Someone Like You by Addison Moore
“Last chance to get off the train,” he whispers sweetly into my ear, and a line of excitement tracks all the way down my spine.
“Shh,” I say a little too loud. I reach down and guide him in.
Morgan thrusts into me with powerful force, and I let out a cry that rips the most innocent part of me into pieces.
Morgan
A mean streak of sunshine bears down over me and my lids crack open to find a beautiful blonde snuggled up beside me.
I seize for a minute.
Shit.
I close my eyes again, hoping for a different outcome, but she’s still here, or, more accurately, I am.
A dry laugh rattles from my chest. I swore I wasn’t going to revisit old habits—the first one being rounding out my nights at strip clubs. Then again, I never could resist a “Pretty Girl.” But in my defense I had only planned on hanging out long enough to hand in an application for the bouncer position advertised out front. It wasn’t my fault I fell into another “booby” trap. Once I spotted Ally I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.
I untangle our limbs as carefully as if I were defusing a bomb, and sneak off the bed. We made it to the bedroom after all—hell, we made it to every room, and even to the edge of the kitchen sink.
For a minute I think about staying—about letting her wake up in my arms. But with my luck, the booze that was talking would have long worn off, and the last thing she’ll be asking for is seconds.
I’m pretty sure bailing me out of jail on assault charges isn’t what Mom was talking about when she mentioned she wanted to get “all this wedding crap” off her mind for a while.
I fumble into the tiny living room and snatch my jeans off the floor, flinging my wallet clear across the room in the process.
Shit.
I hustle around in the dimly lit room looking for my left shoe and my phone as I get dressed—like a burglar anxious to leave the scene of the crime.
My wallet sits on the coffee table, and I pick it up only to have it slip from my fingers, rattling the thin glass square as it drops.
I snatch it up and run the hell out of Midnight Angel’s private abode.
A small grin edges on my lips as I head for my truck.
Ally was a lot of things last night, but she was no angel.
That’s for damn sure.
WELCOME TO CARRINGTON. An oversized sign greets me as I pull off the highway and drive onto the rural country road. Tall evergreens line either side of the highway as if they’re hiding the residents, and I kind of like it this way. Quiet, unassuming. I like the idea of leaving all my troubles behind, clear across country, and disappearing for a while.
A soft bell goes off letting me know I’m flat on empty, and a service station magically pops up on my right. If I didn’t know better I’d think fate was twisting all the green arrows in my direction for once. First Ally, then having insane sex with Ally, and now a miracle of the petrol variety. I could get used to this. Carrington should consider a new motto: Welcome to Carrington, where all your wet dreams come true.
I pluck my wallet out only to be greeted with the dark hole of poverty. I stare at it for a second. I know for a fact I had sixteen dollars left because it was my last sixteen dollars and it happened to have breakfast written all over it.
What the hell?
Could Ally have taken it? Nope. She was too busy taking things I was willing to give her, like myself. A loose smile plays on my lips because, hot damn, my balls and I appreciated the attention to detail that girl put in.
I don’t give it another thought, just gas up with a credit card and hit the road before heading for the Elton House Bed and Breakfast.
A lone stretch of highway expands in front of me like a silver asphalt tongue. And just as my thoughts meander back to Ally, a body jumps out onto the road.
“Holy shit!” I hit the brakes so fast the car skids off to the shoulder.
A pair of long creamy legs crop up on the horizon along with a gorgeous sandy-haired girl to go right along with them. She’s got her hip hiked out and her thumb jabbed in the air. I crawl to a stop, and she runs over to the passenger’s side window, laughing. She’s hot—not in the turn-your-boxers-into-a-tent kind of way, but with a wide-eyed innocent nature. Although something tells me she’s nowhere near innocent.
I crack the window an inch, half-afraid she might jump in the truck if I give her any leeway.
“You sure hitchhiking is a good idea?” I lean over to get a better look at her. Shit. She’s barely street legal. She’s nothing but a kid.
“I wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t a good idea. Besides, nothing ever happens in Carrington.”
That’s doubtful. If I had to guess I’d say she was designing an incident of the sexual variety as we speak.
“I haven’t seen you around here before.” She peers in through the glass and inspects me with those childlike eyes.
“How far do you need to go?” I bark it out, annoyed. It was one thing to help Ally out. A part of me needed to know she got home safe and sound. Her sister’s got a screw loose letting her get tanked wearing next to nothing around a group of hopped-up assholes.
“Less than a mile to the bed-and-breakfast down the road.” She bites down on a dirty grin as if she is hungry for breakfast and she wants her meal to begin with me.
“Elton House Bed and Breakfast?”
“Yes!” She jumps and her chest ripples from beneath her low-cut top.
“Just wow,” I say, lackluster. “What are the odds? Hop on in, sweetie.” I let out a disparaging breath as I unlock the door.
“Oh my God! Like, thank you so much!” She buckles up and shuts the door before I can change my mind. “You would think it would be against the law the way people around here pretend they don’t see me.”
“Probably is,” I say, heading back on the road.
Her hand glides over my thigh, and I place it back in her lap.
