by Erin Bevan
All The Wrong Reasons
Copyright © 2020 by Erin Bevan
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-7324939-2-6
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editors: Courtney Murati , Stacy D. Holmes, Jennifer Graybeal
Cover Art: Authors On A Dime
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
The Big List of Thank You’s
About Erin
Books By Erin
1
As Alexandra Mills slowly clawed her way into consciousness, a few things hit her all at once. The pungent smell of garlic and beer, the jackhammering of too many tequila shots pounding in her head, and the most sickening realization of all—she wasn’t alone.
She shot her eyes open only to find herself staring at a head full of crazy brown curls. God, what have I done?
No, the question was whom had she done? Tom? Trent? Why couldn’t she remember? Maybe the eight tequila shots she guzzled had something to do with it?
Lover boy had a scar in the shape of a fishing hook above his left eyebrow, a straight nose, strong jaw, and his mouth was wide open as he slept. A pool of spit had collected by his cheek and as she pulled her head away from him to get a clearer view, he let out a little snore, and then puffed a cloud of the worst morning breath she had ever smelled.
“Dear God,” she whispered as she pulled the white cotton sheet over her head, squeezed her eyes shut, and rubbed her temples. Her brain felt as if it were shriveling up from dehydration.
Chris, her ex, otherwise known as, The Ass, was the reason she was in this mess.
“Loosen up, have fun,” her best friend, Shelby, had said last night. “Forget Chris. He’s just a stick with a dick.”
That stick had been her dick for five years. A long time to simply forget someone—but in the end, she had tried.
And made a giant mistake in the process.
Though the details of the previous night were fortunately, no make that blissfully, still fuzzy, Alex had a vague recollection of her best friend pointing out the mistake now lying next to her.
“That guy is staring at you,” her friend, Shelby Monroe, had said as they sat at the bar. Then she nudged her pointy elbow into Alex’s boob, missing her arm completely, and added, “Go talk to him.”
Alex rubbed her left breast, not even bothering to look at said guy. “I’m not sure I’m ready.” She was nowhere near ready.
“The best way to get over Chris is to get under another man.” Shelby smiled sweetly as she’d elbowed Alex again, that time in the ribs.
The last thing she had wanted in her life was another guy, and she’d naively looked at Shelby and said, “I would never.”
What an idiot she’d been. Her mother had always told her to never say never.
But the minute Alex stared over at the curly headed guy through the crowd in the nightclub, a cozy heat had zipped through her body. She buzzed and hummed like the music in the background.
Three dances in, and six tequila shots later, she’d decided her friend was a genius. It was high time for her to loosen up. After all, she was young and single, with nothing holding her back from being wild and carefree, except for the strict contract of her job…which is why they had chosen to drive an hour away from her hometown of Serendipity Falls, Arkansas to have a good time.
Throwing all caution to the wind, she allowed herself to get lost in the sway of their bodies. She loved the invigorating feeling of sweat dripping down her chest. It was like a cleansing, her sweat pushing toxic Chris from her pores and memory. The moment the curly-haired god, now also known as Stinky Halitosis Boy, placed his giant hands on her hips, Chris, The Ass, had been completely forgotten. Totally.
It had been a long time since any man had touched her hips and looked at her like she was the cherry on his sundae. Much too long in fact, and as she’d stared into the guy’s green eyes, she couldn’t help but compare them to Max’s—her best friend.
Now, remembering back, the comparison was odd. But last night, nothing seemed odd. Everything floated around her in a Technicolor drunken dream world. When she should have stopped dancing and dreaming, and comparing, she didn’t. Lover boy kept sliding her more shots, and instead of saying “No way,” she screamed, “Give me more José!”
and continued on a self-destructive path of losing all her conscious control.
She’d remembered running her hands through his silky strands, more dancing, some grinding. After that everything was a drunken haze of kissing, licking…God, she remembered some licking, and then…nothing.
Alex peeked out from under the covers and squinted against the small amount of sunlight that slipped out from the side of the long red factory curtains as she looked around the room. The draft from the air conditioner caused her to shiver.
Where the hell was she? A hotel?
Some giant, replicated-a-thousand-times-over landscaped picture of a hill full of blue bonnets hung on a stale cream wall. A boring, brown desk sat in one corner with a leftover pizza box sitting on top…that explained Lover Boy’s gross breath. The red curtains covered a giant window—poorly—while the air conditioning unit below the window continued to chug as if it were the Little Engine That Could. The linens on the bed felt a little too crispy and starchy, but at least the place looked clean. Silver lining, if there could be such a thing out of this whole ordeal.
Breath Boy exhaled again, last night’s beer and pizza having a boxing match on his tongue, and she was the one about to be taken down by total knock out.
