Something Real

by Jessica Roe

  The Guardians:

  Undone

  Fortunate:

  Because of Him

  SOMETHING REAL

  JESSICA ROE

  Copyright ©2015 Jessica Roe

  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 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.

  Cover design : © L.J. Anderson at Mayhem Cover Creations

  Formatting by L.J. Anderson at Mayhem Cover Creations

  This one is for everyone who ever believed I could. . .

  And it's also for those who didn't.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Track List

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  I never expected New York City to be a sparkling fairytale land of glitz and glamour. I mean, I wanted it to be, but I'd watched enough episodes of How I Met Your Mother to know the place is kind of a grungefest. But they never prepare you for how big it's going to be. Like, super duper, duper big. Sure, I visited plenty of times growing up – it's not like I had a choice, tiny little Fortune isn't exactly fashion central – but living here is an entirely different story, an entirely different feeling. An entirely different world.

  It was daunting at first, but now I'm in my second year of college; I've had time to acclimatize and I'm totally city chic. The only problem is, NYC has so many amazing stores and I just get so distracted. . . Like, right now I'm innocently walking down a busy street on my way to college, and there are cute outfits in store windows everywhere. It's like they want me to be late to class. Clearly not my fault.

  That's my logic and I'm sticking to it.

  Talking of class. . .

  I pull out my pink pocket watch and flip it open – I'm determined to make pocket watches a thing – to check the time. Oh boy, thirty minutes to get to class. If I hurry my cute little butt up I might just make it in-

  Ooh! But check out those shoes. They'd go perfectly with my leather jacket – though I can already tell even without taking a closer look that they're going to be way out of my budget. Daddy has this new thing where he doesn't buy me everything I want, which totally sucks. He thinks it will be a learning experience for me to earn my own money, like my half sister, Blair, does. I pitched a fit at first, even though he was still paying our college and housing expenses, because I'd never had to earn my own spending money in all my life.

  It turns out that I actually kind of like working in the bar with Blair, though I'd never admit that to him. He's so smug when he's right.

  Distracted again. My bad.

  “Jemma!”

  I freeze as I recognize the annoyingly familiar voice of my very persistent ex boyfriend/stalker.

  I met Adrian Slater at a party a few months ago. He was handsome and charming and rich. . .so rich. Heir to Slater Cosmetics, one of the biggest brand names in the country, rich. Billionaire rich. Obviously I couldn't say no when he asked me out, that would have just been rude.

  He was my perfect guy. The kind of guy that fits in with my future plans.

  Because I already have my future mapped out. Everyone thinks I'm all ditzy and dumb, but I know what I want.

  First step – majoring in veterinary medicine. Then I'll work as a vet for a few years, gain some experience and one day open up my own surgery. Along the way I'll marry a super smart, super gorgeous guy, maybe a lawyer or a doctor or something equally as awesome. He'll have perfect manners and perfect style and our two children, a girl and a boy, will be just as cute and go getting as him. We'll have a big house in the suburbs, close by my parents but not too close, and we'll have two dogs and a cat, all of which we brought home from the rescue center and lovingly coaxed into our family.

  Blair thinks I'm crazy. I think it's going to be perfect, and isn't that the whole point? I have to have perfection, because I don't ever want to go through what my mom went through. She loved (loves) my daddy more than anything. They were childhood sweethearts, and he was all she ever wanted. So all those years ago when she found out that he'd not only had an affair with Blair's mom, but got her pregnant. . . I know it must have broke her into a million pieces. I don't know where she found the strength to forgive him, though I imagine it probably had something to do with being pregnant with me, but I know I'd never be able to be that strong. I'd never survive being broken the way my daddy broke her. So I'll make my life be the way I want it, and then there will be no life shattering surprises.

  Adrian was everything I wanted on the surface. He was so handsome, so dreamy with his strictly coiffed blond hair, impeccable style and bright blue eyes.

  We went out on a few dates to some amazing restaurants, appeared at some fancy parties, schmoozed at some business lunches. I looked good on his arm and he sure looked good on mine. But there was just one problem. . .he was so dull. Mind-numbingly dull. To the point where I wanted to rip out my beautifully styled hair. I've always been so good at putting on a face, pretending to care what all the important people think, about what they say, their views, their voices, everything little thing. It's why I was so good at being popular back in high school. But the older I get, the harder it is to just pretend with people I don't click with. I think my bad ass, blunt talking sister is wearing off on me.

  That's not necessarily a bad thing.

  When Blair first moved to Fortune to live with us, everyone worried about her being a bad influence. Turned out we were all wrong. She made us look at ourselves, really and truly look. And what I found was someone I wasn't sure I liked. I was a vapid, bitchy little cheerleader, more concerned with being popular than things like loyalty and studying and hard work and family. I wouldn't even talk to Blair at school in case the other kids made fun of me. These days I try to be a better person. . . I'm still working on it.

