Read Bad Girlfriend (First & Last #4) Online
Authors: Kirsten DeMuzio
Bad Girlfriend (First & Last #4)
Bad Girlfriend
Kirsten DeMuzio
4 by Kirsten DeMuzio
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.
Published by
Kirsten DeMuzio
9054
Tabernash Drive
Columbus, Ohio 43240
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover design by Kirsten
DeMuzio
CONTENTS
Brooke
Flipping through the channels for the third time, I finally settled on a marathon of America’s Next Top Model. It was season six, which I had already seen more than once, but it was better than any of the other crap that was on TV on Sunday nights.
The house was quiet except for
Tyra’s voice coming from the TV. Gram was at her weekly poker night, which wouldn’t end until close to midnight. I swear she had a more active social life than I did lately, which wasn’t all that hard to accomplish.
For
being a seventy-one year old grandmother who had raised her now twenty-three year old granddaughter, she was surprisingly spry. My mom had been sixteen when she had me. Shortly after I was born she ran off with some guy, who was not my father. I’m not sure what happened to him, but my mom stayed gone. I’ve seen her only occasionally over the years, and she’s more like a distant cousin than a mother. Gram is the only mother I’ve ever known, which is why I still live here with her. I tell her it’s because she’s getting older and needs my help to keep up this big old house. But the truth is that I don’t know how to be alone.
My friend, Poppy, who used to live in the apartment over our garage, moved out on her own right after
she graduated high school. She’s so independent and sure of herself. I envy that about her.
It’s only been a few days since she moved out
of the garage apartment to live with her boyfriend, Ford, but I miss her already. My bedroom is at the back of the house and my windows overlook the backyard as well as the detached garage and studio apartment where Poppy used to live. She spent most of her time locked away in there studying, and it was rare that I could get her to go out with me. But it was still comforting to be able to look out my window at night and know I had a friend close by.
No
w the lights above the garage were on, but I had yet to meet the new tenant. He had moved in yesterday when I was at work. I sincerely doubted we would be besties though, considering he was the new principal at the elementary school. Not exactly someone I would want to hang out with, and vice versa.
My phone rang from its spot next to me on my bed. The display showed that Chet was calling. There was only one reason Chet called me, especially at 10:00 at night. Tattooed with a shaved head, Chet was the epitome of a bad boy. He played guitar in a local band and was my on-again off-again boyfriend. Right now we were off-again, but that didn’t stop him from calling me. Even as I touched the screen to answer the call, I hated myself for not being stronger
and ignoring the call.
“Hello?”
“Hey, babe.” He only ever called me
babe
, and I sometimes wondered if he knew what my name was. “You at home?”
“Yeah, I’m at home. What do you want, Chet?”
His voice took on the low seductive quality that had undoubtedly charmed many girls before me. “I just finished a gig, and I thought I could swing by.”
I sighed. “Why do you want to come over, Chet?”
“I miss you, babe.”
I paused, trying to
resist. “No, Chet. If you really miss me, you can call and ask me out on a date. A real date. One that involves spending time together not having sex.”
Then, because I knew my resolve would crumble if I stayed on the line, I pressed End.
I put my phone in my nightstand drawer, where it would be out of my sight, and went downstairs. There was absolutely no chocolate in the house, so I stood in front of the open fridge trying to find a good substitute. With a frustrated huff, I swung the door shut. From the kitchen window I saw the lights above the garage go out. I rolled my eyes. The principal must have an early bedtime.
The outside light was still on, illuminating the corner of the garage. The garbage cans caught my eye, and I remembered it was trash day on Monday. Not wanting to make Gram put the cans out when she got home later, I slipped on a pair of flip flops and
went outside.
It was only mid August, so the summer humidity was still in full effect. The heavy moist air hit my skin and made the tendrils at my neck curl. My hair was piled on top of my head, but there were a few strands escaping the messy bun.
Since it was my lazy day, I wasn’t wearing any makeup and had on a tank top and boy shorts. Gram would have scolded me for going outside in my underwear if she was home, but it was dark. On a Sunday night, everyone in our small town was probably in bed by now.
I dragged one trash can and then the other down the driveway to the curb, making sure they weren’t blocking the way for Gram to pull
her car in. Or for the principal to pull his car out. His very sensible black sedan.
My finger caught on the handle of the
second trash can, and I swore as I saw that my nail broke. I just had my nails done yesterday, and now half of the hot pink polish on my left pinkie was missing. Most people thought redheads shouldn’t wear pink, but it was one of my favorite colors. I made a mental note to leave for work early tomorrow so I could stop by Nancy’s New Nails and get it fixed.
