Olivia Christakos and Her Second First Time
Read Olivia Christakos and Her Second First Time Online
Authors: Dani Irons
Olivia Christakos and Her Second First Time
By Dani Irons
My perfect life...
True, I’m in the hospital waking up from a coma, but my loving parents and adorable boyfriend, Wyatt, are here by my side. It’s weird that I don’t remember them—thanks, amnesia! Wyatt’s an amazing person. He’s a Big Brother, volunteers at soup kitchens, delivers food to the hungry—your basic angel. Your basic filled-out-in-all-the-right-places, naughty-thoughts-inducing angel, that is.
Might be the perfect lie...
In fact, the more I get to know Wyatt the harder it is to believe he’s my boyfriend. The more I find out about my life before the accident, the more I don’t like who I used to be. I can’t understand what a guy like that—kind, considerate, generous—would see in a girl like me.
I don’t know what’s worse, living in the darkness of amnesia or discovering the despicable person I once was. But I’ve got to figure out if I have what it takes to be the person Wyatt truly deserves—before I lose my heart as well as my memories.
90,970 words
Dear Reader,
This week, my ten-year-old daughter looked woefully at her Kindle and then at me and said, “I have nothing to read!” I asked her about several recent books I’d uploaded for her and if she’d read those yet, and of course the answer was no, but she still had nothing to read. It’s hard for me to get too upset with this sentiment, since I’m a bit of a book hoarder, and I own more books that I haven’t read than I care to admit, but...I’ll get to them someday! As someone pointed out to me, “nothing to read” is much like “nothing to eat” and “nothing to do.” It’s not a statement of literal fact, it’s a statement of mood and feeling. I don’t know if you’re in the same boat as my daughter and feeling as if you have nothing to read, but if so, one of our June 2015 releases should strike just the right note for you.
Lisa Marie Rice thrilled fans and new readers alike when she returned to the world of her popular Midnight Series with
Midnight Vengeance
and
Midnight Promises
. This June, in
Midnight Secrets
, we get to fall in love with her cracktastic and sexy romantic suspense series all over again. Former Navy SEAL Joe Harris nearly died—twice—on a medevac helo after being blown up by an IED. He’s not moving too great these days, but if there was ever a woman designed to jump start a man’s hormones, it would be his new neighbor. Meeting Isabel—loving Isabel—brought Joe back to life, and he’s not going to let anyone take her from him, not even a high-powered politician who needs to keep Isabel from remembering what he’s done.
Julie Moffett is back with her hit mystery series. Geek extraordinaire Lexi Carmichael is more comfortable with computer code than commandos, but in
No Woman Left Behind
, she’s about to undertake her most dangerous case yet with a little help from the Navy SEALs.
We also have several authors in the contemporary romance lineup this month. In Alison Packard’s latest book in her Feeling the Heat series,
Stealing Second
, Tom Morgan and Katherine Whitton, once deeply in love and planning a future together, now work together and are finally forced to confront their long-held belief that each one was betrayed by the other.
Elizabeth Harmon’s
Turning It On
brings us a new stand-alone romance in her Red Hot Russians series. On a steamy reality show, shy book editor Hannah Levinson fights to keep her fiancé from the clutches of a scheming dental hygienist with the help of an unlikely ally, sexy former figure skater turned stripper “Vlad the Bad” Shustov. Can she trust there’s more to Vlad than meets the eye?
Spoiled college student Olivia Christakos experiences the ultimate fall from grace when she’s hit by a car (losing her memory in the process) and catches her family (who she’s supposed to be able to trust at a time like this) lying to her about her past. Find out what happens in
Olivia Christakos and Her Second First Time
by debut author Dani Irons.
If male/male contemporary romance is what you’re looking for, check out previously released
In the Raw
and
In the Fire
from the In the Kitchen series by writing duo Nikka Michaels and Eileen Griffin. In that duology, we met Ethan and Jamie. In their latest stand-alone romance,
In the Distance
, Trevor Pratt and Tyler Mitchell just might have a shot at love—if, that is, they choose to follow their hearts, instead of letting their ten-year age difference and the three thousand miles separating them keep them apart forever.
Dana Marie Bell gives us paranormal romance
Song of Midnight Embers
, the next book in her Maggie’s Grove series. To prove she’s not a murderer, Mollie Greer will have to turn to the one person she’s been longing for—and avoiding—her whole life: Greer Berkley, the Singer of the Forest.
And last, this June I’m excited to introduce you to a new direction for author Julie Rowe with the first romantic suspense in her new Biological Response Team series.
American Sniper
meets the worldwide Ebola-outbreak response meets romance in
Deadly Strain
. A sniper tries to protect an infectious disease specialist while they combat a deadly new bacterial strain, but he might not be able to stop from her from making the ultimate sacrifice in order to save him.
