by A. L. Wood
She isn’t mine.
Nor will she ever be mine.
I pull up to her apartment complex, turn the car off and walk around to Rumer’s door. There’s no way I’m just dropping her off outside and allowing her to enter in a neighborhood such as this. I don’t care how well she can defend herself.
“We can part ways here.” Rumer tells me.
“Don’t think so. I’m not leaving you here and running. I’ll walk you to your door and then say goodbye.”
“Fine,” She huffs out and slams my car door yet again.
“Be easy, will you? That’s my baby and you’re abusing it. I don’t take kindly to the abuse of my baby.”
“It’s just a car,” She says while I follow behind her into the building.
She approaches an elevator and it’s much to my surprise this building actually possesses one. Well, there’s one expense the owner didn’t think twice about. Maybe they should’ve invested in an automated door that locks. Some kind of security precaution would be wise.
It’s disturbing that I’m so bothered by her security.
I enter the elevator and Rumer hits the button for the third floor. The doors shut.
Alone with her—I should never be alone with her. What was I thinking?
“I won’t apologize for carrying you out of there. You’re young and a woman. You really need to think about your safety. You could find yourself in a predicament that you would otherwise run away from.”
“Save me the lecture, Daddy. I don’t need it.” The elevator doors open and she exits. I follow, arguing back.
“I’m not your daddy. I’m just a…a co-worker looking out for you.”
She reaches her door, pulls the keys out of her cleavage and unlocks the knob. This in turn causes my eyes to search out her cleavage and wonder what else she might hide in there.
I want to know—fuck do I need to know.
I hold myself back and begin to say goodnight, but of course she has other ideas…ideas that cause me to teach her a lesson.
“Well, a co-worker wouldn’t have carried my out over their shoulder then reprimand me like I’m a teenager when in actuality I’m an adult. I went out searching for one thing. I knew what I wanted. I’m a grown ass woman so I can make that decision for myself. Next time you see me out in public, do me a favor—don’t approach me. Okay, Daddy?”
“I’m not your fucking father so stop with that bullshit now. You wanted something? You wanted to get fucked, right? That’s what you wanted?” I give her a chance to answer, to say no.
Her breath hitches, “Yes. I wanted to get fucked. Hard.”
That breaks any resolution I had in just leaving her there.
I shove her against her door and grab her arms, pinning them above her head. I invade her space and grind my body against her. My cock’s rigid, searching her out. I feel like an inexperienced teenager.
I can feel her heart beating against my chest, its pounding in rhythm to her erratic breathing. Her eyes search mine for an answer—one I won’t answer, ever.
One taste. That’s all I need—just one taste of her and I’ll walk away.
“Bain…” She breathes out.
Taste is all that my brain is screaming.
I dive in, searching her lips out with mine. Roughly, my lips take hers. I leave one hand up to hold her hands in place while I stroke her jaw with the other.
I swipe my tongue on her lips and coax her to open hers up. I need to taste her flavor like it’s my air.
A necessity, breathing life into my being.
When she does, my tongue invades her mouth. Her scent of vanilla and peaches is also her taste. Creamy and smooth—and I can’t get enough.
She moans a sweet little sound that causes a lightening-like crack in the armor I keep in place around my heart.
Her moan causes the beast inside of me to want to unleash. I want to ravage and worship her body. I want to consume her soul as she’s already trying to take over mine.
But that’s impossible because I’m broken. My soulmate died long ago. No one can take her place and I’d be an asshole to make her believe otherwise.
I relish Rumer’s taste one last time—moaning myself and imprinting the memory that I’ll never be able to relive in reality.
I pull back slightly and unpin Rumer’s hands. She wraps them around me. I place a chaste kiss on her lips and pull away completely.
Reminding myself that as much as I want her, she isn’t mine.
Nor will she ever be mine.
To Be Continued June 17th 2015
RUMER
An Undefeated Streak Novel
Acknowledgements
There’s so many people that I want to extend sincere thanks to. This book wouldn’t have been if it weren’t for these people.
Furious Fotog- you took my vision and ran with it. Thank you so much.
Travis Gruber, you said yes, and I am so thankful that you did. I am so thrilled to have you take this new adventurous journey with me and I can’t wait to see what the future brings for you my friend.
Sue Gruber, you have been amazing. You’re kind and thoughtful and I thank you for giving birth to the man on the cover of this book. Love you.
Joey Latour, when I reached out asking people for help whom had experience with mixed martial art fighting you didn’t once hesitate. You even took hours out of your time to not only reply to messages but also a phone call. Thank you so much.
Amber LaBarge, you know this would not have happened if it weren’t for you. At all. Bain would not exist. Thank you for being the best sister ever.
Renee Lee Fisher, you knew the vision I had for Bain and you helped me achieve just that. Perfectly.
Amy Hemp, you’re amazingly supportive and you’re My Amy.
Chad Wood, I don’t know how you put up with me while writing, or the non-stop chattering about my characters, but I love you mad for it.
Christina, fuck, you know that this would have never been, period. None of it. Without you.
