A Hard Life: Alpha on Parole (Craving Older Bad Boys)

by Lexi Hunter

  "Alright, Abbi," he said. "You can walk in the ceremony with your class, but you'll still need to go to summer school."

  "Oh thank you thank you thank you!" I cried, before throwing my arms around Principal Grady and swooping him up in a bear hug that made him blush.

  ***

  I took my diploma in my hand and unrolled it.

  This certifies that Abigail Wilson has satisfactorily completed the necessary requirements of study as prescribed by school administrators and is thereby presented with this High School Diploma, and is thereby entitled to all rights and privileges pertaining thereto. On this day xxx in the year xxx.

  Stuck to it was a Post-It:

  Abbi, the date will be filled in after you have completed your summer school class. —Principal Grady

  Great. I looked back out over the sea of friends and family and thought about how most of them were going on fancy extended European vacations or had fun summer jobs lined up so they could get a car before going off to college. Me? I was stuck in eight weeks of summer school.

  CHAPTER 2

  Summer School

  "IT WILL GO by fast," my mom said when I was getting ready to leave. Because summer school was only eight weeks, and an entire semester was more like fourteen, I had to be at school all day long. Eight hours a day. It was like going to a job.

  The only plus side was that since the high school had decided to freshen up the school's interior during the summer months with some new paint and flooring, they had negotiated a special arrangement with the local community college. Classes were to be held on college campus instead of the cold, sterile rooms at the high school.

  I had to admit, getting the opportunity to be on a real college campus—okay, okay, junior college campus—was kind of exciting, even if I was only going for a high school course. I was the only senior who needed the class, which meant that I was getting smooshed in with a bunch of sophomores and juniors who were stuck in their own private English hell.

  I didn't think it was fair that I was getting thrown in with the kids. I was eighteen and had the body of a woman. I deserved to be with other adults. Men who could appreciate what I had to offer, unlike Connor.

  My voluptuous body was a feast for the senses. Large breasts with the perfect line of cleavage transitioned into smooth, alabaster hips and a curved waist, creating the ideal hourglass figure. My skin was like porcelain and I was glad I had enough of it to give men an eyeful. If I'd have been a twig like Tara, I'd have been jealous of women like me.

  We would each have a classroom experience tailored to our own grade level, meaning the class was basically one long independent study hall. Honestly, that suited me just fine. The problem had never been that I didn't understand the material, it had been Connor sucking on Tara's face two feet away from me.

  Also, since I was going to be there all day and my mom was busy with her new work-from-home business, she decided she didn't need the car every day and I could have it to get to and from class. It would save my parents the trouble, and save me the embarrassment, of dropping me off at school like a third grader.

  I parked the car in an empty space and prayed summer school would be more like the cheesy eighties movie my mom loved than the image I had in my head of a tight-lipped schoolmaster brandishing a ruler at his pupils.

  "Here goes nothin'," I mumbled as I closed my door and adjusted my sunglasses.

  ***

  By the end of the first week, I realized that all the cheesy eighties movies were right. Summer school was a breeze. Our teacher, who was actually a junior college professor, showed up drunk the first day.

  "Hello everyone," he hiccupped, taking a big sip from his blender bottle. His eyes focused better and his hands stopped shaking. "I'm your teacher," hiccup, "Professor Rainnssss. I mean Ray," hiccup.

  I leaned over to a junior named Amy that I recognized from choir and whispered, "Too bad his eyes are so red. He could be cute if had one of those sports coats with the patches on the elbows and a pair of tight jeans." Amy giggled and her cheeks flushed.

  By the end of the day, we realized the smoothie in Professor Ray's blender bottle was almost certainly laced with high amounts of vodka and Chambord—"tastes like raspberries," he'd noted before refilling it at lunch.

  The third day of class I got an A on my first essay, which had something to do with Shakespeare and something else called iambic pentameter. I didn't quite get it, but neither did Professor Ray. Or if he did, he decided not to force the issue on others, which I admired. Everyone got A's that first week, and we all left for the weekend filled with hope and joy for the following weeks.

  "No homework," he declared that Friday—yes, we even had summer school on Fridays, can you believe it?—and we all cheered. Professor Ray seemed to like that and offered to pass around his blender bottle for an unofficial toast. The class looked around at each other, wondering if he was serious, before waving him off and returning to our seats.

  We still had an hour left, and I figured I might as well use it to finish my next paper. The way Professor Ray graded I could write, print, and submit my paper in the next hour, and still get an A.

  One kid, however, Jared, lingered by Professor Ray's desk. We all pretended not to watch when Professor Ray passed him the blender bottle. By the end of the hour, Jared, who was only a sophomore, was walking funny. He didn't seem able to move in a straight line, and a few of us watched with interest as his mom picked him up and he struggled to get the car door open.

  He rode off with his mom and we shrugged, figuring he'd sleep it off and we'd see him again Monday.

