by Vi Keeland
Back cover image © Christa Cervone
No portion of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any print or electronic form without the permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and coincidental. Any resemblances between persons living or dead, establishments, events or location is entirely coincidental.
The portrayal of Alex Minsky’s story has been altered to suit this book. Though some of his story is true this is not a biography of his life.
A very special thanks to Alex Minsky
This book and cover would not be what it is without you and your story. I truly appreciate all the time you took out of your busy life to talk to me. Your story as well as your outlook on life truly inspires me as it does people all over the world. Don’t ever lose the spark you have inside of you.
Alex, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. You helped me turn Garrett into a truly sexy beast.
Music has been a huge inspiration in the writing of this book. Back in October when I first heard this song I couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s what inspired me to begin writing this book and for that I thank you, P!nk. I hope someday you will read it and know how much your music truly inspires me and the world.
Just give me a reason
Just a little bit’s enough
Just a second we’re not broken just bent
And we can learn to love again
Give Me Just a Reason—P!nk
Chapter One
My Saturday started just like every other Saturday with me lying in bed, my mind in a fog and my head pounding from all the tequila I had consumed the night before. The memories of bringing Chris, Kyle, Connor or whatever his name was, back to my apartment were flashing through my head. I remember the two of us leaving the bar as I closed my eyes trying to shake the memory.
We met on the dance floor at Danny’s, the bar I work at. I pushed him up against the wall outside of the employee entrance. With my hands down the front of his pants practically exposing him, I kissed his neck. His skin tasted salty from his sweat. Taking a step back I pulled him towards the stairwell that leads up to my apartment. I carefully tried to climb the stairs backwards but tripped over my own foot and fell landing on my ass. I tugged on his t-shirt pulling him on top of me. My hands fumbled to pull his pants down.
Over the years, sex and alcohol had almost become a necessity for me to function. It temporarily filled the gaping hole I’d been left with when my heart shattered four long years ago. Even though the sex and booze were only a momentary fix, it helped me through my nights.
I opened my eyes wide trying to make the memories of last night stop. I was so pissed at myself for doing what I did but another flash hit me.
I slowly slid my body down a step until my mouth was pressed up against his already exposed cock. I heard him moan. He grabbed my hair with both of his hands and guided himself into my mouth. I slowly ran my tongue down his cock, hoping it would drive him crazy. He sucked in a big gasp of air. I stood up and moved myself up a few steps and pulled my skirt up revealing that I had no underwear on.
He laughed a deep devilish laugh. “You’re a bad girl, Leila.”
“I know,” I purred gently nibbling on his ear.
He moved up the stairs and stood face to face with me. Bringing his index and middle fingers to his mouth, he wet them with his tongue. Licking them like a lollipop. He then lowered his hand and pushed his fingers into my pussy. His eyes were staring at me with such intensity. I knew he wanted me.
I dug my nails into his back. “Fuck me,” I said hoarsely, the words barely coming out.
He quickly pulled his fingers out of me, yanked my hips closer and thrust his cock inside me with one swift move. I let out a deep moan and dug my nails deeper into his back. He flinched from the pain, though he never asked me to stop as he kept plowing himself into me. We both froze when we heard the employee door open below us. Once I realized no one was coming, I began to giggle and thrust my hips up and down his length again.
“Don’t stop,” I said breathlessly.
As the memory persisted, I began to feel sick to my stomach. I took my pillow and put it over my face and screamed as I clenched my eyes shut. My chest was heaving from my anger, and still my mind wandered back to what happened next.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he panted in my ear.
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t really interested in taking him back to my place. I nodded my head even though I would’ve been happy to get off on the stairs. He pulled out of me and yanked his pants up roughly without zipping or buttoning them. We walked up the last few stairs, and I searched frantically for my key at the bottom of my purse. The tequila was running through me as I fumbled trying to get my key in the lock but dropped it on the ground instead.
As I bent over to pick it up, I felt him push his erection against me. Standing up, I reached around and freed him from his pants. I hiked my skirt around my waist and stood on my tiptoes guiding his cock into me. He slammed me up against the door causing me to grip the door jam to steady myself and regain my footing as he rammed himself into me. “Harder,” I gasped.
Fuck me! I flung the pillow off my face and across my room. I quickly leapt out of bed and began pacing back and forth. How could I let myself act so cheap? I actually fucked someone on the stairs, and I have no clue what his name was. Last night felt like an out of body experience.
I remembered how I pretended to be asleep, hoping he would just leave. Thankfully, after a few minutes, he did. The thought of random men touching me and wanting to hold me after sex actually made my skin crawl. The last thing I needed to complicate my life was another relationship. It was pretty obvious to me that I was in no state to have or even handle a steady boyfriend.
My self-destructive behavior and self-hatred had hit an all-time high. I threw myself back onto my bed and buried my head in my pillow again. I let out another scream and closed my eyes tightly, as my mind began to race. I’d had enough this time. I forced my thoughts onto something else.
I began thinking about my grandma and how much I missed her and what she would think about my recent behavior. It was hard to believe she had been gone for almost two years now. I had spent so much of my childhood with her. It was like having a second mother.
