by Elena Monroe
Pretty face.
Ugly past.
The Amherst Sinners book two
Elena Monroe
© 2019 by Elena Monroe. All rights reserved.
No portion of this book, except for brief review, may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without the written consent and permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, dialogues, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether living or dead, businesses, locales, or events other than those specifically cited are unintentional and purely coincidental or are used for the purpose of illustration only.
The publisher and author assume no responsibility for errors, omissions, or contrary interpretation of the subject matter herein. The author and publisher assume no responsibility or liability whatsoever on the behalf of any purchaser or reader of these materials. The publisher and author do not have any control over and do not assume any responsibility for third party websites or their content.
First edition.
George –
Always.
Forever.
Girl Gang –
These girls. I wish that convey every thought swirling around my head and every comfort they have given my heart. I am thankful for every one of you and all the support in my journey.
@ashob1229
@liz_argote
@ang_b_wrtting
@books.by.gabriela
@sarahwa_
@thatgrltabi
Jo at Give Me Books Promotions –
For hosting the blitz, cover reveal, and release. It was a huge relief to have such a great team handle the promotional aspect!
Sarajoy –
You have continued to be my savior in the editing process. I literally do not know the words that express how grateful I am for you to be on this project and for fixing my PTSD with all the editors I went through before I found my forever editor. As long as you’ll edit, I will keep sending manuscripts.
Maria at Steamy Reads –
You make magic out of covers and I am eternally grateful for catching so many eyes. This series could look completely different without you!
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Elena Monroe grew up in Florida scribbling down stories from a very young age. These stories were really just wavy lines filling the paper. But she knew each word, each emotion, each character’s name, and there was no tricking her into forgetting what each line signified. Just like her unconventional way of writing as a toddler, Elena is setting her own rules and just telling stories.
Much like her debut novel, The Best Years, life certainly imitated art. Transplanting from the South to the East Coast, Elena currently lives in Connecticut with her soon-to-be husband, reformed bad boy.
Tell stories, no rules.
Elena is currently writing Book Three of The Best Years: The Amherst Sinners Series. Stay tuned.
Find her on her social media through Twitter at @elenamonroe, Instagram at @elenamonroewrites, Facebook at @elenamonroewrites, and more!
Cold War Kids – “So Tied Up (ft. Bishop Briggs)”
Juice WRLD – “Robbery”
Miley Cyrus – “Mother’s Daughter”
Demi Lovato – “Sober”
Demi Lovato – “Games”
Kelsea Ballerini – “Better Luck Next Time”
Dua Lips – “Blow Your Mind”
Post Malone – “Taking Shots”
Years & Years – “Desire (Gryffin Remix)”
OneRepublic & Seeb – “Rich Love”
“In the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take, the relationships we were afraid to have…
and the decisions we waited too long to make.”
Florida – Senior Year
The hallways buzzed with this incessant energy. It was electric and better than any cup of coffee I’ve ever had. I tried my hardest to get off of work before 2am, but it was impossible when I was working with Alexis. She didn’t have school in four hours and was always shooting for overtime. It helped that she hated me, sometimes silently, others vividly through her expressive eyes.
I was drained, sleeping a total of five hours after decompressing with a few pages of a good book. I swore to myself I’d sleep when I was dead, or at least when I was’ on my college campus, completely job free and less busy using the hours to be productive.
You could always find Adrian outside, parked next to his Charger, holding sports equipment, like a basketball or football. The parking lot was his kingdom, and his car was his throne. He ran this school, even before we were seniors.
He had this personality that drew you in, and his smile was always so wide you wanted to know what was so funny. We were close, like brother and sister - maybe step siblings. I never let anyone too close or know too much. I learned that lesson early on, when it morphed into nothing but pain.
Everyone was simply an acquaintance.
Adrian pulled me to his side, asking where my best friend was. They often used me to bridge any of their gaps. I didn’t have a boyfriend, or time, so I guess it made me available.
“Late, always late.”
I was barely awake, but I somehow made it on time.
That was the thing about B and me, we were world’s different but somehow never stopped being friends. We were bound by “Good morning, sunshine!” and “I’m picking you up in half an hour!” texts.
Adrian’s cologne was mouthwatering, and his body felt hard against mine. He never truly made my heart stop and lungs deflate in a way that was difficult to suck in air. No, the person who did that was all kinds of bad for me, but it didn’t stop me from staring at him most mornings from across the parking lot: Hunter. He wore leather jackets in the blistering heat, smoked joints in place of socially acceptable cigarettes, and trouble didn’t follow him; he followed trouble, wherever it took him—which was normally to the principal’s office and most of the year in juvenile detention. That was the good part of Hunter; he wasn’t accessible or here enough for my attraction to ever grow into something more.
