by Kim Karr
I bolt up with tears in my eyes. “I so didn’t expect that.”
Cam reaches over me and sets the book on the nightstand. “Yeah, that was…I don’t know. Different than I expected.”
“Good different?”
“Yeah, good different.”
Emotion in my throat, I say, “I liked it.”
Cam kisses me. “I’m not so sure I could be as unselfish as Summer’s husband.”
I look into his eyes. “I think he loves her and wants her to have what he can’t give her. He knows she loves him. I think he’s more secure than unselfish.”
Cam kisses me again. “You know, I think you might be right.”
“What?” I gasp in mock surprise.
His lips slide down my throat, and the vibration of his laughter feels so good. “Yes, I said it. You heard me. Now, moving on . . .” He kisses the tip of my breast. “Do you think Summer’s Ménage Two is out yet?”
My head falls back. “I’m not sure, but I’ll look tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” he murmurs, licking around my nipple.
“I like that,” I whisper. “Do it again, a little lower.”
As if practicing being obedient, he obliges. Then he moves lower, and lower still, making me squirm in the most delicious way. And he doesn’t stop there.
Later, when we finish for the second time, he takes me in his arms and holds me tight. Cuddled up against the heat of his body, I can’t stop thinking about Summer and how completely she and her husband loved each other.
Realization dawns. I think I was wrong before. You don’t love someone and set him free to see if he comes back to you.
You hold on tight and never let go.
And that’s just what I intend to do.
Epilogue
Musical What?
Cam
Two Months Later
“Happy Anniversary to you.
Happy Anniversary to you.
Happy Anniversary, Camden Waters.
Happy Anniversary to you.”
I look at Brooklyn over the top of my dark shades. “That’s how you sing the birthday song, dumbass.”
He unloads the box from his shoulder onto the floor. “Fuck you, fucker,” he says and adds the two-handed one-finger salute. “It’s close enough.”
The laughter rolls out of me. “You really should stay for Thanksgiving.”
He shrugs. “Nah, I have some things to do.”
“Well, if you change your mind, come over tomorrow.”
His nod tells me he has no intention of changing his mind. It’s the open road, his video camera, and that manuscript he’s been working on for him.
It’s scary how well I know him.
Hard to believe one year ago, I moved to this beach town with nothing but a duffle bag and a bad attitude. I knew one person, Brooklyn James, my best friend’s younger brother—well, half-brother. Lucky for me he’d recently rented a house on the beach and invited me to move in with him. And even luckier for me, I did. The fucker went out of his way to help me out. He hooked me up with a job, showed me the lay of the land, and introduced me to Maggie. And as they say in the movies…the rest is history.
But let’s not give him too much credit or it will go to his head, and it’s already big enough because of his movie-star good looks.
“Is that it?” I ask, glancing around the bedroom that used to be Makayla’s, but is now Brooklyn’s.
“That’s it,” he says, plopping on his bed and unrolling his pack of cigs. “Operation musical houses is complete.”
Walking past him to the door, I slap a hand on his shoulder. “Seriously, bro. Thanks for doing this.”
Pounding a cigarette out, he sticks it into his mouth and then slants a glance at me. “Oh, dude, you are so going to owe me for this.”
I stop at the door and turn around. “Anything, anyplace—you name it.”
He points that cigarette my way and gives me one of his famous Brooklyn smiles. You know, the kind that can light up a Christmas tree, or so the girls say. “I’m going to remember you said that.”
“My word, man.” I thump my heart with my first.
In return, I get one of those California slow, you better believe I’ll take you up on it nods.
I’m so fucked.
Downstairs, Maggie is busy in the kitchen…with her new boyfriend. Abraham, I think, or maybe it’s Abel. Not sure. Some biblical name, anyway.
I clear my throat. “How’s that pumpkin pie coming for tomorrow?” I ask in amusement. It must have a little bit of tongue and a dash of saliva, because they are making out hot and heavy, tongues and all.
Fuck, Brooklyn is screwed.
Maggie breaks away from her guy. “I’m about to start it. Don’t worry, I’ll have it ready by tomorrow and be over with bells on to help with Thanksgiving dinner.”
I stride past the happy couple. “I hope so, because it’s not your bells I’m worried about.” I look down. “It’s mine,” I joke.
“Right,” she laughs. “Can you please do something to make Makayla less nervous about meeting your mother and sister tomorrow? Please. I don’t care what.”
I twist my head around. “I have just the thing in mind.”
“Go get her, tiger,” Maggie roars, showing me her claws.
I shake my head.
She’s too much.
