WRECK YOU
A COLDCREEK NOVEL
by
JENNIFER SNYDER
WRECK YOU
A COLDCREEK NOVEL
Copyright 2014 by Jennifer Snyder
Cover design created by Once Upon A Time Covers
Cover model photography by Kelsey Keeton
(K.KeetonDesigns.com)
Cover models: Matthew Samson and Jaclyn Rutland
Editing by H. Danielle Crabtree
Formatted by IRONHORSE Formatting
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
DEDICATION
To anyone who has ever clutched onto the past and because of it left their mind unavailable in the present.
Table of Contents
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
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
Shaken Not Stirred – Excerpt
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Other Books Also by Jennifer Snyder
PROLOGUE
Every now and then, there are moments in life when we question how the universe expects us to dust ourselves off and get back up. These are the situations that help shape us into a stronger person, one who can take on the world with a whole new willpower to survive and succeed.
While that may be so, deep down every person knows it generally takes us longer than it should to realize this little truth about those particular moments. How, instead, we wallow in our self-pity with only detrimental thoughts swimming through our minds for an undetermined length of time. The most prominent of those thoughts being: how it feels as though this particular moment will completely wreck you.
CHAPTER ONE
LAUREN
A fucking sauna. Those were the only words I would use to describe my bedroom. Without opening my eyes, I rolled onto my side and bent my arm beneath my pillow. My legs kicked off the blankets and sheets that had twisted around my ankles. The AC was on. Once it hit June, that sucker never turned off in my apartment until well into September. So what the hell was the problem?
Flopping over onto my stomach, I splayed my hand out across the wrinkled sheets, searching for a cool spot. A warm wetness met my fingers, and I jerked my hand back. Opening my eyes, I used what little moonlight streamed through my bedroom window to search for anything staining the white sheets. Nothing was there. Feeling around some more, I noticed the entire right side of my bed was sopping wet with a warm substance. Something dripped from the ceiling onto my head—hot water.
I bolted across the room, thinking this was something straight out of a scary freaking movie. Flipping the light on, I glanced up at the ceiling and spotted an unattractive brown watermark I’d never noticed before. Water dripped from the center of it as I stared, landing directly on my bed.
“Great, what the hell has that stripper done now?” I muttered.
The woman who lived above me was an actual stripper at a hole-in-the-wall place on the outskirts of town. I’d never been there, but had heard a lot about it around campus. It was a popular place the frat boys took their pledges to. I’d heard stories of them forcing them to get lap dances from the largest dancers working. While I’d never cared to visit—not because I was judgmental of the women who worked there or that I thought the place was taboo, but because of the drama that always seemed to surround it.
About three weeks ago, I ran into my neighbor in the parking lot dressed in full costume—peacock feathers and all—fumbling from her car. Her face was pretty bruised up and her bottom lip was split open. When I asked if she was all right and what had happened, she’d told me one of her regular guys had been waiting by her car when she got off and tried to force himself on her. She’d fought him off, making such a racket the bouncer had come outside and ripped him off her just in time. This hadn’t been the first time something insane had happened to her while working there either.
Stripping was not a line of work I’d ever consider, for that reason among many.
Grabbing my pillow, I checked to see if it was wet before heading to the couch to sleep. Obviously, something was broken upstairs. Her bathtub. Her toilet. Something. I’d be making one pissed-off call to the landlord first thing in the morning. Curling up on my sofa with a fluffy throw blanket, I drifted back to sleep.
* * * *
When my eyes finally peeled open the next morning, I called my landlord, Mrs. Tapper, first thing. She answered on the fifth ring, same as every other time I’d ever called her, making me wonder if she counted the rings just to be sure she made people wait for her to answer.
“Hello?” her crackly voice answered. Mrs. Tapper was one of those women you swore had smoked a pack a day since birth. She had the gruff voice and wrinkles around her mouth to back that theory up.
“Mrs. Tapper, hey, this is Lauren Myers from apartment two B.”
“Yeah, what’s the issue? If you’re calling to get an extension on rent, you’re out of luck. You used your get out of jail free card back in October.”
I pursed my lips together. October. That had been around the time I’d gotten fired from my hairdressing job, because I’d left some crap on a customer’s hair too long and nearly singed it all off. The poor lady, she’d come in looking halfway decent and left looking like the before picture on a makeover show.
“No, that’s not what I’m calling about,” I said.
“It’s not? Then what the hell is it? My show is getting ready to come on,” she snapped, and then burst into a coughing fit from hell.
