by K. R. Grace
Her Book Boyfriend
K.R. Grace
Liaison Publishing
Copyright © 2017 by K.R. Grace
ISBN Print 978-0-9993050-1-0
ISBN eBook 978-0-9993050-0-3
Cover Art By Okay Designs
Edited by eBook Formatting Fairies
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
For my Family
You all knew I had it in be before I did.
Thank you for always encouraging me to go
after my dreams.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Author
Books by K.R. Grace
One
I reached over and took her hand. I hated when they cried. Seriously. It was as if they were taken by surprise. They knew this was coming. They always did.
“I’m sorry. It just isn’t working out.” I mustered up what sympathy I could find. Seriously, he’d never called her by the right name. That should’ve been a clue. Of course, I didn’t know her name either, but I wasn’t the one who sucked face with her.
She sniffled daintily and swiped at her tears. “I don’t understand. How could this happen? We were doing great.”
I sighed, inwardly ordering her to snap out of it. Tears never worked on me.
“You knew what you were getting into from the very beginning. Now, dry those tears and move on with your life. He has.” Oops, so maybe I did say it out loud. Oh well. Better now than later.
Brittany…or was it Whitney…whatever. Bottle-blonde gasped and jerked back like I’d slapped her. “That was harsh.”
I shrugged and examined my nails as if I had all the time in the world. “It’s the truth.”
She jumped up, yanked her purse over her shoulder, and flicked her long, artfully curled hair over her shoulder as she thrust her chin up with a sneer. “At least I can get them in my bed. Can’t say the same for you.”
And with that, she sauntered off down the hall where her two sidekicks wrapped their arms around her and guided her away.
“Bitch,” I muttered as I grabbed my bag.
An arm draped across my shoulder. The subtle smell of his shower gel greeted me next.
“Thanks, Mace. I owe you one.”
I rolled my eyes. Camden Davis: an inch shy of six feet with a final growth spurt to go, blue eyes, curly auburn hair he kept shoulder-length and usually up in a man bun, and more swagger than Mick Jagger. All the girls fell for his crooked smile and the mystery that shrouded him. He wasn’t a talker. Somehow that was the appeal. Everyone wanted a piece of Cam. And the stories about his escapades made my cheeks flush just thinking about them.
Cam was the guy all the girls wanted and all the guys wanted to be without having to try. It probably had something to do with the fact he was a front man in a rock band that was close to signing a record deal. I didn’t see all that. I just saw Cam. The guy who’d been like a brother and best friend since we were in diapers. I had enough dirt on him to bury him alive, but I’d never use any of that against him. Not even when he really made me mad.
“You and I both know you will be forever indebted to me.”
He shrugged off my comment. “We still on for taco Tuesday tonight?”
“There are two things in life that are absolute certainties. Chocolate and your mom’s tacos.”
Cam snorted as he escorted me down the hall. “You’re such a dork.”
I shoved at him. “I am not!”
“Yes, you are, but that’s why I like you.” He bopped my nose as we came to a halt in front of my classroom.
“I’ll need you to give Clay and me a ride home today. Dad had to take Oscar to the shop this morning.” Oscar. My beloved 1998 green Toyota Corolla. With almost a quarter of a million miles on him, he’d been through everything with me. Literally. Mom and Dad bought him new off the lot right after I was born. Births, family vacations, weddings, funerals, recitals, and sporting events…he’d seen them all. Now he was mine…and he had a smoking engine. Go figure.
“You’re lucky I drove my dad’s Land Rover today.”
I smirked, already knowing Mom called his mom and made sure Cam didn’t drive his motorcycle to school today. Perks of our mothers being best friends and sorority sisters. Of course, it helped nature decided to join our cause. It’d been raining like it wasn’t going to stop all day.
“Yeah, lucky. See you in the parking lot.” I waved cheerfully.
Awareness suddenly dawned on his face as he eyed me suspiciously. Before he could speak, the warning bell sounded, saving me from having to confess I’d used the mom card on him.
“See ya.” He nodded before walking down the hallway to his senior English class.
By the time I left the classroom, everyone in school knew Cam’s friend dealt the dish of death to another girl. That was me. Cam’s friend. Almost four years of high school, and it was the only name I was associated with. While I wouldn’t trade our friendship for the world, it sucked to always live in his shadow.
I spotted Cam walking in my direction.
“You really gotta quit stalking me. People are starting to notice.” He sighed dramatically as he draped his arm across my shoulder and led me down the hall.
“Back at ya, Mr. Creep-o Stalker.”
He grinned but instead of volleying back, he said, “Hey! Don’t make plans for Saturday.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Freesong is performing at the Mooreland Mills Music Festival Saturday night.” He twirled a bright green guitar pick over his knuckles as he spoke.
“What?” I squealed as I yanked out of his grasp so I could slug him on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me? I have to work at the Yogurt Shack Saturday.”
He gave me the courtesy of rubbing his shoulder like I’d hurt him. “Trade shifts with someone.”