Alex fought the urge to vomit as her stomach churned and her head swam. Bloody hell. How did she get in this mess?
More importantly, how was she going to get out of it?
Suddenly, a Carrie Underwood song flashed through her mind about Elvis and Vegas. Jesus, what was her last name? She didn’t, did she? She slowly eased out from under the covers careful not to wake Stink Boy as she stood and checked her left ring finger.
Bare. Oh, thank you, Jesus.
She let out a long, slow sigh of relief. Not married. And from the foil wrapper on the floor, at least they’d remembered that important part of the equation before they jumped in between the sheets with each other.
But the fun parts? She couldn’t remember any of them.
Figures.
Her phone, purse, and clothes lay in a heap by the door. She needed to get dressed and get out of there. ASAP! Problem was, even if she did do the walk of shame out of the room, she had no idea where she was walking to. And where was Shelby, the instigator?
Alex tiptoed over to her items, grabbed everything and crept quickly to the bathroom. She locked the door behind her, tiptoed across the cold, sterile tile then slumped down on the toilet, and called the one person in the world she knew she could count on.
After two rings, Max picked up.
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who got lucky last night. Two main differences though: he would remember his, and Max always got lucky.
“I need help,” she whispered as she reached down to grab her bra.
“What’s wrong?” The urgent tone of his voice caused her heart rate to escalate, and her to move faster.
“I need you to come get me.” She held the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she tried to slide one arm through her bra strap.
“Where are you?” The sound of sheets shuffled in the background. She flipped the phone to the other ear and continued getting dressed.
“I don’t know. That’s the problem. I did something…something out of character. And now I’m, well, I’m in some hotel room with some guy, and I don’t remember his name.”
“Christ, Alex, what the hell?”
She winced at his loud tone and placed her hand to her head. “Ow!” The pounding vibrated all the way down her spine. The last thing she needed was Max condemning her.
“Are you all right?”
She put him on speaker and placed the phone in her lap as she continued to dress. “Yes, I’m fine,” she whispered, “but please, stop yelling at me and just come get me. You’re on speaker, so whisper. I don’t need him to hear us.”
“Hold on,” he said in almost a growl.
Geez, he should be a little more forgiving. She’d never growled at him when he’d needed an escape route. And she could think of at least a handful of occasions when he’d used her to escape the clutches of some needy, lust-crazed female by making her pretend to be his girlfriend or his sister.
His sister, for cripes sake.
She stood, placed the phone on the bathroom sink, and put on her top. When she got the garment over her head, she got a real good look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her short, blonde strands stuck flat to her head, her mascara puddled under her eyelids, and the pillow marks on her face looked like a kid’s leaf-pressing experiment.
“You’re an hour from here at the Holiday Inn in Newport,” Max said.
Holiday Inn? She remembered seeing one near the bar she’d visited.
She bent down to pick up her underwear. “How do you know that?”
“Find Friends.”
He’d checked the app on his phone. Why didn’t she think of that?
“There’s a coffee shop across the street. Go there and wait for me. I’ll be there as quick as I can, Alex. Don’t worry,” he assured her.
Some of her concern ebbed knowing Max would come for her. Not that she’d had any doubt. He was her best friend. Her rock.
“Thank you, Max.” She slid her panties on. “I love you.”
“Back at you, babe. Now, be careful and wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Maxy, what’s wrong?” Some girl’s voice oozed all territorial sex-kitten-like on the other end of the line.
Of course.
“Morning,” he said to last night’s flavor.
Alex had to place a hand over her mouth to squelch down her tequila vomit. Just when she wanted to put Max on a pedestal about being the greatest man alive, the real side of him showed. The never-going-to-commit side.
Will he ever grow up?
“Alex, you okay? Alex?”
“Fine,” she said, her words muffled by her hand. She removed her hand from her mouth. “I’m fine.”
“One hour, Alex. Don’t worry. I’m coming for you.” The click of the phone hummed through the speaker.
At least she’d always have his friendship. And wasn’t it better that way? If they ever tried to date, he would forget about her like yesterday’s gossip the same way he did with all the others.
Alex reached for her pants and got herself in order in the bathroom then opened the door slowly, hoping the click of the latch didn’t wake up sleeping beauty. She cringed as she tiptoed back into the room checking to see if she’d left anything of importance. Curly God/Stinky Halitosis Boy had turned out to be not so godly looking after all. In the light of day, his strong jaw was nothing more than a scruffy, patchy beard filling out his face, his large hands were attached to equally long arms that seemed out of proportion to the rest of his body, and if his breath wasn’t bad enough, last night’s mistake was sprawled spread eagle on the bed, his ding-a-ling flopping to the side, looking like it wore a hairy toupee, the curls as thick on bottom as on top. The condom he’d used had flopped off him but still stuck to the hairy monster, holding his load.