  EXCERPT: A Bad Boy Surprise: Father's Billionaire Friend

  CHAPTER 1

  Dad

  I STOOD OUTSIDE my father's door, shivering in the cold. My long blonde hair whipped around my head as the wind blew furiously. Somehow, the darkness surrounding me only made the cold more bitter.

  Why is he taking so long to answer?

  Oh yeah, because he's probably drunk and passed out in there. I banged on the door again. It shook his house, making the windows vibrate.

  "Dad, come on! Open up, it's freezing out here!"

  January had never been my favorite month. I hated being cold. my father's house might be tiny with parts of the siding crumbling away, but at least I knew it was warm inside. I pounded on the door again. My phone glowed and unlocked the screen to read the text I had just received.

  Are you outside my door? — Sincerely, Dad

  I typed back: Yes, let me in.

  My phone lit up again. It's too late. Come back tomorrow. Or something. —Sincerely, Dad

  I sighed. If my teeth weren't chattering, I might have laughed. No matter how many times I explained it to him, Dad didn't seem to understand that there was no need for him to sign his texts like he was signing a letter.

  Can't, I typed. I'll be dead tomorrow.

  I waited for a response. It was a mini miracle Dad could even text at all. It had taken me three weeks of excruciating tutorial to explain the process to him, but now I felt gratified seeing that my hard work had paid off.

  My father and I weren't exactly on the best of speaking terms. He was kind of an asshole. No other way to say it. It wasn't just the crassness of his speech or the way he liked to throw insults at people for fun, it wasn't even the backhanded compliments he was so fond of giving—I remembered how, when Mom had shown him a picture of me alone in my prom dress, he'd said, "Nice dress Ems, you look beautiful. You can hardly even see your fat poke out"—it was the way he spoke to most people like they were nothing more than insects, or maybe toads if they were lucky.

  I didn't know where he got off being so high and mighty. He was far from rich and hadn't been particularly attractive during his lifetime, but he still seemed to think he was better than everyone else. But, he was still my dad. I knew he wouldn't want me dead. That I didn't want to die was the only reason I was here now.

  Finally, I heard the loud clopping of my father's feet as he mov
ed across the floor. He jerked the door open and I pushed against it before he could change his mind. Luckily for me, Dad wasn't very strong. If he'd still been in his late thirties, I might not have been able to get in. Once he'd turned forty, though, things had started to go downhill for him muscle wise.

  The wind whipped against my skin one last time before Dad slammed the door, protesting my intrusion at this late hour. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, letting the heat from the house soak into my jacket. Thank God Dad kept it as warm as he did.

  "God's sake, Emmie, do you know what time it is? What do you want?"

  I nodded, my teeth chattering. Dad stood by the door, waiting for me to go back out the way I'd come in.

  "Well?" he asked.

  "I know it's late," my teeth clinked together. I tried to reassure them that we were alright now and could stop clacking. We were finally warm. But they wouldn't listen. "They shut the electricity off," I told him.

  He blinked. "What electricity?" He looked around his house. The lights shone brightly in the rooms he'd lit coming down the stairs.

  "Our electricity," I replied, exasperated. This wasn't gonna be easy. "Mom's and mine."

  His face creased for a second then smoothed over. "Oh," he said. "Of course they did. Because your mother's an idiot. You know that don't you?"

  I nodded. Anything to make this go faster. Plus, I was still pretty pissed about her running out on me like she had. I hated agreeing with him, but my Mom really was kind of an idiot.

  "So what the hell are you here for?" he asked. "Why don't you go to a friend's or something?"

  I tried to control my anger. I felt the blood rise to my face and remembered what Counselor Davis had told me my last year of high school after my fight with Shyanne. Count. Always count.

  One, two, three, four, five...

  I took a deep breath and felt a little better. The counting had been good advice and something I had continued to do even after I'd graduated and started college. I only wished I'd been able to afford to keep going. I might have had a real job now. One that paid me well enough so that I wouldn't have to run to my father every time Mom skipped out on a bill.

  "If I had any friends I could have gone to, I would have."

  My father shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable.

  "Well, where the hell is your mother? She should be the one taking care of this. I don't have any money."

  "I'm not asking for money. I'm asking..."

  He waited a half second before impatience got the best of him. "What the hell is it? Spit it out already."

  "Mom's gone," I said, fighting back the tears rising behind my eyes. I turned my head and wiped away a drop that had spilled over. "She ran off with that new guy she's been seeing. Draven." His name made me physically ill. Draven, which probably wasn't even his real name, was nothing more than a cokehead and a bum. But then, Mom always had known how to pick them. My mind inserted a picture of my father above that running tagline, and I bit back a laugh. Even if I wanted to try and track her down, I'd have no idea where to begin.

  "Fuck," Dad said, before walking off towards the kitchen. His house was small and it wasn't hard to see him from where I stood. He took a bottle of scotch from under the counter, pulled the top off, and chugged it like beer. He offered it to me and I took a sip. Hell, I wasn't twenty-one now. Why not?

