rhythm.

I’m lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to him grunting like a cave man, when suddenly the annoying nasally sound of his friend’s British cousin’s voice begins to grow closer to the door. “She won’t come in here, will she?” I ask with panic in my voice as I hear her begin to knock on the door yelling for Brennan.

I do not want some strange chick seeing me naked!

“She won’t come in here.” He assures me, as the bedroom door swings open, and in comes this big, amazon looking British chick looking like she’s about to eat me for dinner. I swear I see some foam coming out of her mouth as her eyes land on us before focusing on Brennan.

I let out a slight scream and throw my arms crossed over my chest. “Oh my, God! What the hell!” I scream as Brennan quickly climbs off me. I cross my legs and reach for the blanket to cover my body. My cheeks are burning red from embarrassment.

This night is literally a nightmare.

Bending down, the British bitch grabs his boxers and tosses them at him, before suddenly pulling a dildo out from her purse and waving it in his face.

Ew! I gag to myself as she smacks him in the arm with it, “What the fuck is wrong with you, stealing my vibrator and using it to fuck yourself in the ass? You’re disgusting. You can fucking have it now because I sure as hell won’t be shoving it up my pussy ever again!”

I watch as the dildo bounces off his chest before falling onto the floor between his feet.

“I think I’m going to go…” I stammer as I reach for my dress and throwing modesty out the window, slip my dress on, scoop my panties off of the floor, and find myself extremely happy that I never took off my heels, as I practically jog my ass out of that house and down the street to my condo.

Shoving the door to open, I burst into the condo, startling a sleepy Shelby who was passed out on the couch, before slamming it shut behind me and collapsing against it.

“Wow, rough night?” She asks, sitting up on the couch and rubbing the sleep from her eyes all while cursing under her breath in pain every time she moves her arms.

Kicking off my heels, I roll my eyes, “You have no idea. Brennan got wasted, got whiskey dick, which isn’t even the worst of it.”

“Oh no, do I want to know?” She asks staring up at me in horror.

“His dick was like a freaking sausage link! To top off the worst sex of my life, that crazy British chick that’s his friend’s cousin, she burst right into the bedroom while I’m lying there naked! Winging around a dildo yelling at Brennan for fucking himself in the ass with it!” It’s hard to not laugh as I try to retell the story of Brennan being wacked with a rubber dick.

Shelby’s face mirror’s mine. A look of horror and slight amusement over the disaster that was my evening, causing her lips to curl up into a small smirk.

“After that I need a fucking drink.” I huff out. My heart is still racing as my body tries to recover from having to flee that goddamn house of dildos.

Climbing off of the couch, Shelby pads across the tile floor into the small kitchen connected to the living room and proceed to grab everything she needs to make our yearly birthday cocktail: The Birthday cake Martini; Shelby and I drink it every year on her birthday and mine. We have ever since we turned 21. We made some earlier to sip out on the deck while eating chocolate cupcakes.

“We’re going to drink our martinis, watch Magic Mike and let Channing Tatum work his magic pelvis to help you forget all about Captain Small Dick.”

It’s almost an hour later when I hear my phone ding, alerting me of a new text. We’re halfway through our movie and more than halfway through our third round of birthday martini’s.

Jumping onto her knees, Shelby peers over my shoulder to read the text as I open it.

I’m so sorry about tonight, Elle. Just so you know I never used her fucking dildo. She’s jealous, so made a scene to try and cock block me. I really hope you’ll give me the opportunity to redeem myself. I had way too much to drink tonight.

I burst out laughing, “There’s no way in HELL that I am going to put myself through round two of his so called ‘best sex of my life’.”

Snatching my phone out of my hand Shelby’s fingers practically cause smoke to roll off my screen as she types a response back to Brennan. We both burst into a fit of giggles as we re read the text she just sent to him.

Thanks, but no thanks. You and your banana boxers can go swoon the panties off another girl.

Not giving him the opportunity to respond, I block his number and toss my phone onto the couch. I curl up beside my best friend, take a nice long sip of my drink and bask in the glory that is Channing Tatum shirtless.

I may not be ending my 30th birthday with the hot, steamy sex that I was hoping for, but at least I’m not ending it faking an orgasm, while some sloppy, twenty-something, attempts to fuck me like a porn star while failing miserably.

All you can do is look on the bright side…and pray to God that you never have to see another pair of banana boxer’s ever again in your lifetime.

The End.

 

Enjoy your own birthday cake martini!

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Colorful Birthday Cake Martini recipe: An easy cocktail that tastes like a birthday cake!

5 minutes

Ingredients

∙ Serves 2

Baking & Spices

  • 1 Candy sprinkles
  • 1 Frosting
  • 1 Pastel food coloring

Dairy

  • 2 oz Half & half

Beer, Wine & Liquor

  • 1 oz Cake flavored vodka
  • 1 oz White chocolate liqueur

https://www.livinglocurto.com/birthday-cake-martini-recipe/

 

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Audio Book Giveaway 📚🎧

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*when emailing me let me know what country you’re in & book you’d like. Codes are first come first serve until they’re all gone. Readers will receive a complimentary audio book in exchange for an honest review on audible, amazon & goodreads. 🥰📚🎉🎧

 

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Chapter One

Exes & Hos, May 28th, 2016

 

I’m officially done with men!

Well real, warm-blooded men that is. From now on, the only men who’ll be stealing my heart and giving me big O’s are the fictional type.

I know all of you readers follow my blog to read my book reviews and stay up-to-date on what books are coming out next. But I’m shaking things up a bit today. Today, I’m writing a blog post about my train wreck of a love life.

This, my reader friends, is why I get lost in books. I’m at the point in my life where I’d much rather spend my free hours lost in a book while relaxing on a blanket in Central Park, than waste my time out on a date with a douchebag disguised as my dream boyfriend.

To make matters worse, this time, not only did my boyfriend betray me, but my best friend did, too. Hence the title of this blog post. We’ve been best friends since we met at NYU five years ago, but now I find myself wondering if we were ever really friends. Because what best friend sleeps with your boyfriend?

