PAYBACK’S A BITCH

by Johnson, Missy

  PAYBACK’S A BITCH

  MISSY JOHNSON

  Copyright © 2018 Missy Johnson

  All rights reserved

  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 permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Printing: August 2018

  www.facebook.com/MissycJohnson

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Darcy

  2. Darcy

  3. Cameron

  4. Darcy

  5. Cameron

  6. Darcy

  7. Cameron

  8. Darcy

  9. Darcy

  10. Cameron

  11. Cameron

  12. Darcy

  13. Cameron

  14. Darcy

  15. Cameron

  16. Darcy

  17. Cameron

  18. Darcy

  About the Author

  The Awkward Love Series:

  Don’t Hold Back (Love Hurts) excerpt:

  Chapter One

  Darcy

  “No.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Sorry, but it’s not happening.”

  “Come on, Darcy,” Sasha gently coaxes. She gives me a stern look. “You know the rules. We’d hate to have to use our reserves tomorrow.”

  “Bullshit you don’t even have reserves,” I snort, even though I know she probably does. Sasha always has something else planned as a backup. “And when you say rules, do you mean the shitty ones you made up to torment me?” I query, rolling my eyes. “Cause if you do, then I’m over it.”

  “Someone is in a mood,” Katie comments.

  “I think it’s the fact she’s gonna be so old tomorrow,” Sasha whispers to Katie. They both giggle, while I scowl at them.

  “You’re a year older than me, fuckwit,” I remind her with a roll of my eyes again.

  I glance over at the guy and groan.

  “Fine, I’ll do it,” I say with a sigh. “But I swear, this is the last time. Got it? This also means you’re never allowed to prank me again, okay?”

  “Well, it’s a little late notice for tomorrow,” Katie huffs. She glances nervously at Sasha, who shrugs. “I don’t think you appreciate how much planning we put—”

  “Fine,” I cut in with a sigh. “Go crazy tomorrow, but no more after that.”

  “Okay,” Sasha grumbles.

  I gulp down my beer then I stand up and sashay over to the bar, where the insanely hot guy is busy talking with a friend. I study the way his dark colored suit clings to his athletic frame and I swallow. I’m already regretting what I’m about to do.

  Waking up next to him tomorrow would’ve gone a long way to helping me feel a lot better but after this, there’s no chance in hell of that happening.

  They stop talking when I’m a few feet away and exchange a look. I know exactly what that look means. They think I’m about to throw myself at one of them. I smile at the guy with the dark hair.

  I lower my gaze seductively as I press my lips together, then I lift my eyes to meet his. He’s grinning like an idiot at his friend, because he thinks he knows exactly where this is going. I almost feel sorry for the guy.

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I’ve been trying to work up the courage to come over here and speak with you all night,” I murmur, flashing him a hesitant smile.

  I twirl a lock of my long, dark hair around my finger and glance back over at him, doing my best to look embarrassed.

  “I’m glad you did.” He hums, giving me an encouraging smile. “So, what can I do for you, sugar?”

  “I wanted to ask you something.” I let out a nervous laugh, then I take a deep breath. “God, this is embarrassing, but I was hoping … I wanted to ask you if you’d mind if I, uh, do something for you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He grins.

  “It’s probably going to get me booted out of here,” I say with a high-pitched giggle. “But I have this fantasy where I like to be watched, so I was wondering …”

  “You want me to watch you?” he murmurs. “Here?”

  The look in his dark eyes intensifies. He glances at his friend, like he can’t believe his luck, then he turns back to me and grins. I bite my lip in anticipation.

  “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” I add hastily.

  “Not at all, darlin’.” He cocks his head to the side and leers at me. “Knock yourself out,” he adds, as he leans back against the bar.

  I turn around and assume the position facing away from him. I roll my eyes at Katie and Sasha, who are nearly on the floor, they’re laughing so hard. I shake my head at them because I haven’t even started yet and they’ve lost control.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this … again.

  I twist around, swinging my hips to the beat of the song, playing in my head as I dance Gangnam Style, step for fucking step. The expression on this poor guy's face as I whip my imaginary pony is fucking hilarious.

  Someone puts the song on their phone, on speaker, which gives me the musical backup I need to really get my groove on. I’ve got quite the little audience going as people clap and whistle, watching me sway my hips. I wink back at Sash and Kat, who are still in hysterics.

  When the song ends, I simply stroll back to the girls like nothing happened.

  “It never gets old.” Sasha gasps, clutching her stomach.

  “Oh, trust me. It does,” I retort.

  You trick a guy into believing you’re about to get off in front of him, in a crowded bar, but then instead, you start dancing Gangnam Style, one time, and suddenly it’s your thing.

  The only time you’ll ever catch me doing that is today.

  April Fools’ Day.

  Which also happens to be my birthday. Whatever just went through your mind about being unfortunate enough to have your birthday fall on April Fools’ Day, trust me, the reality is even worse.

