by Amanda Cowen
Also by Amanda Cowen
Between Friends
The Perfect Series
Perfect Sense
Perfect Love
Tainted
Copyrighted Material
THE FEAR OF FALLING
Amanda Cowen
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright @ 2018 by Amanda Cowen
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
To you.
You know who you are.
THE FEAR OF FALLING
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
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Chapter 1
The day I officially turn twenty-one is everything I expect it to be, and then some. I wear my highest heels and shortest skirt, flash my real identification card at the bouncer. He gives me a wink and says “happy birthday” as he lifts a velvet rope to let me and my friends walk into a club called Hennessey. My friends follow me to the bar, and my best friend Ryan Owen hollers down at the bartender for a round of shots.
I’ve decided to go out of character and be white-girl-wild for my birthday celebration. So when Ryan hands me two shots with his boyish grin, I accept them both, take a knee, and knock them back like a champion. My friends cheer, and Ryan’s eyes widen at how effortlessly I down tequila.
Normally, I am not much of a partier and Ryan always teases me because I am what he considers the mother hen of our group. Not tonight, though; I am anything but clucking cautious. I am reckless and uninhibited, hoping to make this birthday one to remember, full of awkward and funny stories I hope to reflect on for years to come. I mean, what else is one expected to do on their junior year of college, on their twenty-first birthday? Probably dance on a table, slam another few shots of tequila, then puke in the backseat of a cab on the ride home. But I’m not exactly there yet.
On the way to the dance floor after Ryan orders us bottle service in a private booth, my friend Maisie twirls me under her arm and shakes her body against mine for a celebratory shimmy. Our two other friends Jayce and Kale worm their way between us and join our dancing circle as some old-school 50 Cent song vibrates throughout the club. Of course, Ryan’s already been swarmed in the private booth by some female patrons. Women tend to gravitate toward him everywhere he goes.
It must be nice to be such a beautiful person. Growing up, I had a big gap between my front teeth, chubby knees, pop-bottle glasses, and some weird choppy bangs that extenuated my already long and stringy brown hair. I didn’t fully grow into my look until my senior year of high school. It took braces, mastering the art of applying contact lenses, and finding a decent hairdresser to finally make me feel comfortable in my own skin.
But even today, I would consider myself just average-looking compared to Ryan. And if it wasn’t for my big personality, you probably wouldn’t even notice me if I walked into a room. Ryan, on the other hand, is noticeable wherever we go. Women find him strikingly attractive, mostly because of his shaggy brown hair and warm, dark eyes. He even has a dimple on his chin and a jawline so strong, it could be made of steel. And for girls who adore a guy who can make them laugh hard enough to snort, he’s your man.
Let me guess, you are probably wondering why I’m not interested in dating Ryan.
That’s because a) we are just friends (always have been, and always will be), and b) after I lost a bet between the two of us over who could eat the most hotdogs, he held me down and farted in my face in retribution. You can’t be romantically attracted to someone after something like that, no matter how good-looking and cool they are. And I know people who insist the whole guy-and-girl best-friend thing doesn’t work, but Ryan Owen and I are living proof that it does work. He’s been my best friend since our freshman year, and I’ve never had any romantic inklings for the guy.
In the three short years we’ve known each other, he’s seen me at my worst – i.e., holding my hair back while I puked during flu season, and watching me ugly cry when my dog died. And he listens every time I’ve needed to vent. He’s also the only person I know who will try anything once, dance like no one is watching, and always puts his friends and family above all else. There is no one in the world closer to me than Ryan. Since the day I met him, there hasn’t been a dull moment in my life. I have no idea what I’d ever do without him.
We met in the most unconventional way. In an administrative mix-up, we were accidentally assigned as dorm roommates. Let’s just say I was mortified when he unlocked the front door and walked into my dorm to find me exiting the shower wearing one towel around my head and one around my body like an old lady who just finished her daily beauty routine.
Naturally, I thought he was an intruder. So I panicked and grabbed a lamp, swinging it a few times in his direction. When he laughed at my attempted attack - with his heartiest, full-bellied laugh - I nearly died of embarrassment. He eventually calmed me down by saying, “Relax, Rousey. I can assure you I am neither a rapist, nor a robber. Just walking into my dorm room.”
I decided to blindly trust him, and eventually found the courage to get dressed and follow him to the administration office to get our little problem sorted out. Turns out someone, somewhere made the most epic screw-up. There were two other students - Maisie and Jayce - who also had the same co-ed predicament. After three hours of sorting things out, Ryan ended up rooming with Jayce down the hall, and I roomed with Maisie.