I felt like I was living out one of those scenes we read in a book, where you see something terrible unfolding before your eyes. You know you should stop reading and save yourself the tears you are certain you’re about to cry. Instead, your stubborn ass says, It’s okay. I can handle it! You foolishly push on, reading, and end up devastated, wishing you went with your gut and put the damn book down.

That is what happened to me last night. We were out at a local pub in town with a group of mutual friends. Jake said he was going out to have a cigarette, while I decided to stay inside with our friends so I could order our drinks. As soon as he stepped outside, I got a text from my best friend saying she was on her way. So I thought, Perfect! We’ll have a fun night out to unwind after a hard week of work and kick off the long holiday weekend.

Not even three minutes later, I step outside to find Jake and give him his beer. I began to feel this knot forming in my stomach as I looked around and didn’t see him in his usual spot getting his nicotine fix.

After searching through the sidewalk full of people hanging out smoking and not finding him, I rounded the corner of the pub, discovering a couple getting pretty fricking hot and heavy in the alley. After a few seconds, it hit me that the guy was Jake and he was playing explore-the-inside-of-some-skank’s-mouth. Not just any skank either… my backstabbing best friend!

I felt like the Wicked Witch of the East in The Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy’s house dropped on her fricking head.

To say I was shocked would be putting it lightly. There are no words I could say that’d truly express to you all what it felt like to witness my boyfriend and my best friend making out like two horned up teenagers before my eyes.

Shit hit the fan real quick.

After a huge fight for all of SoHo to see, I left in a cab, stunned, as the reality of what had just happened sunk in. I found myself wondering how many others there were besides her.

I’m just grateful I always made the asshole wrap it up, because God knows what kind of diseases the manwhore of Manhattan could have.

I don’t know if this is true for any of you out there, or if it’s just me. I’ve found that it’s almost impossible to find a man worth risking your damn heart over. I feel like every guy I meet wants me for only sex. The second things start getting serious, they reveal just how big of a tool they really are and leave you brokenhearted once again.

When it comes to dating, I blame my high expectations on all the ridiculously sexy and swoon-worthy book boyfriends! While out with friends at a restaurant or walking down the streets of New York, I always find myself spotting a sexy bad boy that reminds me of Kellan Kyle, or a deliciously dressed man in a three-piece suit that reminds me of Gideon Cross. Instantly, I’d be falling over myself for these guys and throwing caution to the wind.

The way I look at it is, if they look like my irresistible book boyfriend, maybe I’ll luck out and they’ll also be like them. Fiction, of course, is based on some form of reality. So I’ve held onto that hope that I was possibly going out on a date with my future husband that’d whisk me away on romantic getaways and rock my world in the bedroom every single day.

Sadly, and rather quickly, I’ve learned that men like Kayden Knox and Archer Hale don’t really exist. Sure, there’s a shitload of guys that look like our perfect book boyfriends. There isn’t, however, a large number of insanely good looking men who aren’t complete and total jackasses.

For a while, I was able to overlook the flaws of my current boyfriend, because he had that smile you all know too well—the one they flash that makes you suddenly stupid and turning into a puddle at their feet. Every time I’d start to suspect something wasn’t right, he’d smile at me, say something sweet, and I’d push the worry to the back of my mind. Now I wish I would’ve stopped being so naive.

I’m once again single and drowning my sorrows in a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, while he goes on with his life as if I never even existed. While I, on the other hand, am dissecting every single thing about myself. From my hair, to my weight, to the way I style my hair and my makeup. Why is it we try to find flaws in ourselves when a man breaks our heart? Instead of looking for the flaws in him?

The signs are usually always there; we just don’t see them until it’s too late. Or we do and choose to ignore them, like I’ve done way too many times. With Jake, I chose to ignore the red flags that screamed ‘DOUCHEBAG ALERT’ and instead focused on his skills in the bedroom, and his overly charming personality and smile. Which, in the end, landed me here writing this blog post, ranting about how big of an asshole my ex is.

After having my heart broken for the second time this year—and it is only May!—I’m ready to swear off all men. Unless a guy comes into my life and can show me that charming and ridiculously romantic men truly do exist and not just in my romance novels, then I’m through with dating. It’s too exhausting going through all that us ladies go through when dating a guy, to keep wasting my time on pigs.

So, my fellow bibliophiles, it looks like I’m going to have a lot of free time on my hands now to read. So comment below this blog post suggesting to me the last five-star read you finished. The steamier the better!

I just finished up reading The Blogger Diaries Trilogy by KD Robichaux—where I got the idea for this blog post, and related to it a ridiculous amount!—and currently reading Perfectly Imperfect by the amazingly talented Harper Sloan and LOVING the hell out of it!

I’ll update you all in a few days on how my celibacy is going and what I’m reading next! So suggest away, book besties!

– Christi, AKA Bed Banging Bibliophile

Chapter Two

“Blogging?” Vance asks, rounding the couch and plopping down beside me before snatching the bucket of ice cream out of my hands.

Hitting publish on my blog post, I set my laptop on the coffee table before snatching my ice cream back out of his hands. He simply smiles down at me as the spoon dangles between his lips.

Rolling my eyes at his foolishness, I yank the spoon from his mouth and scoop another spoonful of Coconuts for Caramel, my newest favorite flavor by Ben & Jerry’s.

“Yes. But not my normal book rambling today. I just wrote a blog post telling my followers about the disaster that is my love life. While doing so, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am swearing off men and relationships for the time being.”

Vance kicks his sneaker-covered feet up onto the coffee table and brings his hands to rest behind his head. He’s my roommate and one of my best friends. He’s also the only guy in my life who hasn’t ripped my heart out of my chest and done the Irish Jig on top of it.

His chestnut hair is damp with sweat and his skin is shining with perspiration from the two hours he spent in the gym down the street from our apartment. Raising his eyebrows up toward the ceiling, he gives me a look of surprise. “Really? Serial dater Christi is swearing off men. This is going to be fun to watch. You love being in a relationship too much to stay single.”

Dropping my spoon into the bucket, I drop open my mouth in disgust and slap his chest. “Ugh! I am not a serial dater, and I have been single many times, thank you. I am not one of those needy women who needs a man. I can rock my world all on my own.”