Steele’s Groupies, you guys put up with my radio silence for days on end while I hide in the cave yet your right there as soon as I need you, always on call and I thank you for that. Over one year you’ve stayed by my side during this adventure, I can’t wait to see what this year brings us. Love you.
My Wifey- I freaking love you!
Jordan, I promise those questions will be answered.
An excerpt fromFirst Chance: Rock Romance #1
Written by A.L. Wood
Natalie
“I think I just fell head over heels in love.”
That's what my best friend Layla just squealed aloud to me.
She’s staring at an album cover, drooling over the lead singer of a rock band I have never heard of. Don’t get me wrong I love music, I breathe music. It’s a part of my soul. I just have no interest in a mainstream rock band- sell outs really. Layla tells me the band’s name is Steele's Army; their lead singer Steele is her dream man. The man she would give everything up for. A man she would follow anywhere.
She mentions that they are coming to our college in Boston. Our college, the Berklee School of Music, entered some radio contest, and we won. I do not want to go but am preparing myself to. I know Layla is going to use the friend card to get me to agree to attend this sorry excuse of a concert. What’s one night of putting up with shitty soulless music for my best friend?
I've known Layla my entire life. Our parents were best friends, until tragedy struck.
I hate remembering those days. It always hurts. We celebrated every birthday and holiday together as a family. Living across the street from each other our entire lives, our parents being so close to one another, we would have dinner together every night. As a family. Rotating who would host.
Until five years ago, Layla and I were staying at my house having a movie night while our parents went to a sit down fundraiser dinner raising money for abused children. Our parents were always supporting charities. They were for
tunate to have money beyond their wildest dreams. I also donate quarterly, mainly to charities for children or music programs, in memoriam of them.
I still don’t know all the details, nor do I want to. I think it would fuck me up even more if I did.
Recalling that night. It was late, way past our supposed bedtime, when we heard a knock at the door. I paused the movie we were watching and answered the door. It was a police officer. He introduced himself as Officer Petty's. He asked if I was Natalie Wright. That being me of course, I said yes. He then asked if Layla was there and if we would come with him.
I should have known something was wrong when he wouldn’t tell us why we were on our way to the hospital. In fact, he wouldn’t tell us anything at all. When you tell someone that their parents are deceased and that her best friend’s parents are in surgery, you don’t want them to be alone.
When we entered the ER he asked me if I wanted to see my parents’ bodies, that's how we broke the crushing news. There was no way that I could handle something like that, and I really didn't wish to remember my parents that way, so I hastily declined.
Firstly, I was angered at the officer then at the doctors for not being able to save them. Then anger toward the cruelty of it all. What kind of person informs a fifteen year old that she is now alone in the world like that?
Later, I had found out that the officer did try to find out if I had any next of kin, preferring that they broke the news. I remember him asking if we would like to wait in the waiting room while Layla’s parents were in surgery.
Where else would we have gone?
While we sat in that waiting room nervously awaiting news from the doctors on Layla’s’ parents condition, what was happening slowly sunk in. I became numb just feeling a wave of emptiness wash over me, my heart detaching itself from my emotions, no longer there. I was alone. They were my only blood family. My parents were both products of a one child family and my grandparents on both sides had passed way before I had made my way into this world.
Apparently our parents had a few drinks and thinking Layla's father was the least drunk, he drove them home. Speeding down the road, he lost control of the car causing the vehicle to crash into a guard rail, and my parents were then thrown from the car. EMTs found my parents bodies about fifty feet away from the car. They were pronounced dead on the scene. Layla's father, Brian, was going at least seventy miles an hour and not one of them were wearing seatbelts.
Layla's father and mother recovered. They had scars from the injuries, easily hidden underneath clothing, but there was more scarring. Less visible to people that I could see in their eyes every time they looked at me for the past five years.
I think that's why they took over guardianship of me, out of obligation to my parents. I could have gone to a foster home. The money would have been put away in a trust, and when I turned eighteen I would have been discharged from the state and handed a loaded bank account.
I know they love me in their own way, but I also think the guilt ate at them so much that they did things out of both guilt and love. My parents were rich. Layla's were as well, and because of that my life was set. I never had to worry about anything. I could do whatever I wanted with my life. I chose to go to college many miles away from home. Away from the pity stares of everyone in my home town. With Layla.
We rented an apartment instead of residing in a dorm on campus. You never knew who you'd be rooming with, and we would rather be with each other. She’s the only person who never treated me differently after my parents died. People think I should hate her. Hate her parents. How could I? They were all drinking, I'm sure it wasn't the first time they risked their lives seeing who could drive instead of calling a taxi or another friend. It could have been my parents driving.
Brian didn't mean for it to happen. It was an accident, a freak-forever life changing accident.
“Nat, NATALIE!” Layla's snapping fingers in front of my eyes and yelling at me.
She’s telling me we have to go shopping for new outfits for this concert. I tell her she’s buying since I don’t even want to go in the first place. I must have spaced off thinking of the past. It doesn't happen often because I don’t let it. I try to package it in a neat little box and shove it in the back of my mind.