I hope you find something from Carina Press to help you cure your “nothing to read” mood. And don’t forget our extensive romance, mystery, science fiction and fantasy backlist is also always available where ebooks are sold.
Coming in July: A dragon-shifter romance trilogy from a brand-new author, the next book in Stephanie Tyler’s postapocalyptic motorcycle club world and a new male/male romance from A.M. Arthur.
Until next time, here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.
Happy reading!
Angela James
Editorial Director, Carina Press
Dedication
For my grandma, who I’ll never be able to repay.
Acknowledgments
It takes a village to put a book together and I could not have done this alone. I would like to thank my husband and sons for supporting me—sometimes with bill money and sometimes with chocolate and warm drinks. My sister was always there with an encouraging word, my mom with a dictionary, and my grandma with a brag about me to everyone she knew. I couldn’t have done this without my early readers and critique partners who are too many to name but are just as important, or without the staff at Carina Press—namely Kerri Buckley, who’s magic with a red pen.
You are all indispensable to me. Thank you.
Contents
Part One:
Misplacing Olivia
Chapter One
Now
Three vodka swigs ago I slipped from adoringly tipsy and landed into total, unadulterated drunkenness. I have a run in my hose, a broken heel and boob sweat, and I can feel the drunken snarl growing on my face—the one my friends describe as Elvis lip meets bulldog—and I haven’t even stepped foot into the club yet.
I wobble on my one good shoe, steadying myself against the brick wall of Pink Dollars while holding on to my superglued heel. If Ava hadn’t kept glue in her car’s emergency kit for just these occasions, I might’ve broken the other heel so at least I matched, because my plan must go off without a hitch.
I must find James. Tonight is the last night that I’ll be able to fix everything. And I have to fix everything.
Part one of my master plan tonight is to look hot. And I do. I’m wearing a pink, low-cut top, a black skirt and my best lacy black bra that you can see through my shirt just enough. Part two of my plan is to get James’s attention, and it’ll be like, fish: meet your bait. Part three will be the most fun. Sleep with him and get him to reconsider his relationship with his new girlfriend before the end of the night. If I don’t succeed, we’ll be apart all summer and he’ll forget me forever.
I wobble again and Chloe catches me. “I can’t believe you went and got yourself this inebriated,” she says. I can tell she’s trying to use the proper word but she ends up sounding like she’s trying too hard, as usual. She pushes me back up when I slide forward on the wall. “And you’re kind of falling out of your top, sweetie.” She adjusts it.
“I am
not
inebriated,” I say with irritation, noticing I accidently dropped the
i
, saying
‘nebriated
. I try again. “
‘Nebriated
implies drunkenness to the point of excitement or exhilaration. I might be
tight
or
well-oiled
, but definitely not
pissed
or
blotto
.” I stagger on my bad heel, steadying myself again so I can slip it back into place. A smarter person would take off the shoe and use both hands to hold it together, but I don’t want my foot to touch the pissed-on, puked-on, cigarette-littered sidewalk.
“We’re so not in the mood for one of your goddamn vocabulary lessons,” Mia says, replacing wayward black hair to its proper asymmetrical position. She taps her clutch against her thigh impatiently. “How long does that shit take to dry?”
Ava squints at the back of the bottle, reading. “It says to wait an hour?” Everything she says is a question. It’s a quirk that reflects her insecure personality.
“Fuuuuuck,” Mia says, rolling her head back along with her eyes. She keeps shifting her weight like she desperately has to pee.
“Have a little patience,” I say with very little patience. “Technically, we’re still early.”
Mia’s lips twitch. She doesn’t like to be told what to do, but I’m the only person in the world who can get her to listen; I have more pull than the rest of our friends. But she’s meaner. If it weren’t for Chloe, who keeps me in check, I could out-bitch Mia any day.
Pink Dollars is insanely busy tonight. People are pouring into the club and hanging in small circles outside of it—girls dressed in low-cut, metallic tops and bikini bottoms, guys sporting tight shirts and too much cologne. All of them seem to fit this L.A. scene, like they fell out of a movie. I feel like an outsider among them, but I’m the type to fake it ’til I make it.
“It’s been twenty fucking minutes,” Mia whines, actually stomping her knee-high boot. “Can we just meet you in there?”
I nearly call her a name and tell her to deal with it, but I manage to curb the bitchiness at the last second. “Fine,” I say, “but you’ll owe me a drink.”
She purses her lips. “Whatever. Come on, Ava.” She stalks up the sidewalk and, after tossing the superglue bottle into the ditch, Ava follows her like the stereotypical sidekick that she is.
“God, total bitches,” I say before they’re completely out of range. The word
bitches
comes out
bishes
, but my point is made. I know they hear me, but they don’t turn around.