Vance lets out a loud, booming laugh as his hands come down to his mouth and he tries to cover his laughter. “Well, someone is feisty tonight. Now, do tell. How does one rock their own world? You have like a secret stash of assorted dildos or something in that overly pink room of yours?”

I balk in disgust at his brazenness. “I cannot believe you just asked me about my dildo collection!”

His mouth falls open and his eyes grow wide, as he yells out, “Ha! So you are a closet freak with a collection of rubber dicks in your bedroom!”

Jumping off the couch, I hug my tub of ice cream to my chest and try to appear appalled. I don’t get far, because as soon as my ass leaves the sofa, Vance is reaching out, snatching ahold of my wrist, and pulling me back down onto the couch beside him.

“Sit back down. I’m only playing… a little. You aren’t like… a closet sadist or anything, are you? I won’t find ball gags and canes hidden under your bed, will I?”

This time, I slap him harder. “Vance!”

Holding his hands up in defeat, but still wearing a smile that fills his entire face, he chuckles, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Settle it down on the slapping, mmkay? I don’t want to have to try to explain a bruised left pectoral to the guys down at the precinct.”

Fighting the grin threatening to crack across my face when the last thing I want to do is smile right now, I ask, “Why? Don’t wanna have to explain to your buddies that your rubber dick-hoarding roommate beat you, Mr. Big Bad Detective?”

The sound of the buzzer filling the room stops Vance from responding. Instead, he simply shakes his head and continues to laugh as he climbs to his feet to see who’s buzzing our apartment.

“You expecting anyone?” I ask, as he walks over to the pad on the wall and views the screen showing us who’s waiting out on the sidewalk in front of our apartment building.

He glances at me over his shoulder, with a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “Maybe. All I can say is they’re here just in time, because I was seriously becoming scared for my life and for my butt virginity. I feel like we were only a few short seconds away from you dragging me into your bubble gum pink room of pain and shoving a vibrating butt plug up my ass.”

Grabbing a throw pillow off the couch that ironically reads, ‘I’m constantly falling in love with fictional characters’, I whip it across the room at his head and watch as he catches it midair. “Keep it up, Vance, and your virgin butt will have its cherry popped when I shove this spoon straight up your damn ass.”

Ignoring me, he pushes the call button on the wall, and speaks to the person waiting outside, “Come on up—and the faster the better. My virginity depends on it.”

I burst out laughing as I try to eat another scoop of ice scream off of my spoon and start choking.

Coughing and trying to swallow my ice cream, I lick my lips and stare at him in shock as I try to calm myself down. “I cannot believe you just said that!”

The person on the other side of the door barely gets a knock in before Vance is yanking open the door and greeting the kid. He’s holding two plastic grocery bags in his hands and looking a little scared as he glances up at Vance before peering around him as I climb off the couch and pad across the hardwood floors toward them.

“Thank you,” Vance says, taking the bags from him and shoving a few bills in the kid’s hand.

“Wow, thank you,” the kid says, as he stuffs the money into his faded jeans pocket. Slamming the door shut, Vance spins around to face me, holding the bags up in the air between us.

“What is this?” I ask, as I pull one open and see more pints of ice cream, a jumbo bag of assorted candy bars, and, in the other bag, more of my favorite snacks.

Carrying the bags over to the kitchen island, Vance sets them down and begins removing the items, dispensing them onto the marble countertop. Lifting his gaze up to mine, he grins. “This is me being a good friend and getting you everything needed for a girl to get over a break up.”

Like with Sara, I met Vance my freshman year at NYU. He immediately became like my big brother, making sure no one messed with me at frat parties. Since he grew up in the city, on the Upper East Side, he became my official tour guide. He took Sara and me all over the city, showing us the popular attractions and the not-so-well-known hot spots only the locals actually know about.

Vance was attending his fourth year at NYU, majoring in Criminal Justice when we met. I was lost and trying to find my British Literature class when he found me wandering the halls and looking like a deer in headlights. Thankfully, after four years there, he knew the place like the back of his hand and was kind enough to send me in the right direction.

I was shocked to find him waiting outside the doors of the class when I exited the lecture hall. He told me that if I ever wanted an official tour of the school to help me become more familiar with everything, to text him sometime. We exchanged numbers and added each other on Facebook. The rest is history.

Now, he’s a detective with the NYPD, which I hate, even though I know it is one of the most heroic jobs one can do. But it’s still scary thinking when he walks out the door for a shift that something could happen to him.

When we first met, I admit I had a little bit of a crush on him. As did Sara and every other girl at NYU. Sadly, though, he was off the market. He was dating his high school sweetheart, Brynn, who was also attending NYU with him for criminal law. They were seen as the power couple on campus. They had the type of relationship everyone wished for.

So, I took the only option that was available for me. We became really great friends, and even after he graduated, we stayed close. Not to the liking of Brynn, who hated our friendship. But Vance refused to give up our friendship and she learned to live with it. I dated off and on, but nothing too serious. I had one boyfriend that lasted a year, but he was offered a job in Seattle. There was no way I was moving away; New York is my home and where I plan on building my career in the literary world. I could never ask him to turn down his job for me. We were exclusive, but not serious enough that I’d ask him to choose me over an amazing opportunity.

Around the same time all of this was happening, Vance and Brynn were planning their wedding. It was supposed to be the wedding of the season. Vance’s father is one of the most well known and sought after directors on Broadway. So everyone who’s anyone was expected to attend. One night when I was coming back to my apartment on campus after spending all day interviewing for summer internships, I discovered Vance sitting on my living room couch.

He confided in me that night, admitting he wasn’t ready to be married, but there was so much pressure from both his parents and Brynn’s that he felt he had no choice but to marry her. It broke my heart. I was so wrapped up in my own love life and dealing with my boyfriend moving to the other side of the country that I never noticed he was dealing with his own struggles.

We stayed up all night talking about all his doubts and fears. I told him to do what he felt in his heart was right. It was better to be honest with her now while there was still time, rather than wait, get married, and then end up miserable. He admitted that while he loved Brynn, and what they had was special because they were each other’s first love, he wasn’t sure if she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

He ended up crashing on my couch around three in the morning, which ended up sending Brynn into a mad craze. She showed up at my apartment the next morning around eight a.m., banging on the door so loudly that I’m pretty sure she woke up the entire floor.