I waited until she’d caught her breath before I spoke. “I’m calling because there’s a leak coming from the upstairs apa
rtment.”
The distinct sound of a lighter flicking was the only thing I heard. No doubt, she was lighting another cigarette, eager to feed that emphysema of hers a little more. “A leak? No, I don’t think so. The girl above you would have called if that was the case.”
Dropping my head back, I clenched my jaw tight. “There’s water dripping from the ceiling in my bedroom. My entire bed was soaked last night, and I had to sleep on my couch. There’s a leak.”
“I’ll send my grandson over to look at it later this afternoon, then,” she said in a clipped tone. “I’m sure it will be a wasted trip. I know how you girls are nowadays—nitpicky as hell and with such high standards.”
I bit my tongue and prayed she would hurry up and get this shit fixed. If not, she’d be paying to have my comforter dry-cleaned and my furniture replaced.
“Thank you, Mrs. Tapper. Please have him call me before he comes,” I insisted.
Timothy, her grandson, was nothing short of a skuzzy pervert. There had been times when he’d come in my apartment to change the air filter while I was in the shower. I’d never seen him actually enter the bathroom, but I’d heard the door close and noises coming from the hall where the furnace was. Anytime I called out, he always answered with a, “Just changing the air filter. I’ll be on my way now.” He was creepy as hell.
“Yeah, yeah,” Mrs. Tapper muttered. She hung up on me before I could say another word.
With a loud sigh, I chucked my phone onto my couch. If I could find something else within the same price range as this place, I’d be out of here in a heartbeat.
Standing, I walked to the kitchen for some Chex cereal and almond milk. I was attempting to get healthier. It was harder than I’d initially thought it would be, but I was sure the payoff would be great in the end. A healthier, slimmer me.
My cell chimed as a text came through. Rushing over, I scooped it up and glanced at the screen. It was a message from Jimmy, my on again/off again guy. Jimmy was sexy as hell—dark hair, incredible eyes, and a smexy European accent. He was like a freaking exotic stallion I enjoyed riding from time to time. I was fine with this and so was he.
I tapped on my screen and read his message.
How have you been, my love?
I smiled at his words, able to hear them in my head said in his thick accent.
Not too bad, I guess. ~ Lauren
There was a long pause before he answered. I took a few bites of my cereal and turned on the TV. I still had a good forty minutes before I had to be at work.
Doesn’t sound like a confident answer to me. Let me cheer you up.
My mind raced with ways Jimmy had been known to cheer me up—all of them involving mind-blowing sex.
And just what do you have in mind? ~ Lauren
Setting my bowl of cereal down, I bit at my bottom lip as I waited for his response.
Let me come by. I’ll make sweet love to you, and then tell you about my latest surprise.
Tempting. Oh so tempting. What I would give for him to touch me the way he did every time he mentioned stopping by to make sweet love to me.
I don’t have time. I’ve got to be to work in forty. ~ Lauren
God, sometimes being a grown-up sucked. Teenage me didn’t know how good she’d had it—no true responsibilities, skip school and there were no consequences like power getting shut off or insurance lapsing.
Oh, too bad. I guess I could still tell you my surprise.
I waited for him to tell me, cramming another large spoonful of cereal into my mouth. When he never continued, I asked.
What is it? ~ Lauren
I’m taking you away with me.
What the hell? Taking me away with him? Where was he going?
To? ~ Lauren
The pause that came before his response lasted a bit too long for me, causing my heart to hammer from the anticipation.
To Greece.
Holy hell! A wide grin sprang onto my face. I bolted from where I’d been sitting, nearly spilling the remainder of my cereal down the front of me. Greece? I’d always wanted to travel.
Are you for real? ~ Lauren
Absolutely. It’s your birthday present from me.
I was breathless. No one had ever bought me a trip to Greece, or anywhere equally awesome, for my birthday. This was going to be the best birthday ever.
How can you afford this? ~ Lauren
I hated to ask, but Jimmy was by no means wealthy. He lived in a tiny apartment and was a student at the college. He didn’t even have a job that I knew of.
My parents sent me the tickets.
Was this a good thing? Did he tell his parents about me, and they wanted to meet? My stomach knotted as the thoughts swam through my mind. Taking in a deep breath, I exhaled and decided to just go with the flow. I was going to Greece! That was all that mattered, not the how or why.