My grandma had always called herself a “shutterbug.” She was one of those people who always walked around with a camera either in her hand or around her neck. She must have taken a million pictures of me throughout the years. She and my grandfather were the ones who bought me my first camera. I can remember it clearly––I was turning ten years old, and she was so excited to give me my gift. She didn’t even wait until my birthday.
It was a Kodak point and shoot camera, and although it wasn’t a great camera, it was my very own, and I loved it. I took pictures of my dolls. I posed them up against my bed, changing their outfits and their hairstyles. Luckily, it was a digital camera, so I was able to view the pictures on a computer.
I was so deep in thought when my alarm actually went off, it scared the living shit out of me, making me jump a mile. “Ugh,” I moaned. I’m just not into shooting this wedding today.
As a recent graduate of WSU, with a Bachelor’s Degree in Art, I’d wanted to be a photographer, for as long as I could remember. Once I’d begun high school, and they’d offered a photography class as an elective, it was a no-brainer for me. I’d eventually become really good. One Christmas, my parents and grandparents pitched in and bought me a digital SLR camera. With my new camera, I started photographing my friends, family, neighbors and even the children I babysat after school. Anytime you would see me, there would be a camera either in my hand or around my neck just like my grandma.
I became the photographer for the school newspaper and took many of my classmates’ senior pictures for the yearbook. It was a nice, little part-time job for me during high
school. When the time came to figure out what I was going to do for a career, it was pretty obvious. I was fortunate that the local University offered an art major and photography classes. Although my mom wasn’t poor, I knew she couldn’t afford to send me to some fancy photography school in the city.
Once I started college, my high school photography teacher, Mrs. Grady, introduced me to a local wedding photographer named Katie Wright. Katie also was one of Mrs. Grady’s students. Mrs. Grady gave me a glowing recommendation. Katie and I hit it off immediately. Katie began her career in photography in her early twenties. She took the industry by storm. Within the first few years of her career, she became one of the most highly demanded wedding photographers in our area. This was a huge accomplishment considering her age and the length of time she had been photographing. She stood all of five feet tall and weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. She had long brown straight hair, deep green eyes and a perfect complexion.
Don’t let Katie’s size deceive you, when it came to her photography business, she was a killer business woman. Even though she was one of the youngest photographers at any given bridal show, every bride and groom wanted to meet with her because of her reputation. There would be a line at her booth waiting to discuss their up-coming wedding. Working with Katie was great. She taught me everything there was to know about the wedding photography business.
When I first began working with Katie, she told me she wanted to ease me in slowly. Even though I had over three years of experience with photographing my classmates, wedding photography was much different. She described many of her brides as “Bridezillas.” At first, I didn’t understand what she meant by that. However, once I had worked a few weddings it became very clear as to what she meant. Some of the brides were crazy. I started off as Katie’s assistant at weddings, I was there to make sure the bride and groom looked perfect. I assisted in the posing and also kept the wedding party in line, in case they got rowdy. She called me “her second set of eyes.” Eventually, she had me photographing the weddings alongside her. After I graduated, she officially promoted me to a photographer. I was so thrilled. I was actually going out and photographing weddings on my own.
In addition to working with Katie, I also served at Danny’s. I had been waiting tables there since I was eighteen. While I attended WSU, I mostly worked Thursday and Sunday nights. Now, that I was no longer in school, Danny had offered me the lunch shifts during the week. He knew I really wanted to start my career in photography, and gave me the weekends off.
Working the lunch shift also helped him out as he didn’t have to hire two new waitresses. Danny knew I didn’t want to be a barmaid for the rest of my life, so picking up shifts during the week gave me more money in my pocket. I didn’t want to be one of the college students who had to move back home with their parents. In my opinion, this was not an option. I had been living on my own since I’d started college. I liked being independent, not having a curfew, and also I didn’t want to worry my mom by coming at all hours of the night. I liked the “outta sight, outta mind” mentality and I think she did as well.
Even though I had lived within commuting distance of WSU, I lived in the dorms my freshman year. I had suffered a horrible bout of depression the summer prior to starting college. My mother had thought it was very important for me to experience living with students my own age. She had been worried that by not doing so, I would isolate myself again. She was very grateful for my roommate Amy. Amy was five feet seven with gorgeous, curly, black hair and beautiful, creamy white skin. Not only was she breathtakingly beautiful, she was the happiest and the most positive person I had ever met. She put up with my depression and my mood swings and would tell me in a goofy voice to “Turn my frown upside down.”
Amy did her best to encourage me to get out of our room. She forced me to attend functions and parties that were held on campus or in our dorm. She was the only reason I made it through my entire freshman year. As our freshman year came to an end, I begged Danny to let me rent the apartment above the bar. Amy tried her hardest to convince me to live on campus for our sophomore year, but as grateful as I was to her, I couldn’t. I needed my own space.
As I glanced over at my cat, Molly, she was staring at me waiting for me to get my ass out of bed to feed her. She was my trusty old friend that I’d owned since high school. I was struggling to get out of bed. My head just wasn’t in the game to photograph this wedding today.