She burst into my apartment, throwing around accusations and running me into the ground. Which ended with them fighting and me leaving to give them time to hash everything out. It wasn’t my fight, and I wasn’t going to be dragged into the middle of it, when I had nothing to do with their relationship issues.

After an hour or so, I was sitting inside the Starbucks down the street from campus, scrolling through Facebook, when I noticed Vance strolling in. He had the same swagger and confidence when he pushed through the glass doors. When his 6’2” frame and two-hundred-and-thirty-eight pounds of solid muscle entered the coffee shop, instantly all eyes were on him, but his eyes were focused entirely on mine. I could see what looked like relief in them as he approached my table.

The words that came out of his mouth at that moment were not what I was expecting at all. As soon as his butt hit the wooden seat, he set his phone down on the table and looked at me. His dark brown eyes locked with mine and he muttered four simple words.

“The wedding is off.”

It was literally the last thing I expected him to say. I thought maybe he meant it was postponed while they took some time to really think about this major step in their lives. But that wasn’t the case. I guess Brynn was having doubts herself, but like Vance, felt obligated to see the marriage through and simply try to make it work.

So in a matter of twelve hours, Vance went from sending out save the dates, to breaking off his engagement and becoming a single man. Being the friend that I am, I offered to listen whenever he needed to talk. He was in a dark place for a while after that. He took some time off of work, moved all of his things out of his apartment he shared with Brynn, and retreated to his family’s cabin in Upstate New York with a group of friends.

I understood why he left, but at the same time, I was hurt, because he missed a major moment in my life. I walked the stage, receiving my diploma from NYU, without him in the crowd to cheer me on.

While home with my parents, I received a text from him saying he was back in the city and wanted to get together. Even though a small part of me wanted to be a brat and blow him off, I knew I could never do that to him. I knew deep down that he wouldn’t have left unless he really needed to. But he was back, and that was all that mattered. That night, while we were all out with our friends having drinks and celebrating Vance’s return to the Big Apple, he sprung a huge proposition on me that I was unable to turn down.

He was back home for good and looking for a fresh start. He was moving into a new apartment and wanted me to room with him. It’s not like he needs the money to pay for the place; the guy has enough money from his trust fund he got the day he graduated college to live comfortably the rest of his life, even if he never works a single day of it.

He told me that he knew I’d need a place to live, since I graduated and was trying to find a job in the city. It’s a fortune for even the smallest, dirtiest apartment in the worst part of the city, and trying to find roommates that are not shady and scary is a difficult task.

One year later, our living arrangement is working out great, but our love lives are still a train wreck. He’s casually dated off and on over the last year, but it’s never turned into anything serious. His job takes up a lot of his time, making it almost impossible to have a love life. Girls are needy and don’t like trying to date a man who’s married to his job. With Vance, that’s exactly what it’s like. He pretty much works seven days a week, because even on his days off, he’s working on cases.

I’m working part-time as an assistant to the CEO of Ryan’s Publishing House. For now, I’m running around collecting the woman’s dry cleaning and walking her little dog every hour. I keep telling myself it’s only temporary. One day, I’ll be a senior editor for the biggest publishing house in New York City. Until then, I’ll continue to do the Starbucks runs and pick up doggy doo-doo.

Vance offered to use his father’s pull and get me a better job there, but I refused to be handed a job only because of who I know. I only want to get a job, because I earned it by busting my ass and proving I deserve it. Thankfully, he understood I appreciated the gesture but had to refuse.

I’m blessed to have him in my life and be able to call him my best friend. Especially with everything that’s happened with Sara and Jake. I used to think that Sara, Vance, and I would be friends ‘til the end, but sadly, that isn’t the case. Even though I never once said a thing to Vance about his friendship with Sara, he immediately removed her from his contacts and all social media. He said if she could betray me like she did, then she didn’t deserve his friendship.

Vance was the first person I texted the second my butt hit the seat in the cab last night. I was so hurt and angry. I needed someone to vent to. He was busy, of course, so he couldn’t really talk, since he was working. The second he walked through the door, he pulled me into his arms and let me cry the tears I needed to get out. Once I got that out of my system, I felt a hundred times better. Now, I’ve moved on from the hurt stage to the angry stage. Hence my long-ass blog post ranting about Jake and Sara.

I wouldn’t be so hurt if it was anyone else. But my best friend who I trusted completely? I feel so betrayed. I’m grateful I have Vance. At least I know, no matter what, he’ll always have my back and be there whenever I need him.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes wonder what if when I think about Vance and me. We work so well together as friends that I sometimes wonder what life would be like if we moved our relationship in that direction. But as quickly as the thought enters my mind, I always push it straight back out.

He’s like my big brother. He doesn’t see me that way. He views me as his little sister he has to protect from the fuck boys of Manhattan. Which I have to let him know he’s failing at miserably. He hates every single guy I date, which in the end I see why, because every relationship ends badly. Either we simply don’t connect, they get too possessive and I can’t deal with that shit, or they get jealous of my relationship with Vance, which is a deal breaker for me.

I will never be forced to choose a man over Vance.

He’s my best friend, and if I’m with a guy, he needs to accept that. Yes, we live together, and no, we don’t have wild animal sex every single time they leave my house.

And yes, that is exactly a response I gave a guy six months ago, when he accused me of sleeping with Vance when he wasn’t here.

I think deep down the main reason I’ve never acted on my feelings toward Vance is because of my fear of failure. Every single relationship I’ve ever had has fizzled out within six months tops. I cherish our friendship too much to risk destroying it. That’s what would happen if we hooked up, and then our relationship would end up crashing and burning. We’d never be able to go back to the way things were. No matter how hard we may try. So the only option is to sit back and suck it up, no matter how hard it is watching him date other girls. It’s the life I chose, to hold onto the friendship we have.

For me, I’ll stick to my book boyfriends.

$20 Amazon gift card giveaway & a sizzling hot elevator scene inspired by #FiftyShadesDarker! #NYTimes & #USAToday bestselling author Danielle Jamie

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My body is shaking right now. I feel as if any second I may end up on the damn floor, embarrassing the hell out of myself.