Alex did a shivery cringe as she turned her eyes from the sight. That was an image she could never erase.
She hovered by the door, hesitant to leave not knowing what the next-day-drunk-sex protocol was. Should she get his number? Leave hers? She stared at her poor lack of judgment as he stirred on the bed, then rolled over and farted.
Farted!
Holding her hand to her mouth, she fought the gag that dared to erupt as a cloud of paint-peeling gasses permeated the air.
Time to go.
This was a night she never wanted to relive.
She scurried out of the room like a cockroach avoiding light and shut the door behind her to complete her walk of shame out of the Holiday Inn. The florescent light of the hallway nearly blinded her, shooting daggers of piercing pain through her eye sockets. God help her when she stepped outside into the sunshine. She prayed for an overcast sky as she trudged down the hallway toward the elevator.
At least she wasn’t in some sleazy no-tell motel—even though she would be telling no one about this. Ever.
Besides Max.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Shelby’s number, ducking her head, hoping not to be seen by any soul she knew or otherwise. As soon as she made sure her friend was okay, she was going to kill Shelby for allowing her to do something so stupid.
2
The GPS on Max’s dashboard read five more miles until he reached Newport. Once he made sure Alex was okay, he was going to ring her neck. Sure, he’d called her a few times from a drunken escapade but never, in their twenty years of being friends, had she ever pulled a stunt like this.
What had gotten into her?
Eight minutes later, Max pulled off his sunglasses as he entered the coffee house and darted his gaze around the shop. In the far corner, nursing a latte and a cookie, she sat, staring at her phone. As he got closer, she glanced up. His pace slowed as he saw the red rims around her eyes.
She’d been crying.
Great.
All of his anger squished out of him like a hot tube of toothpaste as he crossed to her.
“Finally,” she sighed and stared at him, showcasing her exceptionally blue eyes in all their bloodshot glory. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He scooted into the booth beside her and pulled her into his chest.
She fell into his embrace, allowing her weight to sink onto him. “You got here so fast.”
Forty-five minutes to be exact. As soon as she called, he’d thrown on his pants and popped a piece of gum in his mouth before he told Tawana to take a hike. He only hoped his previous night’s escapade wouldn’t still be there when he returned home.
“What happened last night?” he asked.
“I don’t know?” She sucked in a breath and laid her head on his shoulder. Her hair smelled woodsy clean. Not like her normal amber smell.
“Your hair smells different.”
“I changed shampoos.”
He didn’t like all these changes. This wasn’t the Alexandra he knew. He pulled her closer to his side. “Tell me what happened.”
“I was with Shelby.”
Surprise. Surprise.
For a woman who had a reputation of an amazing up and coming interior designer, she was terrible at life. The last thing Max needed or wanted was Shelby Monroe pulling Alex into her stunts.
Alex sat up and grabbed her chocolate chip cookie, nibbling on the end. “We were h
aving a great time, and then…” She shrugged and tossed her cookie on the table. It crumbled on impact.
“You don’t remember, do you?”
“No. None of it. Well, none of that part anyway, but I remember everything up to it.”
“Do you think this guy drugged you?” The mere thought of someone harming or taking advantage of Alex made him sick to his stomach. He should have been with her. She’d asked him if he wanted to go, but the minute Tawana texted him, he’d bailed on her.
What kind of a friend was he?
“No.” A tear slipped from her left eye. “I saw every single shot the bartender poured. No one had a chance to put anything in my drinks. Last night was all my fault.”
Why didn’t he foresee something like this could happen? Alex wasn’t a party girl. Never had been. The most he’d ever seen her drink was a glass of wine at dinner.
“Where was Shelby? Why didn’t she keep this from happening?” He and Shelby didn’t see eye-to-eye on most things, but the one thing they did agree on was Alex. They both loved her. However, he seriously doubted Shelby’s love after leaving Alex in this situation.
“I texted her a few times but haven’t got anything back. I remember she was dancing with a guy while I danced with Curly God and then—”
“Curly God?” Max raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry. That’s what I nicknamed him. That along with a few other names anyway.”
Nicknames? She’d given this guy a nickname?
“The guy you…slept with you mean?” He drummed his fingertips on the tabletop, trying to hide the irritation in his voice. Alex was a grown woman. She could sleep with whomever she wanted and nickname whomever she wanted. He had no right to stop her. But nicknames? Really? He’d been her friend for forever and he didn’t have a nickname. What made this guy so special?