I can afford it, but attending wasn’t my idea, and I don’t go around broadcasting the total in my bank account by spending it on frivolous materialistic items. I only spend money on necessities. Things I need to get by such as; college tuition, books, materials for class, shampoo, body wash, and food. I don’t believe in luxuries because there are so many people in the Godforsaken world that aren't as well off as I am.
The first clothing store Layla sees we enter. It’s not a high end shop, generally that’s what Layla usually goes for. Always eager to buy the latest in designer brand clothing items. I walk around casually glancing at clothing racks. I look behind me to see if Layla has spotted anything of interest; she’s looking at some purple mini-dress, which I know will be showing all of her worldly assets. There is no way I would be dressing like that. I'll take the comfortable t-shirt and jeans any day.
As Layla is in the dressing room, I start going through the sales racks, hoping to find a shirt with some kind of coverage. At about the tenth shirt, I have looked at I finally found the one. I pull it off the hanger; it’s a vintage looking Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers 1978 Long After Dark tour t-shirt. It’s ratty and tattered, but it’s my style all the way.
Placing the now empty hanger back onto the clothing rack I go find Layla, she’s standing in front of a mirror checking herself out. I too examine her. She’s beautiful, not in the cheap I spent four hours doing my hair and make-up way. But the classic natural beauty. She doesn't need makeup, and her hair is always perfect long and black, reaching the middle of her back. Her beautifully tanned skin makes her features more noticeable, eyes that are an emerald green big and round shaped like almonds with long glorious eyelashes anyone would be jealous over. A small nose and high cheekbones, her mouth pink and pouty and she’s a size two with close to no curves.
She doesn't need anything artificial to make her beauty stand out.
Needless to say, we are polar opposites. I look at myself in the mirror over her shoulder; I never wear make-up on my pale face. I have never seen the need to, and I have no interest in calling attention to myself. I threw my hair up in a big scraggly bun; I have pieces of hair sprouting out all over. It’s a golden brown, curly with a hint of frizz and long, it reaches the top of my ass. I have round rosebud color lips and my small nose has a slight bridge, drawing my coppery brown eyes out. Size two I am not, I have wide hips and curvy love handles.
I'm not noticeable, and I plan to keep it that way.
Layla has decided on the purple mini-dress. I glance up, thanking the stars in a whisper. I was counting on spending at least two hours in here before she had made her mind up. The mini-dress is more a piece of cloth just there to cover the actual intimate body parts, but enough for anyone to make out exactly what she is hiding.
Thinking of the shirt I chose, I happen to have a kick ass pair of jeans in my closet to go with it. I will never understand people like my best friend Layla. Why would you want to spend all night at a concert in uncomfortable clothes, a chance with the band? So not worth it to me.
She’s going on and on about Steele, apparently he came from nothing, the started a band and BAM! Rock-star of the charts...I drown her out. I have no care for a band who makes their money by selling bad boy images and sex, making mediocre music that means absolutely nothing.
I believe a song should touch you. Glide over your spine inducing goosebumps, with your heart pounding to the beat. Possibly bring tears to your eyes just by feeling the words. Or make you smile and set your mood for the day ahead. That is music that I listen to that I am a true fan of.
Music that I can only dream of making. Growing up, my dad listened to all the greats. Making me fall in love with them, as well. It’s something I'
ve carried with me, and I will always hold onto. It didn’t matter where we were. With my dad, he was always playing music or humming a tune to a great song aloud. He is the reason why I decided to major in music.
An excerpt from Last Chance: Rock Romance #2
Prologue
Layla
Just getting off from my eight-hour shift at the hippest local bar in Boston, I am exhausted and ready to hit my bed full force. Luckily I had a day shift, so it wasn’t nearly as busy as it is when working the night shift. I can’t get Nat out of my mind. In the past week, I have only heard from her once.
When I dropped her off, she promised me, she would stay in contact. This is the longest we will be away from each other since we’ve been alive. I also know this is a way out of her comfort zone. The members of “Steele’s Army” are daunting, and I know she puts on that tough exterior act, but she can only hold that facade up for so long.
I couldn’t help but push her into this. After five years of seeing her live her life hidden beneath this shell, as her best friend, I refused to stop being her enabler. She ought to have so much more than what life has thrown at her, forced upon her. I know my parents; my father more so, feels extreme guilt.
I also know that since the tragedy Nat has never blamed my dad. I have never needed her confirmation; we have always been a family. The accident ruined my dad. He killed his best friend, his brother and his wife.
After that day, he could never keep eye contact with me; a big part of the reason I agreed and supported Nat’s decision to leave New York. I was tired of my family not being able to linger around me for more than ten minutes. They thought that money could somehow substitute their absence.
Do I enjoy the money? Is it cold in Antarctica?
I enjoy not having to rely on student grants or loans to pay for college. I also enjoy not having to wonder where my next paycheck is going to come from, and worry over how each bill will get paid. I like being able to help people, others that are not as fortunate as I.