“Heeeey,” Chloe coos. “Don’t start with them. It’s our last night together. After today, they’ll be in Europe. I’ll be in Santa Barbara and you...have you decided on what you’re doing yet?”
“That all depends,” I say, thinking of James. If I fix things, I’ll go wherever he’s going. After a quick wet kiss to Chloe’s cheek, I add, “You’re my best friend. And you look
hot
tonight.”
“You too!” she says, letting me dodge the question. She knows if she presses me, I might fall apart again. “That skirt looks amazing on you. Is it real leather?”
I shrug, but I know it isn’t. Fifty-nine bucks at Marshalls. It was all I could afford. Chloe pulls a cigarette from her bag and we share it as we wait for the shoe to dry some more. She holds the cigarette up to my lips for me.
A boy riding a bike stops in front of us on the sidewalk. His dark blue collared shirt is ripped in the front, his yellow neckerchief’s askew, and his Cub Scouts cap is pulled on backward.
“Got any money I could borrow, ladies?” he asks with evident swagger and a wide smile. “I...uh...I’m hungry.” He looks about eight, the same age as my little sister, and thinking about her tugs on my heartstrings. I haven’t seen her in months.
“Where are your parents?” Chloe asks, shaking her head mother-hen style. “You should be in bed.”
Instead of answering, he plucks the dollar out of my hand and rides off again. “Wow. He can’t be much older than Natalie,” Chloe says, echoing my thoughts.
“Yeah, but with my parents, no way she’d be out here begging for money. That place is worse than prison.” Even though my words are harsh, I hear the undercurrent of homesickness. I hope Chloe doesn’t notice.
“But you got out of it.” She drops the cigarette on the sidewalk and presses the point of her ballet flat to snuff it out. I’ve told her those shoes aren’t exactly club style, but she says that guys don’t care about shoes, anyway. It’s the other stuff they pay attention to and she’s got that covered—or should I say uncovered? Her denim hot pants and tube top cement her position. She continues to look the way the Cub Scout has gone, shaking her head, but he’s disappeared. “You’re a nice person.”
I make an unbelieving face at her. If I was a nice person, I would’ve had more feelings about what I did in March. I would feel worse about stealing thousands from my parents’ business and getting credit cards in their names. But I feel little to nothing. I’m not even close to being a good person. “How do you figure?”
“What you did with the kid just now. Giving him money.”
I roll my eyes. “It was a dollar, Chloe. Anyone would have done it.”
“Mia wouldn’t have. For sure.” She glances over her shoulder at the club. “How’s the shoe?”
I test it, grabbing Chloe’s shoulder for support. “I think it’s good.” As I step away from the wall, my mind races with one word:
JamesJamesJamesJamesJamesJames.
I need to find him.
The line at Pink Dollars is longer than usual, partly because this particular bouncer will let people in if they vaguely look twenty-one, and partly because we invited everyone we know to come out tonight. Pink Dollars is a gay club that leans towards drag, which is perfect for us—we don’t have to worry about being hit on every five seconds. But what Mia, Ava and even Chloe don’t know is that I’ve invited James and his friend Tyler to casually and inconspicuously “bump into” us later. I know Chloe wouldn’t approve. She was there the last time I broke down into tears (again) over James.
He still has my phone from our last hookup and promised to return it tonight, so unless he plans on keeping my phone all summer, he’ll be here. Thinking about seeing him sets my heart on fire. I need to talk to him, to get him to understand how I feel.
We cut to the front of the line and the bouncer immediately waves us in. On my way over the threshold, I pat his shoulder. “Thanks, Pete.”
“Remember the rules, ladies,” he says, but it comes out halfheartedly. A veteran police officer reading the Miranda Rights. We aren’t supposed to drink—not for another year—but Pete knows we do and turns a blind eye.
Inside the club, I feel better. Maybe not sober better, but like I’m among drunk friends and it doesn’t matter that I’ve had too many. Everyone else has too. They’re all drunk in solidarity, dancing and pulsing with the music and the purple and blue spotlights sweeping over the crowd.
The place is so full of people that I have to elbow some of them just to get around. I don’t have time to catch entire faces—just a nose here, a mop of blond hair there. It’s going to be impossible to find James.
Most of the people in the club are men, some adorned in heavy drag, some in tight T-shirts and skinny jeans. A bunch of my school friends have come and are sitting at a table on the other side of the room. Mia and Ava are with them, talking animatedly, drinks in their hands. I’m not in the mood to head over there yet. “Drinks?” I ask Chloe, scanning the crowd for James.
She nods. “Then, we annihilate the dance floor.”