I wish it were that easy, though. She’s nervous because I’m nervous. My sister agreed to come even with my mother and new husband coming only because they weren’t staying with me. What she doesn’t know is they’re staying at Maggie’s, in Maggie’s room, and Maggie is staying with her boyfriend.
So that’s why Makayla is a nervous wreck. She wants everyone to get along.
Shit, I’m not sure that’s possible.
But I have hope.
Walking up the path and around to the house that Makayla and I are now officially sharing, I look into the kitchen to see her standing at the sink. Hair down. Tousled. A little messy. Wearing a tight tank top. Looking sexy as hell.
And right here, with my foot on the step, the feeling strikes.
A sense of home.
It’s been a long road and a lot has happened, but yes, I’m finally home.
And it feels fanfuckingtastic.
Also by New York Times bestselling author Kim Karr
TURN IT UP
SET THE PACE
BLOW
CRUSH
TOXIC
THE 27 CLUB
FRAYED
BLURRED
MENDED
DAZED
TORN
CONNECTED
And watch for
New novels with fun titles coming soon! ☺
About the Author
Reader * Writer * Coffee-lover * Romantic
Kim is a daydreamer. So much so that if daydreaming could be a hobby, it would be her favorite. It’s how her stories are born and how they take root. An imagination that runs wild is something to be thankful for, and she is very thankful. :)
She grew up in New York and now lives in Florida with her husband and four kids. She’s always had a love for reading books and writing. Being an English major in college, she wanted to teach at the college level, but that was not to be. She went on to receive an MBA and became a project manager until quitting to raise her family. Kim currently works part-time with her husband and with the rest of her time embraces one of her biggest passions—writing.
Kim wears a lot of hats! Writer, book-lover, wife, soccer mom, taxi driver, and the all-around go-to person of her family. However, she always finds time to read.
She likes to believe in soul mates, kindred spirits, true friends, and happily-ever-afters. She loves to drink champagne and listen to music, and hopes to always stay young at heart.
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Bedwrecker
Copyright © 2016 by Kim Karr
E-book
ISBN-10: 0-9976194-2-2
ISBN-13: 978-0-9976194-2-3
Paperback
ISBN-10: 0-9976194-3-0
ISBN-13: 978-0-9976194-3-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
“I look at you and see the rest of my life in your eyes.” ~Unknown
Book Dedication
To: Jody and Serena,
Your never-ending support means the world to me.
Book Credits
Edited by: Ellie McLove, Love N. Books
Copy Edited by: Lisa Wolff
Cover designer: Shanoff Formats
Interior design and formatting: Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
Cover model: Robson Alexandre Costa Rosa
Photographer: Wong Sim
Publicity by: Social Butterfly PR
1
SPARKS FLY
Maggie
For over a decade Taylor Swift has been waging a war against love—with her music, that is. Even if you only have a casual knowledge of her, you have to admit it—she does have a way with words. There must be like seven or eight people left on the planet that can’t sing at least some of the lyrics to “Shake It Off.”
Yes, I’m a big fan, and not only because people say I look similar to her, just a blonder, longer-haired version. Looks aside, we actually have a lot in common.
Men.
Men.
And more men.
There it is—we’re both boy crazy, fall in love easily, prefer not to label our relationships, and fall out of love just as fast as we fall in. Then again, I’m not sure you’d call it love. I don’t really believe in that particular four-letter word. Perhaps lust is a better one.
As “Bad Blood” fills the small space of the bathroom, I sing along, trying to figure out exactly what the lyrics mean. Is the couple breaking up? Getting back together? On hold?
With a sigh, I give up and finish washing my hands. Sometimes, it’s just really hard to tell.
Smoothing my palms down my tight-fitting, very short, silver-sequined dress, I pop open the stall door and march out in my sky-high platform heels.
They’re booties, actually. Jeffrey Campbell. And adorable.
Turning the corner of this super-chic ladies lounge, I catch sight of the gleam of something silver. “What’s that?” I approach Makayla from behind in a cloud of perfume and dig my chin into her shoulder.
She closes the box so fast I can’t see what’s in it and then slips it back into her purse before I can blink. “A gift for Cam,” she answers as if that is the end of that.
“What kind of gift?” I eye my straitlaced best friend suspiciously in the mirror.
She swivels on the pointed toe of her kitten heel and steps quickly as if attempting to make a getaway. “Just a gift.”
“Wait one minute.”
She turns around before pulling the handle to one of the stall doors.
With my arms crossed, I stick my leg out and start bouncing it like a hooker waiting for her john to pay up. “Come back here right now.”