B never walked; she would strut, even at this time in the morning and while getting out of her car.
“Hey, bitch!” She shouted too loudly, but I knew that wasn’t why people were staring. They noticed her midriff out for show and the tight leggings outlining her perfect displayed ass.
Before I could respond, Adrian pulled her against him, clearly marking his territory for the ones gawking, even though they both refused to be committed. They were bound by hooking up and flirting—nothing more or less.
Watching them suck each other’s li
ps was never comfortable. I wasn’t jealous, but I drew the line when my imaginative mind would play out the rest of the scene. Too many romance novels.
This was when I always excused myself. “I’ll see you guys in class.”
I finished my coffee before I even made it passed the school doors, stopping to toss in my now empty Starbucks cup in the trash. With a loud sigh, I reached for the door, when every one of my senses went off—all vibrating with nerves I hadn’t processed yet.
“Got tired of watching them make out before class, huh, princess?”
Hunter took a liking to calling me “princess” since first grade, because I always said “please” and “thank you”. He never stopped, and nothing irritated me more than being called a derogatory word like “princess.”
“Stop calling me princess.”
He was slow to respond, while sucking in the effects of the stub left of the joint he pushed up to his lips. I took the opportunity to go inside and leave trouble behind. Nothing was ever as easy as letting a door close behind you; trouble couldn’t be contained. His long legs helped him cut down the distance between us. “Why? I like calling you princess.”
There was a time I was convinced Hunter was created for me to be tortured by. He was relentless. He lurked around corners, as the hunter always hunting me.
“Because I’m not some weak princess people need to save!”
It was first thing in the morning, and I lost my temper. Every ounce of my coffee crutch was gone, and my eyes still felt heavy, while Hunter attempted to insult me. I was mad at myself for letting it work, instead of rolling my eyes and walking away like I typically did.
It was his turn to take advantage. He walked towards me, and he knew I’d only step back, so far back I felt my back hit the ice cold metal of the lockers. He was so close to me I could smell the reefer and coffee mixed into this scent that I needed as an essential oil, it instantly calmed me.
He spoke in a low voice, leaning into me, level with me so his words were fed into my open mouth. “That’s how weak you are, Layla. You don’t even know you need saving.”
I’d heard it before, his insult wasn’t some great new idea he was bringing to light. The meek were always deemed weak. The polite, caring, quiet ones were always underestimated.
“And you’re such an authority on self-awareness? What do I need saving from?”
He looked around, checking the hallways, which were still dead, before he dropped some kind of truth bomb meant to keep me in my place. “Yourself. You’re too scared to even be yourself.”
I couldn’t force my eyes off of him, I was analyzing his face for lies or cracks in his truth, but everything about his expression seemed placid. It stung all over, and I instantly felt insecure. The warning bell rang, alerting everyone, the whole student body that was left in the parking lot, that class was about to begin. My whole body trembled, and not just from the sudden loud noise.
As students poured in, Hunter escaped, camouflaged into a sea of students as the words fell off my lips on deaf ears. “Don’t mistake my patience or kindness for weakness, Hunter.”
Why was he watching me this closely? To draw absolutely earth-shattering truths?
It stayed with me all day, his vile words, especially “weak”. I wasn’t weak. When you survived on your own without any help, there was just a certain kind of quiet that washes over your personality. It dulls you down so you can hear responsibility, common sense, maturity, and wisdom; otherwise, you wouldn’t survive on your own.
I was plenty angry I couldn’t just simply be my age without consequences and become so unpredictable I worried adults around me. I saved it all for my journal pages, angrily scribbling my thoughts and feelings until they evaporated along with the tears. Letting myself be angry on the outside wasn’t going to do anything for me. It was a distraction, and one I didn’t need.
Some people had a gift for being at the wrong place at exactly the wrong time.
Some people had a subconscious that spat on privacy and desired the feeling of failure, to give them comfort in knowing who they really are—a walking, breathing mess.
When we went upstairs I had every intention of giving her what she wanted, pleasure, but as soon as we were alone, I realized it was impossible to get into that head space.
She swayed ever so slightly, like a child waiting for some big reveal, as I leaned back onto my elbows watching her. My eyes stalked her every movement. I stayed quiet outside of my body. The argument with myself in my mind was far more important. If I completed the argument against myself successfully, I could actually start a conversation with Layla about our pending break. Staying quiet was easier than explaining the argument out loud.