That’s awesome! Thank you for taking me with you! When do we leave? ~ Lauren
I’d have to let Paige know I wouldn’t be to work on those days. If it was a long enough trip, which I prayed it would at least be longer than a weekend—although I would settle for that—I’d need my mom or sister to stop by my apartment and make sure things were okay every so often.
The seventeenth and we’ll get back on the twenty-first.
My mind was blown. I darted to the calendar on my fridge and searched for the dates he’d said. That was nearly five days in paradise! We were leaving on the day before my birthday and coming home three days after. Also, I had about a week and a half before we left.
Four days! That’s amazing! ~ Lauren
I thought you’d be happy.
I can show you just how happy I am later tonight, if you want. Wink, wink. ~ Lauren
After finishing the last few spoonfuls of my cereal, I set the bowl in the sink.
I’ll be by at seven.
See you then. XO ~ Lauren
I was going to Greece for my flipping twenty-second birthday! Rushing to my soggy and sweltering hot bedroom, I rummaged through my dresser for something to wear to work today. Paige was going to die when she found out where I’d be celebrating my birthday this year.
Hell, everyone would die when they found out. I was dying a little because of it.
CHAPTER TWO
IAN
I let up on the gas, slowing the work van to a creep, and grinned. “What’s your guess? We’re almost there.”
“Umm, give me a second.” Brent shifted in his seat so he could flick the big wad of dip he’d packed into his bottom lip out the passenger window. “What was the name again?”
“Lewis, Margie Lewis,” I muttered, wondering who the hell named their kid Margie in this day and age. These people had to be pushing sixty.
“All right—short, slender, fifty plus, and gray fluffy hair,” Brent answered. “She’s gonna come to the door in her yoga pants and workout sneakers.”
I laughed, taking in his answers and creating a mental picture of what the homeowner would look like based off them. This was a game Brent and I had played for years now. We guessed what the homeowner would look like, their age, and what they’d answer the door dressed in based solely off their name. Sometimes we were dead-on, and others there was not a shittin’ thing we’d guessed right.
“What did you say for yours again?” Brent asked. He flipped the visor down and checked his teeth in the mirror. It was a habit I’d told him a while back he needed to adopt, because that black shit stuck in his teeth was something anyone would find sickening, not just me.
“Short, a little on the wide side, old lady red hair, and dressed in a fuzzy bathrobe, because she’s over sixty and is cold all the damn time.” I turned my blinker on and cut down Shallow Lane, looking for house number one forty-six.
“We both agree on short and the old age. Guess we’ll have to wait and see the hair color and clothes.” Brent grinned, flipping the visor up. “What number are we lookin’ for again?”
I leaned over the steering wheel, searching
the mailboxes as I crept up on them for the correct numbers. “One forty-six, Dad’s crappy printed-off directions said it would be on the right.”
“Man, when’s he going to invest in a GPS?”
I shook my head just as I spotted one forty-six. “I don’t know. Guess he figures we’ve done fine without one for so long now there’d be no point.”
“Well it sure as shit would make finding these places a hell of a lot easier,” he grumbled.
“What are you complaining about? You don’t even drive.” I pulled into the driveway and parked the van behind a silver Prius. “Why don’t you use your phone, then my dad wouldn’t need to buy us one.”
“It uses up my internet. I already said that.” Brent reached for his drink in the cupholder and took a big swig. “Why don’t you use yours? Oh, wait, I forgot. You broke it. How many more are you gonna drop off a damn ladder before you invest in a decent cell phone case?”
“Shut the hell up and get out. I have a phone. It’s just not as fancy as the last one.” I grinned, thinking of my crappy flip phone. “Let’s see who’s buying beer on the way down the mountain tonight.”
That was the bet. Whoever lost the guessing contest bought a six-pack for the winner when we were headed back to the shop. I’d won the last two times.
Climbing out of the van, I grabbed the clipboard with the list Dad had given me of crap to get done here today, and walked beside Brent to the front door. Knocking, I glanced over the list while we waited for Margie Lewis to answer her door.
“Knock again,” Brent insisted after we’d waited a good solid minute.
I glared at him and reached out to knock once more. Still no answer. Damn it, I hated when people did this shit. They knew when we were supposed to be coming. It wasn’t ever a drop-in visit out of the damn blue. I knocked once more and waited a little longer. No answer. Fuck. Now I was going to have to do what I hated most—open the door and step inside without the homeowner’s permission.
Gripping the knob, I twisted and opened the unlocked door. “Mason’s Electric,” I yelled into the empty foyer. “We’re here for a service call.” The house was quiet except for a humming noise that sounded far off.
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