And that’s how our little group started.
Once Ryan and I got to know each other, we just clicked. Our common interests were endless. We found out very quickly that our little mix-up was a blessing in disguise. We both prefer beer, and dislike fruity drinks. We are both super-competitive; a simple game of Connect Four can turn cutthroat. We are both athletic. Ryan plays on the Lacrosse team for the University of San Francisco, while I’m an accomplished ballerina. We are both avid football fans - go 49ers! We both come from dysfunctional families, and therefore dread all holidays. We’d rather backpack through a European countryside than travel to an all-inclusive resort and lie on a beach. And we are both folk-music junkies.
By the end of our freshman year, Ryan was spending more time in my dorm room than his own. He would joke it was because I had the best food in my mini-fridge, but I knew it was because he enjoyed our friendly banter and easy company. Within no time, we were the best of friends and doing everything together.
By our sophomore year, Maisie, Jayce and Kale were certain my platonic friendship with Ryan wouldn’t work, and we’d eventually develop romantic feelings for each other. Of course, they were wrong. We’ve made it to our junior year, still best buds with zero romantic interest in one another.
Ryan even calls me Jonesy, a play on my last name, Jones. He rarely calls me by my real name – Ella – which is about as feminine as a name can get.
We eat All-You-Can-Eat-Wings on Fridays, play poker on Saturdays, and watch football on Monday
nights. He prefers skanky-looking girls with fake boobs and rocks for brains. Meanwhile, I’m your typical “girl next door” with small boobs and a fairly high GPA.
“God, it is so damn hot in this club,” Maisie yells in my ear. She pulls her long blonde hair off her neck and fans her face with her hand. “Honestly, I want to rip my clothes off.”
“Damn, girl,” Jayce smirks. “You can rip off those clothes for me anytime.”
I’m gently shuffled to the side as they make their way closer to each other on the dance floor.
Maisie laughs. “Like maybe when we get back to your place tonight?”
“Yeah babe, you better believe it,” he growls.
I roll my eyes as Maisie wraps her arms around Jayce’s neck and grinds herself against his leg to the beat of the music. They are one of those couples who could make a person sick with their public displays of affection. They started dating on our sophomore year, and have been inseparable ever since.
Sometimes their love makes me think that maybe I’d like to find a love like that someday. But for now, I am happy to just be with myself.
My last relationship was in my freshman year, and it was a complete disaster. Ryan warned me right from the start my ex wasn’t for me, but I didn’t listen. I am an artsy-fartsy kind of gal who likes to paint her feelings, and my ex was a narrow-minded jock who enjoyed the attention he received from his female fans on the football field. Two months later, I ended things because I was tired of listening to him ramble off sports statistics, plus his weird insistence to have me wear his football jersey during sex became a deal-breaker.
Ryan thinks I purposely find petty flaws in potential boyfriends because I subconsciously don’t want anything too serious. Maybe that’s true, but I also don’t see anything wrong with knowing what I want. If a guy doesn’t measure up, I break it off. My life can’t be compromised because of guy who is all wrong for me. My future consists of a cool job in graphic design and traveling the world. I don’t need a “serious” boyfriend to drag me down in my twenties. I will reassess my romantic situation when I’m in my thirties, hoarding cats and living in a sad one-bedroom apartment. For now, I will enjoy the freedom of my youth.
Kale and I keep dancing beside Maisie and Jayce while they continue to inappropriately feel each other up on the dance floor. Kale gives me a few spins,and I shake my booty through the next few songs. But when a girl from class whom Kale’s been crushing on approaches him to dance, I find myself sandwiched between two very hot and horny couples.
Ryan’s familiar laugh comes from my right side. “Hey, Jonesy. I think your dorky dance moves are scaring everyone away.”
I spin around to face him and his shit-eating grin. He’s holding two tequila shots in one hand, and a beer in the other. I know he’s just messing with me. My dance moves are far from dorky. I’ve been a dancer my entire life, and I even teach ballet to children on weekends at a local Ballet Academy.
“You mean these moves?” I say, and proceed to be as goofy as possible by performing the chicken dance.
Ryan laughs and passes me one of the two shots he’s holding. “Okay, enough. Stop moving like a moron and have a celebratory shot with me.”
“Don’t be jealous. I can move like a rock star, and you’re stuck with two left feet,” I quip. Ryan may be a lot of things, but ‘good dancer’ is not on the list.