  Every year, my friends fight it out to see who can turn my birthday into the biggest joke. I’ve had every prank played on me that you can think of, because I’m the first person that people think of when it comes to April Fools’. Really, it doesn’t get any better than ruining someone’s birthday and nobody cares about the poor sucker who has to live through it.

  Even teachers got in on the fun growing up. I had one tell me that my dad had been killed in a car accident on his way to pick me up. I was seven years old and it was my fucking birthday. She panicked when I went into shock and assured me she was joking, but the damage was done. My parents were furious, and the teacher later ended up being suspended, but fuck me, who does that? I’m pretty sure that was the beginning of the demise of my parent’s marriage, too.

  As bad as everyone else was, it was Katie, and then Sasha who just didn’t know when to stop. They kept going, until no more pranks could fit into the day. Mostly it was silly things, like moving my car across the street or swapping my clothes after gym class in high school, to an identical outfit, but a size smaller—that was a mind fuck.

  As I grew older, the jokes quickly got out of hand. Katie and Sasha started to get more elaborate with their pranks, sometimes spending months beforehand planning. Some of the shit they came up with made me wonder if they were really my friends, but I took everything they threw at me, right up until three years ago, when I snapped. I’d had enough, so I made them the deal.

  If I could make them laugh, th
en that was it.

  No more jokes that year, and future years they got to do only one joke between them. Nothing else. Sasha was very competitive, so I knew she’d bite, but I also knew the law student in her would try and argue the terms. She counter-offered one joke every year, but in return, I had to make them laugh.

  “I’m sorry.” Katie giggles.

  “If you were really sorry, you’d let me out of whatever torture you have planned for me,” I retort, brushing off her weak as shit apology. “I’ll get you back, you know that, right?”

  I didn’t need it to be April first to pull a prank on them. I’ll do it whatever day I want.

  I’m hardcore like that.

  “I do know,” Katie retorts. “Because you’re crazy. One of your pranks equates to fifty of ours. Why do you think we make the most of it while we can?”

  I smile. I guess she has a point … If there’s one thing I enjoyed and did extremely well, it was payback.

  “Anyway,” I get to my feet, “I’m out of here. I have to be up early on Friday.”

  “So? Tomorrow is only Thursday,” Sasha points out.

  “I know. I need a day to work myself up to getting up early,” I explain.

  “Happy birthday for tomorrow,” Sasha calls out.

  “I’ll text you the time for lunch,” Katie adds.

  I smile and give them a half-assed wave over my shoulder, as I walk outside, ready to enjoy my last few hours as a twenty-two year old.

  * * *

  Twenty-three.

  God, I’m so old. I crack open my eyes and groan, then I close them again.

  All I want to do is roll over and go back to sleep, but I know I can’t. It sucks that my birthday is the one day where I should be allowed to sleep in, and I cant. I stumble out of bed and throw on my robe, then I make my way downstairs, where I know Mom will be ready and waiting to make a big deal of today. I might act all embarrassed, but I secretly love the fuss she makes over me as much as she does. This is one benefit of living back at home. The last three birthdays didn’t have the same wow factor, because I lived by myself, so I missed the whole birthday morning fuss. And at least I don’t have to worry about Mom pulling any pranks on me. She knows I’ll get enough of that from my friends.

  Mack, of course, is a different story.

  Mack is one of my future stepbrothers. At age twelve, he’s the poster child for why nobody should try and negotiate their own divorce. After Jim and his ex-wife signed their divorce papers, five minutes of angry divorce sex on the table of Conference Room Three was all it took for Mack to be conceived. You have no idea how much he loves telling everyone that story.

  “Here she is,” Mom sings. “It’s the birthday girl.”

  “Are you sure you’re twenty-three? Because you look more like forty-three.” Mack frowns at me. “And that’s only if I squint hard enough. When I don’t squint, it goes up to sixty.”

  I glower at him and sit down. Yep, Mack is just the type of child you’d expect out of those circumstances.

  “I’ll remember that comment in six years, when you’re trying to hook up with my friends,” I fire back.

  He grins at me. “Why make them wait six years when they can have me now?”

  “Because that would be highly illegal,” I snap.

  “Only if people find out,” he points out. “And I’m not a kiss and tell kinda guy.”

  I groan, because if he’s this cocky at twelve, what’s he going to be like in six years? Then again, with Cameron Hunter as his brother, he never stood a chance to begin with.

  Ah, Cameron …

  What can I say about Cameron?

  Mom met Jim Hunter, Cameron and Mack’s father, a little over six months ago. Their relationship has moved faster than Cameron moves onto his next conquest, but I don’t mind so much, because I haven’t seen Mom this happy in a long time. And if she’s happy, then so am I. Jim is actually a true gentleman, which is rare these days. While I was all for them getting engaged, Cameron wasn’t so thrilled. I’m not sure what his problem is, other than the fact that he enjoys being difficult. How Jim produced such an arrogant, rude, asshole like Cameron baffles me sometimes.