She took my silence wrong. She set her drink down before her hands pressed against my own thighs, as she leaned down pressing her lips against mine. I wanted to kiss her back more, but I couldn’t let myself feel any distractions right now. Every time I looked in her eyes, I only saw an apocalyptic end starting with a two month break. When people left, they never come back. I knew that better than anyone. She pulled away from me, lowering down between my legs, and I let my head fall back creating a sharp tension between my shoulder blades. I felt her hands tug on my belt, and she gently pulled my zipper down. There was no stopping her without having to ‘fess up to the argument in my head. My pants gaped open, enough for the smallest move to the waistband on my underwear to expose me completely.
It was a different feeling entirely when you’re exposed flaccid rather than hard. I would normally have felt a little insecure, but I was actively not letting myself feel anything still.
I wanted to; I really did. I built up her tolerance all day, knowing at this party I was going to relive all the times we had sex in this bed. It was going to be a farewell memory to hold us over for two months.
I was thankful she wasn’t confident or experienced enough to be offended by my lack of arousal, which was now level with her mouth. She tried anyways. I didn’t have the motivation to stop her. I convinced myself her warm, wet mouth would inspire my dick to grow.
If there was a knock on the door, I didn’t hear it. The door opened, and I felt obligated to reach for a pillow, throwing it in the direction of the door, without knowing the who or why. I felt obligated to act angry, shouting at him for interrupting or to get out.
I was thankful he interrupted us.
Caden put the small bag on display, notifying me of her presence. I knew who he actually meant, even when he didn’t say her name out loud.
I had never been more motivated to become decent, as I made my way to his show and tell.
I touched the bag, and it was like Pandora’s box—a mental block lifting and letting loose all the drug-infused memories. The smooth plastic against my fingers. The powder wasn’t actually white. That was a misconception, it was tainted by the diluted toxins added to cut down the purity. It was tinted a bisque color in reality. Even the familiar crisp pop of a Ziplock breaking apart filled my ears without the bag even being opened.
Suddenly, the mental argument in my head went mute. I even forgot Layla, who was embarrassed, before I strutted over to Caden to see the evidence up close. I almost forgot to tell her I would be back. Caden’s confused and concerned eyes made me stop to remember, before I left her safely in my room.
I found Jade before anyone else. I knew her better than anyone. I knew exactly where to look.
A clear memory breezed through my head of Jade explaining the best spot at parties was in the hallway, strategically near the bathroom. I could picture her red swollen lips telling me her secrets. “There’s some kind of comfort or anticipation for more when people wait in lines. It’s the perfect place to sell.”
I made a pit stop for a cup of alcohol before I lifted each heavy foot up for each step down the hallway. Maybe I had a strong argument for whiskey dick earlier. I felt all too heavy and all too light at the same time. Maybe it was the realization I would be met with Jade, casually leaning again
st the wall, offering big highs for a small price.
I kept my eyes low, trying to block some of my senses, but it was no use. I heard her small laugh, and the teal ends of her hair were glowing in what little light existed. I didn’t shout her name or pick up my pace. I was quiet and calculated when I appeared behind the guy who was trying to make her laugh.
The depth of her eyes threatened to swallow me whole. “Wanna get high?”
The guy in front of her seemed disappointed he didn’t have her attention anymore. Her back arched away from the wall, making me notice her skirt was too short, teasing even. I made my way closer, making sure to trap her before she could run off. This moment felt familiar, like I had lived through it already.
“What are you doing here?”
She kept her back arched, and my hand instinctively held her hip. Now it felt even more familiar. I drank the rest of the contents in my Solo cup, before I placed it on the skinny hallway table next to us. I craved to be distraction free—no cups, no noise, and no people clamoring to buy what she was selling.
She bit her lip before answering, and I could tell she was high. It was the only time she ever seemed less rigid. Something about getting high softened her up.
She finally answered me, after she completed all her teasing behaviors. “It’s a party, Ollie. Everyone’s invited.” She tugged my shirt, pulling me into her and closing the gap I left on purpose. She whispered against my ear, “Where’s your PG girlfriend?”
I shrugged letting my hands drop from the wall behind her. My body relaxed, even though I felt her hips pressed against mine. I cursed myself for reacting now, at a time I didn’t approve of. Jade wasn’t leaving; even when she did, she always came back. Layla was leaving, and I didn’t feel the same comfort.
I felt her lips rub against my ear when she whispered, “Meet me in your room in 15 minutes.”
She started to pull away, but my hand, just above her ass, kept her close, as I whispered back: “Bring something fun.”