The moment Dixon walked into the bar, I knew I was screwed. I tried as hard as I could to distract myself and pretend he wasn’t there, but it was physically impossible. I could feel his eyes on me. It made every inch of me tingle from my head to my toes. It was as if I could actually feel the caress against my skin where his eyes had slowly roamed over me as he eyed me from across the room. The bar was humming with energy from us. Even across the room, I could feel his want for me deep in my bones.

Still he ignored me and didn’t once try to approach me, which only infuriates me more. It’s been four days…Four. Freaking. Days…since we’ve seen each other. He bailed on me when I needed him most, leaving before the damn sun had even risen. Then he made zero attempts to reach me.

I don’t know how a man can infuriate me to the point where I want to kick him in the balls so damn hard that he’s fishing them out of his stomach for a week. At the same time, he manages to bring me to the point of practically begging for him to please just fuck me already and put me and my vagina out of our misery!

Everything about us screams danger, but reckless Brooklyn sees the red flags and says, “What’s the worst that can happen?”

I can think of quite a few things that could happen. Both good and bad.

Even though the bad outweighs the good, I find myself doing as Dixon asked. I leave the bar and head directly toward the wall of elevators where he told me to wait for him. Not wanting to look like an idiot hanging around the lobby, I pull up my Facebook and scroll through reading the nightly bullshit people post. It’s crazy how much dirty laundry is aired on Facebook. Who needs soap operas when you have As Facebook Turns?

I hear heavy footsteps behind me and my arms tingle with the familiarity of Dixon as he approaches me. I know it’s him without even having to turn around. But I don’t give it away. I ignore him until he’s standing right beside me.

His hand finds the small of my back, causing a sharp intake of breath as I try to calm my racing heart. This man sets my body on fire by just being in the same proximity of me. The electric charge I feel between us every time we’re around each other is completely insane. It only intensifies with each passing moment we spend together.

I feel him lean into me and brush his lips against my ear while gently pushing my hair back, exposing my neck with the bridge of his nose. The cool air mixed with his warm breath causes goosebumps to prickle my skin. He smells like Dixon and Jack Daniels, a lethal concoction.

With his free hand, he hits the call button for the elevator. I try to keep my eyes locked on the digital numbers as they count down. I’m grasping at straws here as I try to stay strong and not instantly melt into him. I want him to work for what he wants, especially after the way he’s treated me the last few days…as if I don’t even exist. Now because he sees me being flirty with a stranger, he suddenly wants me. Go figure.

“You don’t know how happy I am that you climbed off that barstool and came out here to wait for me. Because even though it’s the last thing I wanted to do, I would’ve resorted to physically removing you from that bar. My dick is as hard as fucking stone right now from just thinking about all the things I’m going to do to you tonight.”

A tingle trickles along my spine that causes me to shiver. As I feel his hand slide slowly down my back and come to a stop on my butt, a slight gasp escapes my lips. Not caring that we’re in the middle of a hotel lobby, he gives my butt a firm squeeze. I hear a low rumble resonate in his chest as I jump slightly from the ding of the elevator opening. A few people scramble out. Not wasting a second, Dixon drags me into the elevator. I spin on my heels and see we’re not alone. There are two older gentlemen joining us for the elevator ride.

I lean into him whisper-yelling into his ear, “Are you drunk?!?”

“Yup, and you know what that means, baby. It’s gonna be a long night.” He smiles smugly at me winking as he plucks his room key from his pocket and slides it into the wall of the elevator. He presses the floor for Kayden’s and his secluded penthouses. The other two men select floors six and fourteen. This is going to be torture being locked in an elevator with a drunk and horny Dixon along with two old guys.

When Dixon’s drunk, I swear he has the best stamina of any man I know. His dick stays rock hard for hours, giving me endless hours of mind-blowing, toe-curling sex. Just thinking about it has my pulse racing.

Never removing his arm from my body Dixon holds me against his side while casually checking the email on his phone. My eyes remain locked onto the numbers once again as I wait for us to be alone. It then dawns on me: What if others get on before we hit our floor?

Normally, I couldn’t care less that I’m in an elevator with other people. I’ve practically dry humped my dates in worse situations. There’s just something about Dixon that puts me on high alert. I don’t know if it’s the feeling of being completely out of control when I’m with him that terrifies me. But there’s definitely something about him lately that has slightly knocked me off my game.

I suddenly feel Dixon’s lips against my ear once again, and I bite on the inside of my cheek as I try to keep myself in control.

“I’m going to finger you right here, right now, and you’re going to be completely quiet. If you can do that, I’ll have you screaming as I rock you with one hell of a fuckin’ orgasm before we hit the penthouse floor.”

Holy. Shit.

I glance around nervously at the two men who are lost, like most of our society, in the world of the cell phone. Both of their eyes are glued to their small glowing screens, oblivious to what’s transpiring just a few feet behind them. I feel Dixon’s hand slide to the hem of my dress that stops just a few inches below my butt. I push closer to him, trying to be sure that no one can see what’s happening behind me. My eyes wander up to the security camera in the corner of the car watching all of us. I swallow hard and tell myself Dixon probably does this all of the time, so he most likely has Kayden’s security team on speed dial for when he has these transgressions.

For some reason unknown to me, I actually feel jealousy bubbling in the pit of my stomach as I think about all of the women he’s done this to. Possibly in this very elevator car!

I close my eyes and count to ten.

Get your Goddam shit together, Brooklyn.

This isn’t you. You don’t get jealous…ever.

You love life simple. Drama free. And especially uncomplicated sex.

“Fuck! You ain’t wearing any panties.” Dixon hisses into my ear, as his fingers slide deliciously slowly in and out of me, practically causing my knees to give out.

I brace my back against the wall and grip the metal bar behind me for support. It’s taking every ounce of self-control I have to stay quiet, but it isn’t working. Dixon never specified if he wanted me to only not make any sexual noises giving away our dirty little secret or no noise at all. I begin humming I Knew You Were Trouble by Taylor Swift, which I’ve had stuck in my head all night after hearing it on the radio on my way over to the hotel. I thought it then, and I’m definitely thinking it now; this song is perfect for the guy who has his fingers deep inside of me in a public elevator!

