by Jordan Marie
Going Down Hard
Doing Bad Things Series Book 1
Jordan Marie
Contents
Copyright
Going Down Hard
Blurb
Prologue
1. Casey
2. Gavin
3. Casey
4. Gavin
5. Casey
6. Gavin
7. Casey
8. Casey
9. Gavin
10. Casey
11. Gavin
12. Casey
13. Casey
14. Gavin
15. Casey
16. Gavin
17. Casey
18. Gavin
19. Casey
Epilogue
The End
Blurb 2
IN TOO DEEP
Other Books
Other Books Available
Books Continued:
Works Written Under the Pen Name
Links:
Copyright © 2017 by Jordan Marie
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Robin with Wicked By Design
WARNING: This book contains sexual situations, violence and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 and above.
Going Down Hard
By:
Jordan Marie
I’ve only loved one man in my life.
Gavin O’Leary.
He made my high school days a nightmare.
Not because he loved me.
Not because he hated me.
But because he had no idea who I was.
He was the popular guy with the chiseled abs, dark tan and perfect hair.
You know the type.
The type that only dated the perfect-ten, cheerleader.
I was the loner.
The nerd who hated high school and couldn’t wait to say goodbye.
And I did—to Freemont High and to Gavin.
The last thing I expected was to see him again twelve years later.
Yet here he is.
Only this time—he notices me.
This time—he kisses me.
This time saying goodbye to Gavin O’Leary might destroy me.
To all those in high school who were amazing—and never knew it. May we all find our Happily Ever After.
xoxo
J
Prologue
Casey
There’s a defining moment in every woman’s life. The only variable is when it happens. Mine was in high school. Senior year prom at Freemont High, to be exact.
I should start by saying that high school was an exercise in self torture for me. I hated every minute of it. Whoever started that saying that said high school was the best years of your life? Yeah. They had to be high when they said it. In fact, they were probably part of the stoner crowd.
I am not.
I don’t actually fit in with any of the groups that have segregated off in high school. Not rich enough for the in crowd, not pretty enough for the popular crowd, not flexible or athletic enough for the jock crowd, not smart enough for the geeks…. You get the picture I’m painting…right?
I’m just me—Casey Langley. I have one super power and it consists of being able to fade into the woodwork—which I’ve done most of my life—especially when it came to school.
I wouldn’t even be at the prom tonight, if my mother hadn’t guilted me into it. I love my mother, but she could earn medals in delivering guilt trips. Rather than disappoint her for life and “stealing away her happiness at seeing me dressed up like a princess,” I caved.
Which is why I’m standing against the wall of Freemont Central’s gym watching all the people dance. I don’t belong here—despite what my expensive, more than my mother could afford, white silk and sequined covered, last year’s model-so no longer in style, dress says. I’m staring at the clock and I’ve been here exactly one hour. Would that be enough to convince my mother that I came here, had a blast, got my dance moves on and decided to come home early? I’m pretty sure the answer is no.
I back out of the gym, unable to watch all the happy couples. I find myself walking toward the football field. The large field lights are on, shining down on the green turf below and reflecting off of the aluminum bleachers. It’s empty out here and I immediately feel better getting the fresh air into my lungs and leaving the loud, drumming music behind. I walk to the bleachers and sit on the bottom one—too lazy to climb the stairs. I lean back against the metal and look up at the moon in the sky.
“Looks like I’m not the only one wishing the prom was over.”
My head jerks as the voice reaches me. I know it instantly, even though I’ve never spoken to the owner before. Gavin O’Leary.
He’s a solid 6’5” mass of muscle that makes me weak in the knees. We’ve gone through school together and yet we’ve never said the first word to each other. This is quite simply because Gavin O’Leary is out of my reach. He’s the most popular of the popular crowd, the star football player, the star athlete really. He dates the homecoming queen, the head cheerleader and most recently he’s begun dating Bella Dupree. Does the name sound familiar? If not, it should. Her mother was a Hollywood socialite forever and Bella seems poised to take her spotlight. Bella and Gavin look so good together, it’s as if they were made for the big screen. Rumors are that’s what each have planned after graduation. Which seems fitting. I mean I’ve spent most of my life, watching Gavin and never being able to speak to him—why not spend the rest of it staring at him on the big screen and never speaking to him?
Yet, here he is. Standing not two feet away from me, dressed in a black tuxedo with a white rose in the lapel, his short, wavy dirty blonde hair tossed and caressed by the warm California wind. He’s every dream I’ve ever had, but now that he’s here, I’m struggling on how to react…what to say…
“Yeah,” I answer, being nothing but original—and lame. My voice comes out with a squeak, my throat dry as a desert. I can’t even lift my gaze to look at him. He’s too pretty. If I looked him in the eyes, I’d probably turn to stone…kind of a reverse-Medusa effect.