I lead the way to the bar while simultaneously elbowing the crowd out of the way, order two tequilas with fresh lime juice, and beeline to the dance floor with the drinks still in hand. We dance to some dubstep versions of Lady Gaga, Pink, and FUN, the crowd pressing into us from all sides. I whip my hair around, shake my hips and try to get lost in the music, but my one-track mind keeps me from completely enjoying myself.
My hair’s sticking to my face, and when Chloe suggests we freshen up, we make a pit stop at the bathroom before returning to the bar.
“It’s so unfair,” I say into the mirror. “I must have the worst genes ever. I don’t know anyone who sweats as much as I do.”
“If that’s the only downside to being gorgeous,” Chloe says to her own reflection, “I’ll take that problem in a heartbeat.”
Chloe and I have this ritual of doing each other’s hair before we go out. I spent an hour and a half curling hers. It has an unbelievable coarseness that’s wild and frizzy in the morning, but holds a curl better than any hair I’ve ever seen. Chloe looks like a mermaid that has put her tail into a light socket. Only, in an endearing way.
After washing our hands and cleaning up our makeup, we fluff our hair and slip into separate stalls. Seconds later, the door of the bathroom creaks open as other girls push their way in.
“I’m actually not the one babysitting tonight?” One of the voices asks.
“Yeah,” agrees a second voice over a sudden stream of water from the faucet. “The last time I got stuck with that fucking job, I had to carry her skanky, naked ass from the hot tub on Halloween.”
I freeze, my body tense. I know who those voices belong to and who they’re talking about. A tight feeling of betrayal squeezes my heart. I picture them reapplying their lipstick and fixing their hair as they talk.
“Whose idea was it that she and James dress up like Adam and Eve?”
“Probably hers. Because as soon as she got into the hot tub, James went inside and got dressed.” Mia chuckles. “Left her passed out in that fucking thing.”
My first reaction is to burst out of the stall and call Mia and Ava on the shit talking, but them gossiping this way behind my back makes me shrink inside. Like I’m not the big bad Liv that I fake.
“Isn’t she ridiculous? Don’t they deserve each other?” Ava continues. “Oh,” she adds with a gasp, “did you see he and Tyler showed up?”
“Yeah. And you know she invited him. Fucking pathetic.” Their laughter bounces over the white tile in the bathroom and then floats out the door. They’re gone.
I can’t remember a time when I felt more heavy and pitiful. I fumble out of the stall, Chloe following moments later, and I refuse to meet her gaze. I know she heard them too. Does she agree with them? About how pathetic I am? Chloe stays quiet, so it’s hard to tell.
We dance some more after another round of drinks. Part of me wants to go look for James, but the other part feels it would look too pathetic, especially after Mia and Ava’s comments. Another part of me wants to get falling down drunk and pass out in a dark corner. Instead, I keep dancing, letting my eyes graze the writhing bodies every few minutes. I don’t see James even after a dozen songs. Maybe he left. Or maybe he’s outside. He’s not sitting at the table, where Mia and Ava are still laughing and drinking with their other friends. Watching them makes the sadness in my heart grow.
Being with James will make me feel better. Being naked and vulnerable and wrapped up in his arms. I can forget Mia and Ava and their opinion of me. I can get lost in his kisses and his blue eyes and maybe even take a couple of hits of his weed. The idea of being high and in James’s bed cheers me up and suddenly the urgency to find him grows stronger.
“Let’s go smoke,” I say, leaning into Chloe’s ear. He could be outside.
She nods and shakes the ice in her cup. “I need a refill,” she shouts over some rap version of “Sweet Home Alabama.” We topple towards the bar, jostling the crowd around, like some whacked-out game of pinball.
When we’re off the dance floor and I go to take a step up towards the bar, my glued heel gives out and my ankle twists. I can feel myself falling to the floor, falling down to the handful of carpeted stairs below me, a sharp pain radiating up my leg. Someone from the nearby crowd grabs my elbow, steadying me.
I glance up and spot an old childhood face—only slimmed down and sharper than it used to be. But he still has that same messy mop of dark brown curls.
Wyatt Rosen.
Seeing him in Pink Dollars is like finding a Barbie doll next to your thongs in your underwear drawer. We grew up in Santa Barbara and I can think of zero reasons he has to be in L.A. Because the music is so loud, he has to lean down to my ear to speak. “Whoa. Are you all right, Olivia?” His expression doesn’t match the surprise I’m feeling. Maybe he already noticed I was here.
“It’s Liv now,” Chloe yells from behind me, but I don’t correct him.
“Tartar Sauce!” I shout with a smile, using the nickname someone pegged him with in elementary school. Besides the sour expression that’s materialized on his face, he looks good—better than I remember. His acne has finally cleared up and someone has apparently, mercifully, taken over his wardrobe. He’s wearing a black button-down shirt, dark jeans and his brown curls actually have some product in it. Much better than the thrift-store boy I grew up with.