Giving the old green trash can a
good kick for breaking my nail, I stormed back toward the house. When I glanced up at the apartment over the garage out of habit, I saw the curtains move slightly. Awesome. Not only was the new tenant boring, he was also a peeping Tom. Suddenly I was wishing I had dressed a little more appropriately for taking out the trash.
I hurried back inside and checked the time.
It was still not even 10:30, and I wasn’t at all sleepy thanks to a late afternoon nap. I thought about calling Poppy just to chat, but she was probably either studying or sleeping…with Ford. My other friends, Leah and Lindsay both had babies, so they were also likely sleeping or spending time with their husbands.
I was starting to feel like I was missing out on something other girls my a
ge had already found - love. Though not for lack of trying on my part. Sure, I knew the type of guys I tended to go for weren’t exactly relationship material. But the nice guys - the good guys - all seemed to be taken.
Knowing I would hate myself in the morning, or maybe even later tonight, I went upstairs and took my phone
out from its hiding place.
Me: come over
His response was almost immediate.
Chet: be there in 5
At least he didn’t have anybody else on his booty call speed dial. I thought about putting on some makeup or fixing my hair while I waited. But why bother? Chet wouldn’t even notice.
It was more like three minutes
than five when I heard the kitchen door open and close and heavy footsteps on the stairs. And ten seconds later, his boots were off and his hands were under my shirt. Chet wasn’t one for foreplay, and we were usually both naked before I could say hello. Tonight was no different.
“I’m glad you changed your mind, babe,” he breathed against my neck as his hands roughly caressed my breasts.
“What’s my name?”
Chet pulled back to look at me like I was crazy. “Is this some kind of crazy kink? Cause I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you get…”
I shook my head. “No! You always call me
babe
. I want to make sure you know my name.”
He laughed and resumed his groping. “Of course I know your name,
Brooke
.”
That relaxed me a bit, and I wound my arms around his neck, pressing my body fully against his.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Chet murmured. He grabbed my ass and walked me backwards until the backs of my bare thighs hit the bed.
In no time, all of our clothes lay on my bedroom floor and Chet was on his knees between my legs.
“You are so fucking hot,” he said as he rolled on a condom and slid inside me.
I gripped his big biceps and rocked my hips up to meet him. Chet kissed me fiercely, and it was those moments that kept me coming back for more. The
small moments when I felt like I was the center of his world. Of someone’s world. He moved his hips, the deep thrusting causing the familiar pressure to build inside me.
But as always, orgasm was just out of my reach,
and when Chet left my house thirty minutes later I felt on edge and unsatisfied. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy myself. I could just never get off on the Chet train before he made it to the station.
No sooner had he disposed of the condom than he said, “Hey, babe. I
gotta get going. I promised the guys I would help them unload the equipment from the show.”
“
Mmmm hmmm,” I murmured, not surprised. Chet never stayed over or asked me to stay at his place, and there was always some excuse why he had to go.
“
Don’t pout. No one drives me as crazy as you do, babe.” He kissed the top of my head.
I grabbed my short summer robe and pulled it around me as I followed him down the stairs.
“I’ll call you,” he said. It was his usual parting statement. “Hey,” he said turning back when he was halfway out the door. “You wanna grab some dinner later this week. Maybe Friday?”
I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. “Sure. That would be great.”
He winked at me and was out the door.
No sooner had Chet pulled his old muscle car out of the driveway
than Gram pulled her little red sports car in. That was a close call. Not that she thought I was still a virgin or anything, but I never wanted her to walk in on me in the middle of anything.
Pulling the belt of my robe tighter around my waist, I got a drink of water and leaned back against the counter. Gram came in
through the kitchen door a minute later, took one look at me barefoot in my robe and shook her head. I guess I didn’t get away scot-free after all.
“Brooke, what are you doing?”
I jingled the ice in my glass. “I’m getting a drink of water. How was poker night? You’re home early. Did you win big?” Gram played every Sunday night with some ladies from church. They bet some serious cash, and Gram usually came home with a pretty big haul.
She lowered
her white eyebrows and pointed a finger at me. “Don’t you try and change the subject, young lady. I saw that hooligan leaving here in the middle of the night. And then I find you standing here naked. Lord knows I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“I’m not naked,” I countered.
“And it’s not the middle of the night.”