“What are you doing?” His voice has an edge to it that sends a shiver down my spine that, at the same time, makes my sex clench around his fingers.

I turn my head toward him with a small smirk playing on my lips, and I tell him nonchalantly, “Humming…”

His fingers leave me suddenly, but he doesn’t remove them from between my legs. Instead he runs his fingers between my lips, spreading my arousal up to my clit before he begins torturing me in the best kind of way. His fingers are going fast in a circular motion while pressing firmly against my clit before changing pace to slow and gentle.

I feel as if I’m about to lose my mind. I want to throw him against the wall, jump up, wrap my legs around him as I dig my fingers into his scalp, and demand he fuck me until we both collapse with exhaustion, up against the elevator walls. The elevator slows to a stop before the doors ding and slide open. Gentleman number one exits, and I breathe a sigh of relief when no one else joins us on this stop.

As I feel my orgasm inching closer and closer, I begin to panic.

How in the hell am I not going to make noise and not completely embarrass myself in front of this old dude in front of us? Has Dixon lost his freaking mind?!

I squeeze my legs together, trying to fight the tingling sensation overtaking my body. My gaze keeps shifting from the guy to the ascending numbers on the elevator panel, then to the security camera and back around again. My breathing is quickening, and my eyelids begin to flutter as I feel the inevitable about to happen. My knees quiver, and my body gently quakes as I come hard against Dixon’s fingers as he continues to push and rub at my clit, making my eyes practically roll into the back of my head. I bite so hard on my bottom lip, trying to muffle my moans I taste blood, but like the good girl I’m trying to be, I keep quiet and continue to hum to Taylor Swift.

I can’t believe that I just climaxed in an elevator with a complete stranger a foot away from me who’s totally oblivious to what just occurred behind him. The elevator slows to a stop again, and the doors slide open. Not wasting a beat, the guy quickly exits the elevator, never removing his eyes from his phone.

The second the doors slide shut, I melt into the wall and let out a loud sigh before snapping my head towards Dixon. I’m too sated at the moment to move, or I’d smack him upside the damn head.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” I attempt to yell at him, but it comes out breathy and sounding like I just ran a marathon while having a vibrating dildo jammed up my fucking vagina.

A cocky grin spreads across Dixon’s face as his lips curl up at the corners.

God those lips.

They were put on his face just for me to suck, bite and kiss. I swear.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Focus, Brooklyn!

“Don’t fight it, baby. You know you just had one of the best orgasms of your life. Relish in it. Believe me, the ‘just fingered in public’ look really suits you. You’re glowing.”

What an ass. A hot ass. But still an ass.

“There are cameras in here you know…not to mention…two complete strangers! What the hell were you thinking doing that?!? What if one of them turned around while I was orgasming against your damn hand? That would’ve been mortifying!”

“But they didn’t. No sense in stressing over ‘what ifs’? Who cares about cameras? Kayden owns the hotel. They know us both well enough to know that we sometimes behave inappropriately. The proof is always erased.”

Finally gaining some control once again over my body, I turn towards him. I push against his chest, but barely make him move an inch, “You are a pig! You know that, right? You act like fingering a woman in an elevator is as normal as brushing your teeth in the morning!”

He bring his right hand up to his face and sniffs his fingers before happily, or more like smugly, saying, “Mmm…sweet as honey.”

I shake my head at his stupidity, but also clench my thighs together because that was so damn hot.

“You ain’t foolin’ anyone, Brooklyn. I know you. I know you are just as wild as I am. You can’t tell me you haven’t done sexual acts in public because then you’d be lying.”

I purse my lips and fall back against the elevator wall. “So what? There’s a difference from getting hot and heavy in an elevator alone with a guy compared to doing something like that while there are other people in here. And I’ve gone a little too far in clubs, but dammit, Dixon! It’s dark in there, and people can’t see my face all flushed and hear me moaning uncontrollably!”

He lets out the sexiest chuckle as he cups his dick through his slacks. “Believe me Brooklyn. I will never hear Taylor Swift again without imagining your face as you come.”

“Thanks to you, I’ll never hear that song either without remembering the most mortifying moment of my life.”

Dixon moves so fast that I have zero time to react. Within mere seconds, he’s in my face pinning my body against the elevator and cupping my neck with his hand leaving me completely at his mercy.

“There you go trying to lie to me again. I see straight through you, Brooklyn. You’re like clear glass exposing every thought and every feeling to me. I know it, and you know it. What happened in this elevator, not one minute ago, was the most exhilarating thing you’ve ever done. The fear of one of them or both turning around and discovering what I was doing to you turned you on more than you’ve ever been turned on before. You’re still so worked up that I bet, with just the flick of my tongue on that sweet little bud of yours, that you’d be coming all over again.”

Well, um. Okay. If I thought I was hot and bothered before, I’m now molten freaking lava melting into a puddle of scorching hot desire screaming to be graced with another orgasm.

Without saying a word, Dixon spins and slams his hand hard against the emergency stop button, causing the elevator to come to a halt. He then kneels down onto his knees while never taking his eyes off of mine.

My heart sounds like thunder booming across the night sky as it pounds forcefully against my ribs. I grip onto the metal pole so hard that I imagine my knuckles are now pure white. I cannot believe we’re doing this. Fifteen minutes ago I was telling myself I had to get used to never being able to experience another Dixon orgasm ever again, and now here I am getting ready to enjoy my second one in a matter of minutes.

He grips my thighs and slowly runs his hands along my outer thighs, pushing the hem of my dress up until I’m fully exposed to him. His hands leave a sizzling path of heat over my skin as they trail along my body.

The second his tongue slides between my lips and slashes against my sensitive bud, I curse out loud taking advantage of having the space to ourselves. I want him to hear what he does to me. I want my cries of ecstasy as he racks my body with multiple orgasms to haunt him in his dreams and torture him throughout his days.

“Ohh God! Fuck, Dixon! I’m going to cream all over your tongue if you do that one more time!”

Stopping, he squeezes my ass with the palms of his hands and beams up at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “Is that a promise?”