I sighed as I readjusted the shoulder strap of my bag. “I can’t. I’m already filling in for Reese.”
Reese Fitzgerald was my other best friend. A gymnastic superstar who spent almost every weekend away at competitions but was determined to live life like a regular teenager. She’d returned with the gold in the last two World Championships and was the favorite to take gold at the Olympics this summer. With all her endorsement deals, I didn’t understand why she cared about her minimum wage job so much, but she did, and that was why I would always help her.
“Well, pass it on to someone else. You always cover her shifts when she’s out of town. It’s time for someone else to do her dirty work.”
“I can’t. It’s money, and I need money to pay my dealer. Maybe I can get off in time to make your set.”
Cam winced. “You really need to stop calling Amazon your dealer.”
“I’m a book junkie. I admit it. If I don’t always have a book in my hand, I will die. It’s called bibliomania. Look it up.”
“You and your books.”
“Don’t be hatin’ on my friends.”
“She made a perfect score on her ACTs and SATs and still uses phrases like, Don’t be hatin’. What am I going to do with her?” he asked a random
chick walking by us in the hall. Her cheeks flush pink as she hides behind her long, brown hair and scurries away from us.
“You scared her away.” I pouted.
“Eh, she’ll get over it.”
“She could’ve been my new best friend and you ran her off. How can you live with yourself?”
“I’ll manage. So, Freesong and Mooreland Mills Music Festival. You in?”
“Where is this festival?”
“I don’t know. I guess in Mooreland Mills?”
I let out a dramatic sigh. “Are they paying you or did you have to reserve a spot?”
He shrugs. “I dunno.”
“Seriously? What am I going to do with you?”
As amazing as Freesong was, I didn’t understand why they didn’t get a manager or agent to make sure they weren’t getting hosed in any of these gigs. Of course Cam never thought about stuff like that. He just went with the flow and always came out the best possible way.
I envied him.
“I’ll see what I can do.” I caved, deciding to save my responsibility lecture for another day.
“Great. You’re the best, Mace.”
“That’s what they all say.” I rolled my eyes.
We parted ways again for the last class of the day: AP calculus for me and biology II for him.
As I sat in class, doodling in the margins of my notebook since I’d already taught myself the chapter we were covering as well as the next three and completed the work to go with it, I thought about what I’d done over the past four years.
To my little circle of honors students, I was the Leonard Hofstadter of Worthington Academy because I was not only wicked smart (in my humble opinion), but also the best friend of the hottest guy in school. Yet, everyone else only saw me as Cam’s geeky friend. Either way, I was linked to him, and it sucked. Even though I was in more clubs than I could count (seventeen) and had obtained perfect SAT and ACT scores, as Cam always liked to point out, and had shelves full of awards I’d earned in various academic competitions, none of it held stock in the realm of high school.
It was all about whom you dated, whom you sat by in lunch, and whom you lost your v-card to. You could make up for lost points by driving a fancy car or throwing rager parties or being related to someone famous with the necessary proof to back your statements. If you couldn’t even excel in one of those categories, you were given “wallflower” status and written off as a social failure.
Mom tried to tell me the only thing that mattered in school was that I performed well enough to get into the college of my choice, i.e. Harvard. Boys would come after I’d successfully completed my first year in college with a perfect GPA. She meant well, but I didn’t want to have my first dating experience with some Vanderbilt descendant. I needed to be a seasoned veteran by the time college rolled around or else I’d be pulverized by the socialites who knew exactly what to say and do to ensure they married well and obtained or maintained a certain social status.
I could already see it now. Unless I found the key to dating, I would merely repeat the cycle for the next four years and end up right back here with only one identifier to my name: Cam.
When the final bell rang, I gathered up my things and hurried out the door. Once in the parking lot, I scanned the spaces looking for Cam’s car. My eyes landed on a couple doing the bump and grind on the hood of a black Honda. The guy had his knee shoved between the girl’s legs. She was wrapped around and riding the limb like it was a bucking bronco. Her hands clamped down on his butt, digging in so hard I could see the intentions from my vantage point, and she let out a moan that set my nerves on edge. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I was rooted to the spot. I hated public displays of affection and thought horny couples needed to find a room and stay there until they got it out of their systems…and yet there I stood.
People were starting to file out into the parking lot. None paid attention to the gyrating couple in the back lot. The guy shoved his hand up the girl’s shirt, which only made her squirm into hyperdrive. He turned his head to place a kiss on her neck, and that’s when I saw who Mr. Horney Pants was. Cam.
I let out a noise of disgust and stormed off in the opposite direction. If I was a bibliomaniac, Cam was infected with fornicatio corneous: the inability to go a full twenty-four hours without getting into at least one girl’s pants.
By tomorrow, she would be just another chick I had to let down gently. Some things never changed.
She sat by the window, lost in the world of her book when a cool breeze swarmed into her cocoon, drawing her attention to the door. That’s when she saw him. He had hair as dark as night and piercing blue eyes that saw into her soul. Her book forgotten, she watched as he made his way over to the counter to place his order.