Knew this was a bad idea.
And exactly what the hell is happening? Did I hit my head when I crossed the state line? Who gets bombarded with gorgeous women left and right after I all but made a vow of celibacy once I left the West Coast? It turns out the people in Massachusetts are a lot more friendly than they are in Oregon—hell, or every other part of the country, for that matter.
“So does your mom know you’re out doing whatever it is you’re doing?”
“What?” A choking sound emits from her throat. “I’m eighteen. It’s none of my mom’s business where I am or what or who I’m doing.” She gives a sideways glance as if I might be the “who” she’s referring to.
A weak groan escapes me. “First, you don’t look a day over twelve, and yes, it’s your mom’s business. That’s why she’s called your mom.”
“I turned eighteen last April. And no, my mother doesn’t know I’m out. She thinks I’m tucked in my fluffy pink bed like a good little girl.” She looks out the window when she says it. “I’m Molly, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Morgan.” I press my lips together as a small sign reading ELTON HOUSE BED AND BREAKFAST comes up on the left.
“Anyway,” she continues, “most people think I look much older than I am, like say, twenty-one. That would explain why the bartenders here never card me.” She pulls at one of her blonde curls as if to entice me. “They give me free drinks and everything.”
“I’m sure they’d like you to pay them in other ways.” I pull in just shy of an undersized hotel painted an offensive sunny yellow. And why the hell does Molly here want me to drop her off at a place like this anyway? Crap, I bet she’s underage and I’m about to get busted in one of those sting operations the networks put on to boost sagging ratings.
A white picket fence runs the periphery of the property, and a heavily chipped archway stands about twenty feet from the establishment. The place loo
I park and we get out.
“Molly and Morgan,” she says, a little too loudly for so early in the morning. “I think we sound really cute together.” Her voice dips low and her hips swivel like a hula dancer. Molly here could give any one of those girls at the titty bar last night a run for their money.
Swear to God, if I didn’t just leave another girl’s bed I might have seriously considered the offer. Plus, Ally wasn’t just another girl. There was something genuine about her, I could tell. I’m glad she had to take off after her inglorious jackknife off the stage. I didn’t want to see her get mixed up in something sinister. Sure hope she forgets the directions to the strip club.
“Honey?” Mom’s voice streams from a set of oversized doors. “Oh my God! It’s really you!” Her shock of dark hair is still rumpled from sleep. She’s wearing a robe and slippers and accompanied by an equally disheveled man in matching robe and slippers, and oh, holy hell. Just looking at the two of them in their matching disheveled states makes my skin crawl. “You’ve met Molly!” She wraps her arms around me and gives a big rocking hug. “Isn’t she a sweetheart?” She pulls back and makes a face as she takes me in. “Is that lipstick by your ear?” She hisses it out low, suddenly fearing for Molly’s not-so-sweet heart.
“Maybe, but I assure you it’s from no one you know,” I whisper to keep prying ears from garnering any carnal knowledge.
“Morgan”—Mom chastises playfully—“there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” She pulls in her accomplice in early-morning fashion crime. “This is Andrew.” She sweeps her eyes over him as if he were a prize. She should think so since she’s about to marry the guy. Truth is, I’ve lost track of how many jaunts she’s taken down the aisle, but I’ll support her if this is what she wants to do. One thing’s for sure, when I hit that petal-riddled aisle, the plan is one and done. I’d never put my kids through half the crap she did by hosting a revolving door to her bedroom. Not that I’m angry. Well, maybe I’m a little angry, but despite that I still care about her—she’s my mom. And the thought of her getting her heart broken time and time again pisses me off.
“Nice to meet you.” He gives a broad grin, exposing a row of perfectly veneered teeth. He’s got that silver fox look going on up top, and he seems nice enough. He’s not too big, so I could take him if things go south between the two of them.
“Nice to meet you too.” I offer a firm shake that says both welcome to the family and I’m not afraid to break your dick.
“I’ll get Kendall,” Mom squawks with excitement like I just came back from the dead. “She’s been so thrilled that you’re coming out.” Mom busies herself texting spastically.
“Oh, duh!” Molly jumps in her flip-flops and her boobs say hello again. “You’re Kendall’s brother. No wonder, you look just like her—but you’re all boy.” She leans in close and nestles up to my bicep, inspiring me to take a conservative step back.
“Morgy!” Kendall screams into the virginal morning as she barrels from a tiny cabin behind the property. Her hair looks like a bat just flew through it, and she’s wearing nothing but a white T-shirt that’s not quite long enough. I’m guessing it belongs to the dude trekking up behind her who also looks freshly laid.
“Morgy, Morgy!” she sings.
“Don’t call me that,” I tease, as she flings herself at me. I miss Kendall. I miss having someone to hang out with. I miss seeing her smiling face every single day. We didn’t have a lot growing up, but we had each other.
She buries my face in her neck before pulling back. And I try not to comment on the fact she smells ripe, like she hasn’t showered in days, and so does the goof just that sprung up beside her.
