Authors: Joanna Blake
A Bad Boy For Summer
Copyright © 2015 Joanna Blake
All rights reserved.
One - Overture
Two - Lecture
Three - Departure
Four - Nature
Five - Feature
Six - Immature
Seven - Vulture
Eight - Culture
Nine - Mature
Ten - Adventure
Eleven - Imposture
Twelve - Capture
Thirteen - Rapture
Fourteen - Agriculture
Fifteen - Juncture
Sixteen - Mixture
Seventeen - Stature
Eighteen - Torture
Nineteen - Premature
Twenty - Recapture
Twenty One - Enrapture
Twenty Two- Indenture
Twenty Three - Picture
Twenty Four - Future
Exclusive excerpt from
So many people are involved in making an indie novel a success. Mostly by holding my hand and reminding me to get offline and get back to work. Sabrina, Cora, Kaylee,
Jordan, and Vanessa are just a few of the fantastic authors who keep me going on a daily basis. To the supportive and vibrant indie scene, this is for you.
I am so lucky to have met Shauna Kruse of Kruse Images: Models and Boudoire. Margreet Asselberg of Rebel Edit & Design and the very handsome and kind Lance Jones, tattoo model.
Jess Peterson of Breathless Book Promotions, Krystal Fahl of Not Another Damn Blog-Blog and Jen Wilder of Just Another Page: you ladies are the best. Thank you for everything. I could not do this without your help. You pretty much rock my world.
To my street team, ARC readers and my publisher Sara Bartlett of Pincushion Press: I love you guys. Thanks for encouraging me through the crazy process of writing two books at the same time. And thank you for demanding that Frannie get her own book! This one is a little different from my other books. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
The sun baked into my back, the hot metal tools stinging my hand where I gripped them. I wiped my forearm across my brow. My thick arm was dark with grease and tattoo ink.
My Gran always used to say that tattoos made a body look dirty.
That always made me laugh.
I hadn’t been clean since I was 14 years old. That was the first time I got inked. Now I was 24 and it was a regular occurrence.
A ritual you might call it.
So was getting drunk and racing souped up half breed cars. Not at the same time though. I might be wild but I had no desire to end up mangled in a flaming hunk of metal.
I’d seen far too many people end up dead, or worse.
I was no dummy.
No matter what I looked like.
I worked hard at the shop and with the chores Dad gave me around the house. But with school, I never lifted a book. Didn’t have to. The answers just sort of came to me.
Now I might have skipped a few papers here and there but as far as test taking, I was the ambivalent owner of a 4.o GPA back in high school.
Not that anyone would guess it from looking at me.
All of that was true and more.
If you asked me, I would tell you without even blinking.
And I’d say it with a shit eating grin.
My dad, me, all the guys at the shop, we took pride in being different. Breaking the rules.
Not that it made my life any easier. But hell, what the fuck did that? We weren’t rich. And we didn’t want to be. We were free.
That was worth more than anything in my book.
The ride I was working on was a labor of love. It was a special project I’d been working on during my lunch break and after hours for months now. She was a hot little muscle car body with all kinds of crazy custom add ons.
I fucking loved this car.
Probably why I called her ‘Miriah’ after my mom.
My beautiful, crazy mom who died too young.
I barely remembered her but from pictures I could tell she’d been hot and more than a little wild. Just like my souped up little ride. Miriah was going to win me a lot of cash.
If I ever fucking finished her.
I sat up and grabbed a rag to wipe the sweat and grease drippings off my face. A glistening cold beer was held in front of me. I looked up to see my best friend Clyde leaning against the unfinished side panel of the car.
“How about we get the fuck out of here Jace? Maybe get us some real women? You know, the kind that like beer instead of motor oil.”
I grinned at him and swallowed deeply, downing the beer. It was half gone in two shakes.
“No man, you go. I have to finish her up before the season starts.”
He shook his head at me, and tipped his beer, spilling some on the blazing hot asphalt.
“Your loss man.”
I laughed and finished my beer. Then I rolled back under Miriah.
Like I said, I had shit to do.
I sat up and rubbed the back of my neck. I was sore from bending over my laptop for what felt like twenty hours straight. I knew it wasn’t really that long. But it was my final paper of the year and it had to be perfect.
Scratch that- it was the final paper of my entire collegiate career.
I wanted to end it on a high note.
Not to mention it was for my favorite class.
Professor Candel was insightful, eloquent and if I was honest with myself, more than a little dashing. In an ‘older man who knows everything’ sort of way. I had the tiniest bit of a school girl crush on him. All the girls did.
I sighed and leaned back. I had proofed the damn thing at least four times. I already had his recommendations in hand, as well as the teaching job in Japan he’d practically handed to me.
I already had the good grade.
But it wasn’t good enough for me. It had to be perfect.
I had to be perfect.
Ever since I was a little kid I’d worked hard for grades. At first it was to please my parents. By the time I’d realized they could care less about me, it was already a habit.
So why was I killing myself over this last paper?
I guess it was just a hard habit to break.
But I did still have to hand it in. Professor Candel was old school. He insisted on papers being actual, well, paper. So I had to get over to campus before they locked the building his office was in, and slip my paper through the slot in his door.