He turned as the barista rang up the order. That’s when he saw her. Their eyes connected and he winked, sending sparkling shivers down her body. She didn’t even know his name, but she knew right then she’d met her soul mate.
“Please tell me you aren’t still hooked on that crap,” Cam groaned, ruining my daydream of what sparkling shivers would feel like, as he made his way down the basement stairs, motioning to the book in my hand. Love and Lattes. It was the latest Wendi Cooper book…aka the greatest author of all time.
“Just because you can’t appreciate art doesn’t give you the right to hate on it,” I huffed as I stuck an old Target receipt in the book to mark my page.
“It’s not real life. Trust me.”
“Well, while you get your kicks behind the bleachers and on car hoods, I get mine in books. Don’t judge.”
It was true. In the eighteen years I’d been alive, I’d never been kissed, and I’d never had a boyfriend let alone gone out on a second date with a guy. My love life was a pathetic hole that was never going to be filled except through my literary boyfriends who always left me for far more entertaining women. I was cursed. Plain and simple.
Cam’s eyes darkened, and I knew he knew what went down in the parking lot, but rather than discussing the matter, he said, “That’s because you’re not a rendezvous girl. You deserve flowers, candy, and commitment. Things high school guys don’t do…unless they think it’ll guarantee a score.” He winked as he picked up his guitar from its stand and began tuning it.
“You’re such a dog!” I growled as I threw a pillow at him.
“Face it, Mace. You weren’t made for high school dating.”
His words stalked me all night, ruining Mama Noel’s famous guacamole dip and distracting me from enjoying the next chapter of Love and Lattes. Cam was wrong. He had to be wrong. I knew lots of couples who were dating and it wasn’t about the sex. They had a serious connection and were honestly and truly in love. So, why not me?
Maybe I was broken. Maybe I was destined to grow old and be alone, living in a tiny, rusty trailer with fifty-seven cats, sixteen dogs, and a hamster named Baloo.
This was senior year. The time of my life where I got it together. Major events were going to happen that required that I be linked with a plus one. The most important event being prom.
Prom.
It wasn’t just some silly pre-wedding ritual where girls forced their parents to spend a small fortune on the prefect dress and orchestrated every detail right down to what color their dates wore, what type of flower to have in the corsage, and whether or not to spring for the white stretch hummer or the more traditional black limousine. It was the pinnacle of our high school careers. The rite of passage that separated the haves from the have nots. The night when magic happened and dreams came true. Every girl dreamed of this night, including me, and I was not going to miss out on it.
So, I needed to come up with a plan to prove to Cam that I was meant for high school dating. I’d show all of them.
My eyes landed on my copy of Love and Lattes book, and a wonderful, crazy, exciting idea came to me. I, Macey Greere, was going to land me a book boyfriend.
“I found it!” I exclaimed as I threw myself down i
nto a chair at our usual lunch table in the corner of the cafeteria closest to the back doors.
“What’s she talking about?” Bruce Zane asked Cam before diving back into his fruit cup. He was lead guitarist for Freesong and co-writer of all their original stuff. The showman of the band who loved to antagonize people just for the heck of it. Black hair styled into a small faux hawk, green eyes, lip and tongue piercings, and a perpetual smirk that annoyed the crap out of me more often than not, he never had a shortage of groupies.
“How the hell should I know?” Cam shrugged as he peeled back the top on his pudding cup. Chocolate. His favorite.
I rolled my eyes at them as I retrieved my iPad from my bag and brought up the screen of the book I’d downloaded to my Kindle app.
“This!” I said proudly as I showed the gang the screen. “This is my ticket to success. The holy grail of dating. By the end of this year, I will be in a serious relationship, and we will be voted the cutest couple in school.”
“Love and Lattes,” Reese read out loud. “I don’t get it.”
I shook my head in protest. “What isn’t there to get? Wendi Cooper knows the secret to dating. All her heroines start out loveless and by the end the hero is groveling at their feet, professing his undying love. If I follow the same steps her female leads took to get their happily ever after, I am golden for landing a boyfriend for prom.”
“Who needs a boyfriend to go to prom? Maybe you’ll find your Usami.” Morgan shrugged without lifting her eyes up from the drawing she was working on. Morgan Ivy. In the second grade she ran up to me on the playground and declared us best friends because we had on matching Sailor Moon t-shirts. I never had the heart to tell her I’d fished it out of the lost and found box because I’d spilled cool-aid down my shirt at lunch. She was one of a kind. Her hair color changed every month to match whatever colored food she was eating. This month was red. She was an amazing artist and percussionist who was Anime’s biggest fan. Cam had been reluctant to allow her into Freesong, but when he had found out she was a killer drummer, they became fast friends, and he didn’t say a word when she’d shown up wearing cat ears to their first gig. I, of course, had to explain that the ears were paying homage to her second love: Josie and the Pussycats.