I finally rolled out of bed and as soon as my feet touched the ground, I shivered. Man it’s already starting to get cold, almost time to turn the heat on.
I made my way through my small apartment, which consisted of a kitchen/living room combo, a bedroom and tiny bathroom. The majority of my living room furniture was purchased at yard sales. I had a mismatched couch and love seat, an old cedar chest I turned into a coffee table, an end table and two cheap floor lamps that I had bought at Wal-Mart.
The walls were an ugly dark wood paneling. I tried to spruce them up with hanging pictures on them. The majority of the pictures were black and white landscapes I had taken during high school and college. I took the pictures at Wales Park, a local park that I had hung out at when I was in high school. There was also a photo collage of my best friend, Nicole and me throughout the years. We first met in middle school in sixth grade. With our last names beginning with C and D, we sat right next to each other. We instantly became friends and have been that way ever since. Even though we may not talk to each other every day, anytime something is going on in one of our lives, we know the other will be there. I laugh every time I look at the pictures on the wall. We have changed so much in the last ten years.
As I shuffled into my tiny kitchen, I looked around in disgust. It was in need of a major update. The mismatched appliances from the 1970’s were an eye sore to look at. The refrigerator was avocado green, and my stove was the ugly yellow that my mother called goldenrod. To me, they looked like baby shit green and baby shit yellow. The cabinets matched the ugly wood paneling on my walls. Everything in my kitchen was so outdated, but they were in working order, so who was I to complain. This place wasn’t the “Ritz”, but it was perfect for Molly and me. To us, this was home.
Molly was following me around meowing at me to feed her. I opened the fridge and found a can of cat food and a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke. “Shit,” I muttered. I really needed to go grocery shopping, which I despised doing. I took Molly’s and my breakfast out of the fridge. A glass of Diet Coke for me and tuna fish flavored cat food for her. I’ve never been a coffee person. I’ve never liked it. All my classmates at school would walk around with their coffees, lattes or teas and then there I’d be, with a Diet Coke in my hand.
The caffeine was finally kicking in, and I could feel the drunken haze lifting. I headed to my closet and pulled out my signature wedding outfit, which consisted of black dress pants and a simple black blouse. Wearing all black was our way of staying out of everyone’s way. We needed to blend into the background, and I wasn’t a dress-up kind of girl, anyway. With my clothes in hand, I made my way to the bathroom.
Just like my kitchen, my bathroom has been in desperate need of a facelift. My entire bathroom was pink. The tiles on the walls, the floor, the bathtub and even the toilet looked like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol exploded. I liked pink, but this was a little too much. I hung my outfit on the door to the shower to steam out any minor wrinkles and turned to the mirror to take a look at myself. “Jesus, you look like shit,” I said aloud. I hadn’t realized how tired I looked.
Even though I was not working late nights at Danny’s anymore, the insomnia I had been suffering from, for quite some time, mixed with the music pumping through the floor from the bar below only allowed me a few hours of sleep at night. My shoulder length, wavy, auburn hair was a complete wreck. I moved my face closer to the mirror to see that my pale blue eyes were bloodshot, and my mascara was smudged. I shook my head and jumped into the shower.
I dried my hair with my blow dryer and appli
ed some light makeup trying to conceal the dark, purplish circles under my eyes from the lack of sleep. I grabbed my outfit and headed back into my room in only my bra and underwear. I glanced quickly at myself in my full length mirror. I was average looking. I definitely wasn’t drop dead gorgeous but I wasn’t ugly either. I was average height five feet six inches tall and pretty trim. I pulled on my dress pants and did a quick twirl in front of the mirror and stopped to stare at my ass. For some reason, men really enjoyed slapping or grabbing it at Danny’s. I’d been told on several occasions that I was bootylicious. I’m still unsure if that was a compliment or not.
I glanced up to my shoulder before I pulled my blouse over it, glimpsing at my scorpion tattoo, and I remembered the drunken weekend my friend Anna and I had shared. We had gone up to the beach, and as we were walking down the boardwalk, we passed a tattoo parlor. I stopped in front of the window and stared in. There was a big burly guy covered in tattoos working on a girl my age. I turned to Anna and told her how I had always wanted a tattoo. A huge Cheshire cat grin spread across her face and she yelled, “Let’s do it!”
At the end of the weekend we both ended up with tattoos on our backs. Boy, my mother was pissed when she saw it. “You’ve ruined your body!” She’d yelled at me.
I’d just roll my eyes at her. “Oh, Mom, give me a break everyone has a tattoo nowadays.”
I spun back around to face the mirror head on. Before I buttoned my blouse, I let out a big sigh and Molly jumped up on the bed. “You know Molly. You would think a twenty two year old woman would have eventually grown out of the bra size that she has been wearing since the eighth grade,” I said to her as I looked at her reflection in the mirror.
Molly looked at me and meowed like she knew exactly what I was saying. Although my boobs weren’t huge, they were proportionate to my frame, but I still got jealous when I’d turned on the TV or looked in a magazine to see all those women with much more cleavage. Let me just say a padded bra from Victoria Secret works wonders.