I glanced at the clock. It was almost 6:15. I had about an hour and forty five to go before the absolute final deadline. I shook my head. It had to be good enough as it was. I hit print and went to my bedroom to throw on a bra and swipe lip gloss across my lips.
I stared in the mirror, knowing I was making an effort in case I saw the handsome Professor. It was a stupid impulse I knew. But it was there all the same.
Not that I would know what to do with a man if I ever had one.
In fact, I’d never even been kissed.
Very sad but very, very true.
No one knew my deep dark secret of course. Except my best friend forever, Nevada Jones. Thankfully she had educated me after her own late, but very extensive, start in the sex game. So I was prepared with knowledge, but not experience.
Still, lipgloss did not a sex kitten make. Especially in my case. I made a face at myself in the mirror. Big puffy lips, big blue gray eyes, round cheeks and the craziest tumble of auburn curls ever.
I had long since given up on it, instead letting it grow as long as possible. Wet, it reached below my hips but dry, it was only to my mid back. At least the weight of it kept the curl a little less frizzy.
I rolled my eyes at myself, not impressed.
This is not the time to start beating yourself up Frannie.
I scooped up my bag and ran down to my beat up old car. My parents had bought me an expensive convertible when I was just sixteen but I hadn’t wanted it anymore by the time I graduated. Not to sound ungrateful, but I was tired of them buying my affection.
They didn’t do it for me anyway. They just did what was expected. Like someone had handed them a spreadsheet on what rich people did for their kids.
They ticked off the boxes but that was it.
They were too busy working to bother taking the time to ask me if I’d wanted a car, let alone what kind.
So I scraped and saved and got myself… the blue banger.
I patted the dash affectionately and turned him on, pulling out into traffic. My apartment was dirt cheap and far from campus. About thirty five minutes to be exact. But I was early. I had plenty of time to find parking and walk my paper up to the Sociology building. Plus it was after rush hour so I wasn’t too worried.
Not until I heard the sound.
The click clack clunking sound.
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!
The blue banger abruptly rolled to a halt. And stopped. In the middle of the street.
Car horns blared as they drove around me. I tried to stay calm but ended up frantically waving my hands in the air, signaling people to go around me. Finally there was a break in traffic so I grabbed my bag and ran to the curb to call my insurance.
It was ten minutes before the tow truck showed up.
By the time the guy rolled up I was semi hysterical and trying desperately not to cry. I now had less than an hour to make it to Professor Candel’s office. I forced myself to stop wringing my hands and turned to face the tow truck driver.
Who just happened to be the best looking guy I had ever laid eyes on.
Tall, lean and built like an athlete, the guy had green eyes and dark hair. His tight jeans were ripped and covered with grease. His tank top was so tight it should be illegal.
His pecs were bigger than mine, and since I was a DD, that was saying a lot.
My jaw must have been open because he just stared at me, looking dumbfounded. Then he raised his eyebrows.
I nodded slowly.
Dear heaven above, sex on wheels had just arrived to save the day. And of course, I had nothing to say to him. Smooth Frannie. Just like usual.
I nodded mutely.
Not surprisingly I was utterly tongue tied. Especially around a man like him.
Who was I kidding? I’d never even SEEN a man like him.
He didn’t seem to notice though. He just shook his head and grabbed a few flares from the back of his truck, marking out an area for drivers to avoid. Then he held out his hand.
Did he want- a tip?
Again, he just raised his eyebrows.
I exhaled and handed them over. I watched in awe as he single handedly pushed my car out of the road. His muscles bulged out with the effort.
His muscles had muscles.
The girl was staring at me while I hooked her car up to my truck. I expected her to be on her phone bitching to her boyfriend by now. Or making fun of the grease monkey.
But she just stared.
She looked fucking damn good doing it too.
No man, she looked
Gorgeous red hair, big soft blue eyes, and a face that was almost too pretty. Never mind every thing that was going on below her neck.
And there was A LOT going on down there.
Big luscious tits, a tiny waist and juicy feminine as fuck hips. Legs looked good too.
Fuck man, everything on this chick looked good.
She looked like a God damn cartoon character. She looked good enough to eat. She looked like the one damn thing that could get my mind off of Mariah.
I shook my head. I knew the type. Rich college girl probably. Had a dozen guys at her beck and call. Her daddy was on speed dial probably.
And daddy’s money was going to pay for my tow.
I sighed, knowing I should probably double the price of the tow and whatever I did for her back at the shop. Fuck, I knew she could afford it. The girl just screamed money.
And that was something I avoided like the plague.
I stood up, wiping my hands on my jeans.
And did a double take.
She also looked like she was on the verge of tears.
“Hey- are you hurt?”
She shook her head, that gorgeous hair tumbling over her shoulders. I felt something inside me twist open and break free. I reached down and adjusted myself.
My cock was getting hard in the middle of the God damn street!
It had been way too long since I got laid, that was for damn sure.
Still, the girl was about to cry and I sure as hell didn’t want that.
“What’s the matter then?”
“I just- I have to get my thesis to the college before 9.”
She sighed, reaching into her bag.
“I don’t have a lot of cash on me… I need a cab. Can I give you a check for the tow?”
I stared at her then back at the car.