  Full disclosure, most of what I know about Cameron, I’ve learned from the gossip pages. He went through a period last year where he jumped from scandal to scandal, and some of the shit he did was downright crazy. He’s quietened down a lot since then, but the few times we’ve met in person haven’t done much to sway my opinion of him. He’s barely said two words to me, which I’m fine with, because I get my daily dose of Hunter arrogance dealing with Mack, but at least Mack has some endearing qualities.

  I sit back and groan, pushing aside my plate. I’m so full, but one thing is for certain; nobody does blueberry pancakes quite like Mom. Even though it takes more effort than I’m willing to commit to, I stand up and toss my plate into the water filled sink. Mom raises her eyebrows at me.

  “What?” I protest with a shrug. “It’s my birthday.”

  “And?” Mom retorts with a laugh. “That excuse wouldn’t even work for Mack.”

  Sighing, I put my phone on the kitchen counter and reluctantly wade my hands into the tepid, dirty dishwater to retrieve my plate. Of course, the moment I do, my phone pings with a text message.

  “Shit,” I mutter. “That will be Katie. We’re having lunch today.”

  “Language,” Mom says in a stern voice.

  “Really?” I laugh. “Says the woman who swears like a friggin’ sailor when she’s had half a glass of wine.” I chuckle. “Not to mention the farting. Speaking of, has Jim heard you fart the alphabet yet?”

  “I haven’t done that in ten years,” Mom protests, her face turning crimson.

  “I know, but it was my thirteenth birthday party you did it at,” I remind her. “I’ll never forget the horrified look on Sash’s mother’s face. And then you made it worse by trying to blame the dog.”

  “What? She almost brought it.” She narrows her eyes at me when she talked. “Until you pointed out we no longer had a dog.”

  “Hey, all I said was that if Monty made that stench, it was impressive, since he’d been buried in our yard for the last six months.” I shrug, fighting back a giggle.

  My phone pings again. Mom and I both look at it, and then at each other.

  “It’s Katie,” I repeat, rolling my eyes. “Can you check it for me?”

  She picks it up and snorts loudly as she chokes back laughter.

  “What?” I ask, curious.

  “Uh … I don’t think you really wanted me to answer this,” she murmurs. “Did you by any chance place an ad that you maybe didn’t want your old mom knowing about?” she teases. “And what the hell is a Furry, by the way?”

  Mack’s ears prick up. He looks up from the phone he’s been glued to for the last ten minutes.

  “Huh? It’s a dude, isn’t it?” His eyes darken, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. “Or a chick? "Because that would be really hot …” He nods knowingly.

  I screw my face up because whatever he’s thinking, it’s not good.

  “Gross,” I snap at Mack. “Get away from me.”

  “Go,” Mom agrees.

  She narrows her eyes at him and tries to shoo him out of the kitchen.

  “Seriously?” Mack huffs. He looks from Mom to me, a hurt expression on his face. “I was just trying to be supportive of her choices and that’s the thanks I get?”

  He stalks off, still feeling sorry for himself while I furiously dry my hands and snatch my phone from Mom.

  “What are you talking—”

  What the fuck is that?

  “Nope, this isn’t mine,” I assure her, examining the photo from every angle. “It’s obviously a wrong number or something.”

  Or something being my two very childish friends.

  “Darcy, it’s okay,” Mom soothes. “You’re twenty-three now. If you want to advertise for a man—” She tilts my phone back in her direction, so she can study
the photo again. “—wait, is he dressed as a Care Bear?”

  “What?” I laugh. “No.” I grab the phone and nod. “Yes. Yes, he is. Seriously though, Mom, it’s just—”

  “Darcy, stop stressing.” Mom wraps her arms around me. “Everyone is different. I’m sure even I have desires that would shock you.”

  “And I probably would be shocked by those desires, if you didn’t keep accidentally cc’ing me into things I never ever wanted to be privy to,” I tease.

  Three or four times now, I’d received very descriptive emails from Mom, outlining things she wishes to do to Jim that I never wanted to know about.

  “Oh, you thought that was an accident?” She winks at me.

  I shudder, then shift my thoughts back to Katie and Sasha.

  I’m going to fucking kill them.

  I set down my phone, jumping when it rings almost immediately. Mom raises her eyebrows.

  “Do you want me to get that for you too?” she asks.

  “Very funny,” I say, making a face.

  “Well, why not?” Mom baits me, her electric blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “If the photo wasn’t meant for you—”

  “Fine. How about I just put it on speaker?” I say with a shrug.

  It can’t be any worse than the photo, right?

  “Hey. I’m just wondering if you’re adverse to consuming bodily fluids?”

  Mom’s eyes widen. I stare at my phone in shock, then I burst into laughter.

  “I’m sorry?” I sputter. I can’t look at Mom, who is now bent over in tears, she’s laughing so hard. “I think you have the wrong number.”

  “Okay … so this isn’t Arsy?”

  My mouth drops open. Those bitches.

  They used my childhood nickname—which, by the way, is nowhere near as dirty as it sounds.