Rolling my eyes, I squeeze my thighs against his bulging biceps and slam my head against the wall as the throbbing increases, and my body starves for a Dixon induced euphoric high. “Yes. Now please finish what you started, or I swear to God, Dixon…”

“I love it when you get all bossy on me.” He says with an amused tone before cupping his mouth over my mound. He begins sucking hard while swirling his tongue around my clit as he slides two fingers into my dripping wet pussy. My head is spinning and within two seconds, I’m screaming out in pleasure as another orgasm tears through my body. I’m shaking against his mouth and conjure up every ounce of strength in me to keep myself upright.

“Oh my God….oh my God…” My moans fade into a blur of words that are incomprehensible. I don’t know where each cry of bliss starts and ends. They simply flow together like the melody of a song.

As fast as our moment of bliss happened, it ends as Dixon’s phone dings, causing him to jump to his feet. He digs it out of his pocket as I adjust my dress, pulling it back down into place.

Without saying a word, he hits the emergency button once again and the elevator jerks back to life and begins ascending toward Kayden’s and his penthouse suites. Both penthouse suites are two levels and overlook Houston. They are definitely living in luxury at this place.

He types a text before stuffing his phone back in his pocket and then comes to rest next to me leaning against the wall casually as if he didn’t just give me two orgasms.

The second the elevator comes to a stop, and the doors open, I practically run out of the elevator. The air in there was getting so thick on the last few floors of the elevator ride, that I swear it was almost impossible to take a single breath.

Dixon takes two steps towards me before wrapping his arms around my waist and walking me in the opposite direction of which I usually go…right towards his suite.

I feel like Alice in Wonderland right now, and it’s as if just fell through the rabbit hole. Now I’m following the troublesome rabbit into Wonderland. I’ve wondered what it’d be like to go there and experience one more night with him. Now I’m about to find out. For some reason, I find myself wondering if I’m about to get myself in so deep that there will be no possible way to ever get back to the reality I’ve always known, or if I’ll want to know.

ROMANTIC COMEDY & LOVE TRIANGLE ALERT!

A sassy heroine, a billionaire playboy, a hot Aussie body guard & an irresistible rocker

Save over 50% when you purchase the Brooklyn Series boxed set on Amazon or read FREE with Kindle Unlimited!

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***GIVEAWAY***

I went and watched Fifty Shades Darker for Valentine’s Day and all I can say is two words to sum up this movie: SIZZLING HOT! That spreader bar scene! The elevator scene…I could go on all day!!!

I want to celebrate the release of the movie since the books are what inspired me to write The Savannah Series & The Brooklyn Series. To enter all you have to do is comment on this blog post to enter!

 

It’s not needed to enter but feel free to LIKE my author page & FOLLOW my blog to keep up to date on releases and GIVEAWAYS!

WINNER WILL RECEIVE $20 amazon gift card!

NEW STANDALONE! #99cent #PreOrder goes LIVE March 1st! #YARomance #NewRelease #FREE w/ #KindleUnlimited

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ONLY 3 MORE DAYS!!!
The Art of Letting Go will release on amazon & KINDLE UNLIMITED March 1st 2017!
📚🎊PRE-ORDER🎊📚
#1click today for just #99cents or read #FREE with #KU!
A coming of age story inspired by Colleen Hoover amazing novel & MC Brightly’s favorite book, Hopeless ❤📚 it’ll pull on your heart strings & leave you feeling as if Hartley left a piece of her heart with you at the end of the book.
*~`~* Loved this story! A sweet story of getting over your past and finding new love. M.C. Brightly is a new young author who is quickly becoming a favorite of mine. – Author Groupies *~`~*
Book 15 in The Happy Endings Resort Series. Each book can be read on their own.
*This book is a STANDALONE*
#teen #teenbooks #mustread #newbookrelease #ya #yaromance #comingofagebooks #teenromancenovels
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SNEAK PEEK AT: The Art of Letting Go, a new standalone by
Young Adult Author M.C. Brightly!
PROLOGUE:

When I ‘divorced’ my parents at seventeen, I decided to move from Lanesboro, Minnesota to Arden, South Carolina to start my new life. With the help of a caseworker I was able to discover I had an aunt here in Arden, who was willing to take me in and give me a place to live while I went to community college.

After everything I’ve been through, Minnesota was the last place on earth I wanted to be. The idea of escaping the cold, blistering winters for warm and sunny beaches in South Carolina was a hell of a lot better.

You’re probably wondering why I divorced my parents rather than just sticking it out and finishing up high school there, then be on my way to an independent life, away from my mother and father.

Most people might think I was some rebellious child who didn’t want to have to be told what to do by mommy and daddy. But trust me, I would rather be living in a house with loving parents, who set rules, make me do my homework, and eat my vegetables, while trying to deal with normal teenage attitude and rebellious behavior.

Believe me, that was so not my life—not even close.

I divorced my so-called mom and dad—if they even deserve to be called that—because they were drug-addicted, abusive assholes who made my life a living hell.

Even when I think back to my earliest childhood memory, there are no happy memories. I’ve had to deal with abuse and neglect from the moment I entered this world.

My father was a ragging alcoholic, who couldn’t control his temper no matter how hard he tried. My mom was never home. My dad was too busy drinking himself into oblivion in front of the television to care. So, I spent my entire childhood alone, fending for myself. I used to watch the Matilda movie over and over again on the tiny television I had in my bedroom. Like Matilda, I always wished I’d one day be saved from a loveless home and get my happily ever after.

Sadly, that never happened.

Whenever my mother did finally come home, she would just lock herself in her room doing god only knows what. By the time I started high school things with my parents began to intensify. They went from pretending I didn’t exist, to then believing I was the reason for all of their problems. As they slipped further into addiction, my situation became worse.

The mental and physical abuse I was enduring on a daily basis, soon became apparent to teachers at my school. They noticed how withdrawn I was; how what little clothes I did have were ragged and didn’t fit properly. But it wasn’t until my father began to slip up and leave bruises in visible areas that something was finally done.

One day I was pulled from class and taken to the guidance counselor’s office where I met the school’s child therapist. Over the course of a week, they talked with me and jotted down details I gave them about my family life.