“What are you doing out here?” he asks, apparently not put off by my amazing conversational skills.
“Not much on dancing, I guess,” I shrug, silently congratulating myself on being able to say a complete sentence with my heart hammering in my chest. It only beats harder when a miracle of holy miracles happens and Gavin sits down beside me.
“Kind of defeats the purpose of going to the prom then,” he laughs.
“I guess so. Why are you out here, instead of in there getting your dance on?” I ask, out of curiosity. I finally get up the courage to look at him. That was probably a mistake. His blue eyes manage to sparkle even in the night and he’s even more devastatingly handsome closer up. My palms go instantly sweaty and I can virtually feel my ovaries heat up, clenching with need. I might not have much experience with men, but my body definitely wouldn’t mind experimenting with Gavin…doing anything with Gavin, really.
“Getting my dance on?” he smirks, and his full lips look really good in a smirk…
“Yeah,” I say with a goofy grin
on my face—that I can guarantee does not look good, but I can’t stop it.
“I needed some air. I would have skipped tonight if Bella wouldn’t have bitched at me about it. I’m not much on fancy parties and dancing myself.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Gavin O’Leary I know,” I tell him truthfully.
“But then, we don’t know each other do we?” he asks. A crease forms on his forehead as he stops and thinks back, trying to place me. I could have told him we’ve had at least one class together every year since middle school. I could have told him that I sat two seats in front of him all through grade school, with the exception of Mrs. Pierce’s fifth grade class when she refused to go with alphabetical order. That year I sat directly behind Gavin. That was a really good view. I tell him none of that, however.
A girl has her pride.
“Please. Everyone at Freemont knows who you are. They’re all betting on who will make it big in Hollywood first—you or Bella.”
“Seriously?”
“Scouts honor,” I tell him holding up two fingers in a ‘peace’ sign.
“Were you ever a scout?” he laughs, squinting down at me as if he’s searching for a lie.
“No, but I kissed one in sixth grade, so that counts,” I shrug.
“Did you bet on me or Bella?” he asks after a few moments of silence.
“If I say Bella, are you going to get your feelings hurt?” I joke, starting to feel strangely comfortable around Gavin, which is probably bad.
He laughs out loud, throwing his head back and looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. What would that be like?
“So you did bet on Bella,” he says finally, his eyes leaving mine and his face lifts up to the sky and he’s watching the moon I was noticing earlier. I can’t help but wonder if he sees the stars that are surrounding it. Does he know the constellations like I do? Has he ever spent hours admiring them and wishing he could float up to them?
“She seems to have a flair for the dramatic,” I say a tad too sweetly. My words must shock him because his face jerks around to mine. I figure I may have pissed him off. After all, I am talking about his girlfriend.
“You know Bella too, I guess,” he sighs out loud. I get the feeling he’s agreeing with me, without actually agreeing.
“I know the type,” I tell him, and I do. I’ve lived with the woman who has cornered the market on dramatics my whole life.
“Yeah. Strange thing is, I don’t even want to be in the movies. Not really. I have a full ride promised to me next year at Stanford if I want it for football.”
“Are you going?”
“I want to. My parents would die. I got a scholarship offer to the Royal Performance Arts Academy in Scotland. They’re driving me insane and demanding I go. Who wants to go to Scotland?”
“Um…lots of people?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, but I’m not one of them. The thing is I’ve hated every commercial, every bit-part or role I’ve had. My parents have pushed me to do them, but I hate it. I hate it all. I love football, anything athletic really. It reminds me I’m alive. It makes me feel free.”
I think over his words. Really there’s a lot to think about there. I can even relate. Well, I mean not at passing up the opportunity to go to Scotland, because I couldn’t even imagine and not about sports, because they bore me. The most active I get is when I walk to the old recycling scrapyard by the house. Still, I know what he means about feeling free. I feel that way when I draw or create…What would he think if I told him my plans for the future? Would he feel sorry for me? Probably.
“Then you should tell your parents to jump off a bridge and do what makes you happy.”
“Just like that?” he says, surprised.
“They aren’t the ones that live your life, dude. You are.”
“Dude?” he laughs.
“Well, we haven’t technically been introduced. It felt rude to call you by your name.
“And I looked like a dude?”