“This is Molly.” Kendall makes a face as she introduces me to the mistress in training. “And this”—she bounces with excitement—“is her brother, Cruise.” Kendall bows when she says his name. “Cruise, this is my brother, the famous baseball player. He’s going pro right after graduation, right, Morg?”
“I don’t know about that.” I shake my head. Kendall has a knack for building me up for greatness. “I’m okay. If I’m lucky the coach throws me in.” I may have downplayed my abilities, but I’m all for balancing out the modesty when meeting prospective new family members. Kendall mentioned they, too, were engaged.
“Kenny showed me some online footage.” Cruise offers up a knuckle bump and I accept. “You’re a terror out there, man. We’ll have to toss the ball around. Get a game together. My buddy owns the local gym. He’s got some batting cages on the property. So you don’t need to worry about getting rusty while you’re out here.”
I’m still stuck on “Kenny.”
“Cool.” I nod, trying to overlook the fact he just made my sister sound like a dude. “I’ll be here all summer. I plan on getting a part-time job.”
Mom wraps her arms around my waist and pulls “Kenny” in on the other side.
“Both my children are here,” she coos. “Carrington is finally starting to feel like home again. I still have so much planning to do before the wedding; a job sounds just like the thing to keep you out of trouble.” She gives my ribs a squeeze.
Molly steps in and licks her lips like a promise. That’s trouble in a tank top right there. And for damn sure I want no part of it, especially now that I know she’s Cruise’s little sister.
I glance around at Mom, Kendall, and their respective disheveled bedfellows. Seems like Carrington is the place to be if you want to get lucky. I should know, I already did.
Sure wouldn’t mind seeing Ally again.
I can’t help but wonder if I made a mistake by leaving this morning without so much as a good-bye.
The entire state is smaller than a hiccup. I’m betting I’ll see her again.
And a part of me hopes she won’t remember a damn thing.
2
DINNER AND A MOVE OUT
Ally
I dream of white sandy beaches. I’m holding hands with a handsome dark-haired man as we run down the slippery shore. He wears his tattoos like battle scars. They race up his arms—a kaleidoscope of color on one, a ferocious dragon on the other. The warm summer sand thumps beneath our feet. The ocean is as blue as his eyes. He presses himself into the pages of my heart like a dark exotic flower. He takes me in his arms and sears his skin over my chest and my bare belly before covering me with a kiss. His hips grind against mine and it all comes back to me as I wake with a start.
My hand slaps down over the empty space next to me. It takes everything in me to peel my eyes open, gritty as sandpaper.
“No.” I moan as a bolt of pain ricochets through me.
We hadn’t made it to the mattress, had we? It must have been a dream—a deliciously dark and twisted dream. Nevertheless, something that wicked could only be produced from the bottom of a champagne bottle. I take a breath and lean up on my elbows. Gone is the Pottery Barn comforter I purchased at Goodwill for eleven dollars, my Garrison University pendant has been snatched from the wall, and my entire Disney snow globe collection is suspiciously missing.
What the…
A mild panic ripples through me as I note all of my things have up and vanished.
He ripped me off! Son of a bitch. He took my bedding and my pendant and who knows what the hell else he pilfered while I was passed out cold. And what kind of asshole steals snow globes? God, I bet he’s got some twisted décor-based fetish too.
Next to me, there’s a foreign-looking nightstand and an annoying blinking alarm clock—wait…I don’t have an alarm clock. Do I? My head bursts as a racking pain spears though me.
“Oh shit.” I fall back on the bed as it all comes back to me. That’s right. Pretty Girls equals champagne, equals one-night stand in Tess’s Fan-tessy suite. “Why am I so stupid?”
Wait, did that
What was his name again? Miller? Maximus? Minimus?
I sweep my legs over the side of the bed and my insides feel as if they’ve regurgitated themselves all night long. I toss on an oversized sweatshirt and go into the living room. That slight raw, burning feeling between my legs confirms that indeed Dr. Dragon Tattoo had done a thorough internal examination before he so rudely up and left. God, he probably looked nothing like I remember. My knees shake as I bring my legs together, and my insides alert me to the fact that what happened last night was very much indeed real, and perhaps worthy of a visit to the ER.
It was most likely that greasy-haired douche from the back who kept yelping at me to take it off. I’ll be dead of some exotic strain of venereal disease in approximately nine months once I give birth to a litter of greasy-haired puppies. This is precisely why I never drink. Everyone knows beer goggles are a proven scientific fact, and champagne goggles are twice as likely to make the common household douche transform into a Times Square underwear model. Just fuck.
The toilet flushes, and the door to the bathroom swings open.
My heart seizes as footsteps head in my direction.
“Morning, sunshine!” Tess smiles, her teeth glittering like a row of tiny mirrors, and everything in me sighs with relief.
“Thank God it’s just you. Why was I in your bedroom? Where did you sleep?” Panic shrills through me like an alarm.
“One—you were wasted. And two—you needed the bed.” She gives a little wink. “Dell and I slept in the spare.” A smile twitches on her lips. “You want eggs?” She moves the party into the kitchen, and I follow.
“No thanks. Is there anyone else here?”