I guess even though it seemed like a little too late and the system failed me by not helping me sooner, it could’ve been worse. I could’ve been one of those kids who slipped through the cracks and never get the help they desperately need.

A few days after speaking with the councilor and therapist, I was greeted by a case worker from Child Protective Services, who informed me that I would not be returning home after school. I’d instead be going straight to a temporary foster home.

I was grateful to be placed in a nice home with an elderly couple who lived near my school. Things were going good; my grades were improving. Then everything changed. One day my case worker showed up at my foster parent’s home to inform me that I would be returning back to my parents.

I was in complete shock. I never in a million years thought I’d be going back there. But I was informed they had completed rehab, were attending narcotics and alcohol anonymous. They took parenting classes and were doing better. Both even holding down steady jobs for the last three months.

The thing is my parents could tell me they were better and all that shit, and preach to the world that they had received the wakeup call they needed when I was taken away from them. But I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it with my own two eyes.

I was only back home maybe two months before things started going downhill again. They’d put on a show for the case worker every month when she came to check in on us and follow up. But slowly all the changes they had both made became a thing of the past as their old habits reared their ugly heads.

My father began drinking again, and my mother was gone all the time working, and then off somewhere scoring drugs after work.  Once she came home, she passed out and pretended that her life wasn’t a shit show all over again, since she had ‘worked so hard’ to move past her problems to better herself and her family.

I thought that the constant verbal abuse and beatings were the worst things I would ever go through. Boy was I ever so wrong.

After six months of me being home, and a few months shy of my seventeenth birthday, my life finally hit rock bottom. My dad was laid off and my mother’s drug habit was taking up what little money we had. If it wasn’t for the food stamps we received from the government, we would’ve starved. More than a few times we were close to having the power turned off, but somehow mom always managed to come up with the money just in time.

So many times, I wanted to speak up to our case worker, tell her that this happy family act my parents put on for them was nothing but a joke. But I knew it was a waste of time. I’d be removed long enough to get settled in somewhere before they were all better again, and I was back in this hell of a life all over again.

The only thing helping me through each day was knowing I only had one more year until I graduated and could get the hell out of that house and town.

I never thought in a million years my life could get any worse. Until the night my innocence was torn away from me.

I was sitting in my room trying to do homework and drown out the screaming match going on outside of my bedroom door with the radio sitting on my bed stand beside me.

Suddenly the screaming stopped as I heard the voice of someone else entering as the front door slammed shut with a loud thud, causing the entire house to shake. I thought maybe my mom or dad had left and I’d actually get to fall asleep without the sound of their argument pouring in through my bedroom wall. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. No, instead my worthless piece of shit parents were still there. No one had left, instead someone else arrived at our house. The second he appeared in my doorway I recognized him. I’d seen the man a few times come by when we were strapped for cash. He’d disappear with my mother into her bedroom and come out a few minutes later, would fill my dad’s hand with a stack of cash and then be on his way. I was sixteen, I was far from naive, so I knew exactly what was going on. My mother was sleeping with him for money. It was sickening to think my father not only approved of it but encouraged it.

I didn’t think they could sink any lower until that night.

That night the little piece of innocence I had left was stolen from me and I never once received a single ounce of remorse from either one of them. What I thought would be a onetime thing, turned into a weekly occurrence. The first time he raped me I fought back, and got a black eye and bruised jaw because of it. I learned quickly it was better to lie there, let my mind drift off to a safe place and wait for it to be over, rather than try to fight it.

Slowly I began to slip into a dark depression. I hated school because I had no friends. I couldn’t focus on the curriculum because of all the shit going on in my life, yet I got up every morning and went because it was my escape from the hell I was living. Even if it was only for a few hours.

Things got so bad that I became suicidal. The thought of living there for even another day, let alone one more year was too much. I would rather be dead than have to live one more day in the hell my parents had created for me.

I went into school one day, locked myself in a bathroom stall and downed an entire bottle of pills I’d stolen from my mother. I sat on the floor, propped against the door and slipped into what I thought would be the last sleep I’d ever take.

I guess a teacher discovered me in there while checking the bathroom for smokers after the bell rang. I awoke hours later in a hospital room, with a tube down my throat and monitors hooked up to my body.

The doctor said a few more minutes and I would’ve been dead. When I started to cry, they thought it was because I was relieved that I was still alive. In reality  I wept that day because I didn’t die. I wasn’t free. I was so close to escaping the pain and the abuse, only to fail.

All thanks to fricking smokers and teachers with nothing better to do than hunt them down and send them to detention.

I spent a week in the hospital recovering from my overdose. While there I was visited by my social worker, Mrs. Hart, who for the life of her couldn’t understand why I would try to kill myself rather than go to her for help. I had nothing left to lose, and knew there was no way in hell I was going to allow them to send me back to my parents’. So, I decided to tell her everything. She sat quietly, tears streaming from her eyes as she watched me cry while I unloaded everything on her. Along with the reasoning as to why I never asked for help.

My life finally changed for the better at that moment. Mrs. Hart promised me I’d never have to go back, and spent the next few hours sitting beside my bed, explaining the process of emancipation to me.

She agreed to help me become emancipated from my parents, if I promised to seek professional help with my depression and talk to a therapist about everything I’ve been through. So as soon as I was discharged from the hospital, I was admitted into a small rehab facility for teens. I lived there for six months, where I was home schooled, attended therapy sessions daily, one on one with a psychiatrist, followed by group sessions with other teens like me each day.

The day I left the treatment center I set out on the path to gaining my freedom.

Mrs. Hart helped me get back into the same foster home I was in before. Mr. and Mrs. Brown were happy to have me back with them, but understood it was only temporary. They were simply a stepping stone toward my independence. Soon after moving back in with them, I earned my license, got a job at the small grocery store a few blocks away, and spent the next four months saving up every dime I made while working on graduating a year early.

By June, I had my diploma and enough money to travel to South Carolina to live with my aunt. The final step was getting legally divorced from my so-called parents. Thankfully they knew I was never coming back, and would sit in the foster care system for a few more months until I was legally released into the world as an adult. So, with little fight, they agreed to grant me my emancipation by signing the papers and finally giving me what I’d wanted for as long as I could remember.

Freedom.

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