“You did. Of course now that I know you can get your panties all twisted up over being called a dude, I’m thinking maybe I should call you—”
He caps his hand over my lips. His hand is on my lips. Gavin O’ Leary’s hand is on my lips! I can literally taste the salt on his callused palm. It takes all my reserve to not lick it. Shit. I think I did lick it a little—just with the tip… Maybe he won’t notice?
All hope is dashed when I watch as his eyes go large.
“Did you lick me?” he asks incredulously.
“Mhmm…Mmm…mmm…mmm…”
That’s my unintelligible reply, because I’m trying to talk against his hand. Luckily he moves it.
“What?” he laughs and I get that I’m making a fool of myself, but he’s laughing and he’s spending time with me, and I’m basically being myself. So, I don’t really care.
“I said your hand was there, what did you expect me to do?”
“You have a point, I guess,” he says laughing.
“You’re lucky I didn’t bite it,” I agree and this time he laughs harder.
“I tell you what, you can call me dude and I’ll call you beautiful,” he says and it makes my heart squeeze in my chest a little—but not in a good way.
“Um. No. That would be a neg-a-tory.”
“You don’t like being called beautiful?” he asks surprised. “Or is it that you changed your mind on what you call me? Because I can show you. I have all the correct parts to be called a dude,” he jokes.
“I’ve seen the women you hang out with. I’m pretty sure beauty in no way could refer to me.”
“I think I’d argue that point,” he counters.
“I think you’re gorgeous,” he says and he sounds serious. There’s a part of me that wants to believe him. But I don’t.
I’m passable at best. I have long, wavy, red hair and almost brown eyes—sometimes they have greenish flecks in them. I’m a little too curvy and by that I mean I’m a size 14 and probably shouldn’t have had that candy bar for lunch, but I did and chances are I will again tomorrow too.
“Then I should call you a liar instead of dude, because we’ve been going to school together for a long time and you’ve never noticed me before,” I tell him, but I instantly regret it. I had been playing it so cool until this moment.
“Maybe I’ve been blind?” he says and his gaze has locked in on me like a director’s spotlight. His eyes seem to have zeroed in on my lips.
Oh God! Oh God! He’s going to kiss me! Gavin O’Leary is going to kiss me!
How does a girl react when every dream she’s ever had begins to come true? I can’t breathe! I think I might actually pass out. I lean into him and he seems to lean into me too! It’s all playing in slow motion. The only thing going fast is my heart and it’s beating so hard that it’s physically painful. Then it’s time. My eyes close, and his lips are mere inches from mine. Any minute now his lips will touch mine and I’ll—
“Ack!” I scream, my hand batting at my lips. Gavin jerks back, confused. I’m spitting and standing up, and generally freaking out. I only stop when I hear Gavin laughing. It’s not a small laugh either. No. This is a full belly laugh and it’s all directed at me—because I freaked out. Because a damned moth flew into my mouth…okay not into, but it touched! It’s wing was basically in my mouth. The thought of it makes me spit again—which of course makes Gavin laugh harder.
The damn thing flies at me again and this time I manage to move with the speed of a ninja—although I’m sure it’s not that smooth—and capture it in my hand. Too, late it dawns on me that I’ve basically killed the poor thing by doing that.
I slowly open up my hand and instantly feel regret and sadness at the mangled little wing that’s curled at an odd position in my palm.
“I guess I should call you butterfly now,” he says, leaning in to look at the poor damaged creature.
I’m a murderer. I murderized a moth with my bare hands.
“It’s a mo
th,” I mumble, feeling horrible—for both the murder and the fact that my moment to kiss Gavin O’Leary is clearly over. I let out a mournful sigh, letting the moth gently down on the warm metal of the bleacher.
“Gavin! Are you out here?” A shrill voice screams in the vicinity of the door to the gym. There are several other voices with that one, though quieter and not as annoying. That one is clearly Bella. The bitch.
“Be right there!” He calls out over my shoulder. “Guess I better be going,” Gavin says, studying my face.
“Your public awaits, dude,” I lamely joke.
“See you around Moth-girl,” he jokes back and his finger brushes a lone strand of my hair off my face and he touches his index finger to my chin. It’s a simple thing and it’s nothing like a kiss, but I know I’ll cherish it for the rest of my life regardless.
“Yeah see you around,” I tell him, but there’s no point. He’s already turned around to join his buddies. Walking away from me and going back to forgetting me forever.
In that moment I realize I’m tired of people walking away from me. Everyone has and I’ve just taken it. In that moment, I decide I’m changing.
From now on, I will be the one to walk away. No more standing around waiting for people to realize I’m worth sticking around for. From now on, they won’t get the chance to leave me and make me feel sad.
Because I’ll already be gone.