  So I broke things off with boring Adrian, and it was then the guy decided to buy himself a personality. Only he chose wrong – unless you like borderline obsessive stalking. For weeks he's been calling, texting, showing up at my dorm room and at work, determined to get me back. I'm pretty sure it doesn't even have much to do with me as opposed to the fact that he isn't used to hearing the word no.

  I tried to be nice at first, I really did. I told him it was all me, not him. That I was the problem. I even returned all the gifts he sent me, and boy was that hard. They were some good gifts. Expensive gifts. High school Jemma probably would have stayed with him for the gifts alone.

  But after weeks of trying to be rational with him, I don't think I have it in me again. If I see him right now I'm going to say something he seriously doesn't want to hear, and that will only lead to tragedy. Like being barred from Slater Cosmetics stores for life. No one should have to deal with that horror.

  Hurrying as fast as I can in my sunset orange stilettos, I try desperately not to break an ankle as I scurry down the crowded sid
ewalk.

  Chancing a look behind me, whilst trying not to make it too obvious that I've spotted him, I curse when I see that he's gaining on me. Damn him and his long, striding legs.

  Realizing that I'm not about to outrun him, I stop and duck into the nearest doorway, not even bothering to check the sign. Immediately the smell of antiseptic overwhelms me and a faint buzzing sound fills my ears.

  Comprehension dawns and I purse my lips. Of course I ended up in a tattoo shop. Because this day wasn't already lame enough.

  I'm in a small room, rows and rows of tattoo designs lining the walls and a door on one side leading to the back where they must be doing the tattooing. A guy, gorgeous in a way I'd totally never go for, stares at me from behind a counter, his pierced eyebrow raised. Like me, he clearly knows I do not belong here.

  Just as I'm about to rethink my genius plan, I spot Adrian outside the large front window, so I do the only logical thing and dart forward to duck down behind the counter.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” the guy who works here asks with a deliciously husky voice. He stares down at me crouching by his legs in adorable confusion. Not angry, just. . .curiously amused.

  “Shush!” I place a finger over my lips pointedly. “I'm not here.”

  He watches me for a moment longer, like he can't decide whether to laugh or kick me out, then shrugs his wide shoulders. “Okay.”

  I hear the bell above the door jingle as someone enters and the guy turns so he can face them, giving me a great view of his butt, all wrapped up in a nice, tight pair of gray jeans. Oh yeah, that's a real nice butt. Round and squeezable and perfect. Definitely a butt I could take a bite out of.

  “Hi there,” Adrian says, his refined voice oozing charm. “My girlfriend just came in here. Nineteen, long hair, this tall.” I imagine him holding up his manicured hand, his faultlessly polished nails shining in the light.

  “Nope,” replies the guy, shaking his head. “Haven't seen her.”

  “But she blatantly came in here. I saw her with my own two eyes.” Adrian loses his charm when it becomes obvious he's being played. “Although why she would come in here of all places is beyond me.”

  The jerk. Even if I was kind of thinking the same thing just a minute ago.

  “Sorry, bro. Don't know what to tell you. She's not here.” He has that laid back, easy going vibe, but somehow he manages to sound like he's laughing at Adrian without actually laughing.

  “Whatever,” Adrian scoffs. “Tell her I'm done, I've finally had enough. I won't chase her around any more if she doesn't want me. It's her loss. Thanks, bro.”

  Finally. I think I may have just gotten rid of Adrian for good.

  The bell jingles again as he slams his way out.

  A large hand reaches down to help me to my feet. It's warm and calloused, like its owner has worked hard in his life, and nothing about it is polished and soft like Adrian's.

  I stand slowly, coming face to face with my savior. Now that I'm not in a panicked rush I finally have a chance to take him in and. . .

  Holy mothering wow.

  Now this. . .this is a man in a way that Adrian could never be. Adrian was just an overgrown man-child playing dress up in his daddy's suits whereas this is six feet plus of delicious, muscular guy. The kind of guy that's never sat around a boring boardroom table in his life, but has worked and labored and lived.

  He's taller than me, even in my super high heels, with skin the color of caramel and eyes as dark and seductive as night. Tattoos run up and down his thick, strong looking arms, and in this moment I'd give anything to know where else he had them on his body. I'd study every chiseled inch. The head of a dragon peeps out of the short sleeve of his tight black tee, blowing out a cloud of fire. I want to trace it with my fingers, feel if his arms are as steely as they look. His black hair is cut short, way shorter than I usually like, and his goatee, ever so slightly scruffy, emphasizes a strong jaw. I have never, ever thought a guy with a beard was sexy before, even on a face as oddly beautiful as his, but this guy is sin.

  I'm gaping like an idiot visiting an art gallery for the first time, but it's so hard to care when the canvas is this hot.

  And when I realize he's checking me out in the same way, I swoon just a little. Okay, just a lot.

  “Sorry your boyfriend dumped you,” he says, not sounding sorry at all.