  Then he shuffled back upstairs without a word. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, unsure what to do. Dad only had one bedroom, and this wasn't exactly a warm invitation from him to stay.

  A blanket flew down the stairs and hit my face, followed a minute later by a chunky yellow pillow. I guessed that was invitation enough.

  "Goodnight," I called. "Thanks." I heard his door close and the lights in the hallway went dark.

  CHAPTER 2

  Edward

  I DREAMT I was being chased by a giant fish with six-inch teeth. At least, it looked like a fish, but when it opened its mouth to eat me it morphed into a man who resembled my father. I opened my eyes, a scream rising in my throat.

  Daylight hit me through windows and I turned my head, trying to hide my face. I breathed deeply. It had only been a dream. My nostrils flared as something bitter and sweaty invaded my nose.

  Something stunk.

  I lifted my head off the pillow and realized, for the first time, how disgusting it was. A small, lonely patch of white on one corner made it seem as if the deep urine color saturating the rest of it was its natural color, the white corner nothing more than a stain. And it smelled like bacon. Old bacon.

  I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes and decided to feel sorry for myself all day. Why shouldn't I? All my classmates had graduated high school and gone on to college. I had graduated high school three years ago with dreams of being a photographer and failed at life since then. Worse than that. I hadn't even been given the opportunity to fail because I could only afford to go to college for one semester. For that semester, at least, I'd gotten all A's.

  Now I was stuck sleeping on Dad's couch. I buried my head in my hands and sobbed silently. Why couldn't Mom have at least paid our rent? I hadn't mentioned the eviction notice to Dad last night. Or the fact that my mom had actually left a little over a week ago. What did it matter to him anyway? If I hadn't of run out of food... if the electricity hadn't been shut off and our apartment so cold... I would never have come to him in the first place.

  I wiped at my eyes but it didn't stop the tears. Dad's voice rang out from the kitchen. "Want some coffee?"

  I couldn't believe he was actually offering to make me coffee. I was afraid it might be some kind of trick.

  I opened my mouth, "Su—"

  A man's deep voice cut me off. "Sure," it said. "Thanks." I didn't recognize the voice.

  My heart skipped a beat. I started to pant. I looked down at my chest, trying to picture my heart and lungs beneath my skin as they tottered on the edge of hyperventilation.

  What was the matter with me? Who was that in the kitchen with my dad?

  The voice spoke again. "Think I might take the new Porsche for a spin while the weather holds up." It was the voice of a singer. One of those old crooners Dad had always played when I was little, before he'd turned into a drunken asshole. Only a singer could sound so sultry and seductive this early in the morning, like fine wine running down your throat, sweet and rich.

  My hands shook as I stood from the couch, forgetting that my face was still wet from the tears that had poured forth only seconds before. I didn't know what was going on with me. Completely ridiculous. I'd heard of love at first sight... but love at first sound?

  Completely ridiculous, I told myself again.

  The man started talking again, and kept talking.

  "It was freezing last night. I still can't believe how warm it is this morning. I gotta get the Porsche going before she freezes up on me, it's been so cold this winter."

  My body clenched under my clothes. I felt heat rising from my toes, sliding up my legs, creeping between my thighs.

  Who the hell was that in my father's kitchen?

  I steadied myself, counting to five, and walked towards them. I was still in the clothes I'd worn yesterday.

  "Hmmph," Dad grunted as I walked into the kitchen.

  The man opposite him turned and smiled at the sound of my footsteps. "Hello," he crooned. "You must be Emma." When he said my name my heart almost stopped. I couldn't believe the voice I'd heard was coming from this man before me and not some dream.

  His hair was pure black—even darker than the sky had been last night when I'd arrived at Dad's. His eyes were a beautiful, piercing blue with specks of white making them shine from within, the color of soft ocean foam lapping against a shore. I searched them for any hint of contact lenses, thinking a color like that had to be fake, but found nothing to indicate they weren't real. If I hadn't seen those eyes myself, I would never have believed a color like that could exist in nature.

  I'd heard of men and women that oozed sex
appeal, but this man didn't just ooze it, he was made of it.

  He stood up from the table, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you." His hands were a rich golden brown that screamed of sunshine and fresh air. Like a surfer or a construction worker. Muscles swelled under his tight fitting shirt, making my body react in a frenzied overload of euphoria that I knew would prove embarrassing if I couldn't make it stop.

  "Hello," I said. It came out in a whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Hello. I'm... um, Emma." For a second I had forgotten my own name.

  I reached for his hand and when he took mine in his it was like a warm electric current passed between us. His eyes flickered ever so slightly in surprise and for a moment I thought he might not let go.

  He cleared his throat now too. "Edward Kane," he said, smiling again. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes, they were too overcome with shock.

  Dad grunted again and Edward let go, though his fingers lingered over mine just a second longer before dropping to his side.

  "Friend of mine," Dad murmured to me from behind his coffee cup.

  I did the only thing you could do when you realize the only man you've ever wanted was twice your age and your dad's best friend. I went to take a shower.

  ***

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