“I have to pee. Hold on.”
Yeah, right. Like I believe that.
Leaning against the vanity, I decide to give her three minutes, and then I’m going in and snatching that adorable little pearl purse that matches that cute black Audrey Hepburn–like dress of hers perfectly.
Seriously though, Makayla Alexander has style with a capital S.
We couldn’t be more different, which I suppose is why we get along so very well. She’s a jewelry designer and lives next door to me back in Laguna Beach, with her boyfriend, Camden Waters. She and I met not long after I moved to New York City from California more than fifteen years ago.
We bonded over our hate for cheerleaders, love of lip gloss, and yes, eventually even Taylor Swift.
After Makayla’s mother died, she moved in with my mother and me. We’re like sisters. And although she didn’t leave the city three years ago when I did, she followed me to California soon enough. And like all lived-to-be-told love stories, while living with me she fell madly in love with the boy next door.
Sounds like the basis for a love song, but it’s true.
She moved in with Cam around Thanksgiving, and Cam’s roommate, Brooklyn James, moved in with me.
As strange as it sounds, we did a little roommate swap.
You can lower your brows right now. There is nothing romantic between Brooklyn and me; he is so not my type. He’s a board-short-wearing playboy, a manwhore, an ex–reality TV star, and a screenwriter wannabe. And I prefer men in suits.
And yes, he knows this.
But now I think all this pretending for the sake of matchmaking and shutting up about it has led him to have a crush on me.
Still, we’re just friends.
Just.
Friends.
Get it?
Good.
Now is probably not the best time to tell you he’s my date for the night, then. Just hold on. Listen. You see, Cam is from the city, and he decided it would be fun for the four of us to come to New York to see the ball drop in Times Square.
Happy New Year!
The two of them have been trying to match-make the two of us for what seems like forever.
Not happening.
Anyway, while Cam and Makayla have been making googly eyes at each other all night, Brooklyn and I have been on the prowl for new dates.
Shhh…don’t tell.
The bathroom door swings open and Makayla stumbles out. I think she’s already had a little too much to drink and it’s only been midnight for like half a minute, or thirty minutes tops.
P.S. I kissed Brooklyn when the clock struck twelve, outside under all the confetti while the sky lit up with fireworks, and the ball dropped…and felt nothing.
End of our love story.
I already got the “so you and Brooklyn” look from Makayla. I’ll break her heart tomorrow. Why bother tonight?
Right?
She really wants me to have what she has—love.
Pfffttt…so not interested.
Leaning against the counter, I curl my finger to beckon her my way. “Now what’s in the box, Makayla?”
“Nothing.” Her voice is low in the most suspicious manner.
I raise a brow. “Something dirty? Come on, you have to share. I feel like lately I’m living vicariously through you.”
Her cheeks turn a fantastic shade of red. I think it almost matches her nail polish. “Okay, you know that book Cam and I read together last summer?” she asks.
My lips twist in thought. “Winter’s Men?”
She groans good-naturedly. “No, Summer’s Ménage.”
“Right, the smutty one about the threesome. From what you told me, it sounded pretty hot.” I throw my head back in laughter.
“It was—” she pauses as if to contemplate completing her sentence, but then goes for it—“a beautiful love story.”
Laughter bubbles up my throat.
She eyes me with one of those looks I taught her.
It’s scary.
Still giggling, I cover my lips with my hand. “Too much champagne, I think.”
“Anyway, I thought
it would be fun to try out something we read about.”
“Something—” I let the word hang.
“It’s a cock ring,” she blurts out.
I clasp my hands over my ears, wondering if I can bleach the words away. Cam might be her boyfriend, but as of January 2, he’s my new boss, and, well, I cannot, just cannot even go there.
Honestly, I feel like our roles are reversing.
I used to be the sexpot.
Now Makayla is.
Oh how I long for the good old days.
Standing up straight, I wrap my arm around hers. “Come on then, whore. Let’s get back to the party so you can give Cam your naughty little gift. And please, I beg of you, no details afterward.”
The White Lotus Club is fourteen thousand square feet of all-black everything silhouetted in purple neon lights. And the best part, The Out Hotel is right downstairs. I can stumble back to my room without setting foot in the record-low temperatures of New York City again tonight.
Boy, I don’t miss the snow one bit.
We swing open the door, and the heavy thumping of the bass is enough to pound my pulse in my wrists and throat.
Flashing lasers bisect the multiple dance floors. Everything flashes in different shades of purple as the lights hit it. Mirrors are everywhere. The room looks like one giant disco ball.
It’s fantastic.