  “He wasn't my boyfriend. Any more, at least.”

  He's still holding my hand.

  “What's a girl like you doin' in a place like this anyway?” His gravelly voice has the slightest Hispanic accent.

  I glance down at my cute peach sleeveless shirt and floral bubble skirt. He's right, of course – I clearly don't belong here. Something else occurs to me and I gasp as I drop his hand to reach for my pocket watch. I am so late for class!

  “I have to go!” I exclaim, then impulsively – and because I really just can't help myself – I reach up and grab his scruffy cheeks between my hands. I kiss him quickly, just a short little peck on his surprisingly soft lips. He blinks, taken aback, but not at all offended. “Thanks for the help.”

  “Wait!” he calls as I dash for the exit. I turn just as I reach the door.

  He's leaning casually against the wall behind him, arms folded across his chest, biceps bulging. This entire time he's been so laid back, not at all fazed by my drama when most people would have been full of questions and disapproval. Even now there's an easy smile on his lips as he regards me. He's nothing like the high strung guys I usually date. “You owe me.”

  I should just walk away. I should not flirt with a guy who's so totally wrong for me in every way. “Well what do you want?”

  “Your name, pretty girl.”

  I pause only for a second. “Jemma.”

  “Got a last name?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Gonna give it?”

  “Nope.”

  He chuckles. “I'm Reid. Reid Padin. If you wanted to know.”

  “I didn't,” I tease, trying and failing abysmally to keep the smile off my face.

  “Will you be back, Jemma?”

  “Probably not.” And I mean it. This guy, hot as he is, is not for me.

  A slow smirk spreads across his face, way too full of confidence. “Yeah, you'll be back, pretty girl. You'll be back.”

  “Don't count on it.” And then I leave.

  I managed to get to class, though I was embarrassingly late. To make matters worse I had one of those awful, generally life hating professors who think their class is literally the most important thing in existence and get stupidly offended when you're even the tiniest little bit late. The fugly lame ass spent at least ten minutes making wise cracks at my expense about how I'd held everyone up, which I guess he missed the irony of. And those girls – the dorky ones who can't dress themselves to save their lives and hate me because they think I'm an airhead – all thought it was Oh. So. Funny. Like they're so much better than me just because I choose to dress nice and I'm not ironic, I don't wear ironic loafers or ironic chunky rimmed glasses which they totally don't need. Wanting to be pretty doesn't make me an airhead, it doesn't make me less smart than they are, and it doesn't mean I don't belong in class with them.

  So screw them. I won't be the first to prove that pretty girls can be smart and awesome too, and I won't be the last.

  And I will die before I wear loafers, ironic or otherwise. Die.

  After class I stop by my favorite bakery and pick up a box of treats before heading over to Blair and Silver's place.

  They moved in together just a couple of months ago and now they live on the third floor of the cutest apartment building. It's red brick with the sweetest little courtyard filled with roses of all different colors Definitely the kind of place I could see myself living in for a couple of years – until I meet my future husband, of course. I make a mental note to keep it in mind when my college room mate, Dahlia, and I are looking for apartments together next year.

  There's a s
queal when I knock on Blair and Silver's door and then a thud. I cringe, wishing I'd buzzed up first instead of using the building code to let myself in – I memorized it weeks ago, much to my sister's chagrin.

  “Just a minute!” comes Blair's muffled voice, followed by a scuffle and some hushed laughter.

  The two of them are sickeningly in love. It's gross, in an adorable way.

  Blair finally answers the door wearing a blue shirt of Silver's over a pair of cut off shorts. She doesn't even have the decency to look embarrassed that I've obviously caught them going at it like bunnies.

  “Hey,” she greets breathlessly. Silver is nowhere to be seen.

  “Really?” I ask dryly as I push by her into the apartment. Though they've only lived here a couple of months, it already feels like a home. I recognize a few pieces of furniture from the house Silver used to share with his grandmother, Yolanda, but a lot of it is clearly stuff they've picked out together because it has Blair's funky, colorful vibe. There are pictures taken by Blair everywhere, mostly awesomely cool black and white shots of Silver, but there are some of our family and friends too. My favorite is the one I took of them on Silver's birthday last April. They were laughing about something, I don't think I knew what even at the time. Probably one of Silver's dumb jokes. Their heads were inclined like they were sharing a secret. But then, that's how the are. They have their own secret little world, just the two of them. “It's barely 5pm. You guys are animals.”

  She shrugs as she closes the door behind me and follows me into the kitchen area to hop up on a stool. “There was a whole thing. He interrupted me making smoothies when he came home and I got all messy. There was licking. . .then kitchen counter sex.”

  I shake my head in bemusement. “Animals, seriously. Sex animals.

  She smirks and digs through the box from the bakery. “He misses me when he's at work.”

  “TMI, by the way. And you need to wash that counter.”

  “You asked.” And then with a mouth full of cronut – my sister does not have the best manners – she says, “Whussuh?”