“Take the shot,” he insists.
“A few more of these and I won’t make it to midnight.”
“Don’t worry. If the room starts to spin, I’ll make sure to get you home safe.” He raises his shot glass. I can see his elusive smile even in the shadows. “To my best gal pal on her birthday. I’m looking forward to watching you dance on a bartop all night long.”
“Never,” I stand up a little straighter. “I’m wearing a short leather skirt. No thanks.”
“Yeah, I know,” he wiggles his eyebrows. “I plan to catch a good glimpse of those granny panties.”
I playfully smack him in the shoulder. “Me and my granny panties don’t belong on a bartop. Chances are I’d break a heel and tumble down like a sack of potatoes. Never would I ever.”
He laughs. “Never say never. I’ve seen you go wild before. Freshman year… frosh week… Paddy’s Pub… we drank an entire bottle of whiskey – ”
I shake my head. “Just to be clear, I had no other choice but to squat and pee on the sidewalk. My bladder was about to explode, and we still had to walk at least three more blocks back to my apartment.”
He laughs again, and continues to stare at me like I am the most amusing person in the world. “I think the police officer who wanted to charge you with public urination begged to differ. You’re just lucky I was there to talk him out of throwing you in the back of a cop car.” He flashes me a clever smile. “Come to think of it, you owe me big time.”
“I owe you nothing,” I laugh. “I’ve bailed you out of so many things, even I’ve started to lose count.”
“Oh yeah, name something.”
“The redhead you slept with a few months ago. Spring break, sophomore year. The time we were pulled over for a burnt tail light.” I pause and watch his smile fade a little. “Shall I keep going?”
“Nah.” I see the playful glint in his eyes. Ryan’s the guy who does ridiculous things first, then deals with the consequences later. He’ll invite a girl he just met back to his place for a quickie, he’ll wear an outrageously offensive t-shirt in public, and he’ll even make a complete fool out of himself just for a smile. Sometimes I wonder what he’d do without me saving him from himself.
“Let’s just call it even and get you another drink. The bartop is calling,” he winks mischievously.
Ryan guides me over to the VIP booth and pours us each a drink. I can see the girls who were flirting with him earlier watching us from the far-right corner, curiously eyeing me up. Little do they know, I’m only his best buddy, not fuck buddy. No competition here.
Ryan doesn’t even notice them gawking when he turns to face me, blocking their envious eyes with his broad shoulders and hands me a drink. “Drink up, buttercup,” he says, and we clink our glasses together.
As I take a long pull from my glass, I realize I’ve forgotten how I’m such a cheap drunk. And it’s embarrassing to admit it, but I already feel a little blurry around the edges, a little unwound. It’s also freeing, and I kind of like it.
“You look really good tonight,” Ryan smiles a little.
I nearly choke on my drink. I raise a skeptical brow even though he sounds sincere. Usually he’s teasing me about my Converse sneakers and my standard hairstyle - a sleek and low ponytail – because my day-to-day style is pretty casual. I rarely wear makeup, and I’d rather spend money on lash extensions than mascara. Yoga pants and comfy tops are my go-to, and I’m fully aware of how I’m dressed tonight – it’s very different compared to how he normally sees me. I dress up only when I’m required, like for weddings, parties, and twenty-first birthday celebrations. Other than that, comfort comes first.
“Uh, thanks.” I finally reply.
“Who knew you could clean up so well?” He smirks. “I’ve always wondered if actual tits existed under the bulky sweaters you like to wear. I’m guessing those puppies are a solid B cup.”
“Puppies?” I playfully smack him in the arm. “Jesus. What are you, twelve? Who talks like that?”
“Am I right?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
He’s not right. I’m an A cup, although the bra I’m wearing tonight has enough padding to double my boob size. I’ll never give him the satisfaction of knowing my true cup size.
“I’ll never tell,” I coyly smile.
Ryan gives me a scolding look and starts to open his mouth to say something smart, but his gaze turns to someone approaching me from behind. Two warm hands cover my eyes, and I hear a familiar voice.
“Guess who!”
I immediately recognize Alodie Banks’ squeaky, high-pitched voice. We teach ballet together on Saturd
ays at the Ballet Academy. She moved to San Francisco a few months ago from a little town in North Carolina. She was hired as my assistant for an early-morning children’s ballet class; for some reason, she took an immediate liking to me. She’s a little outrageous, but she’s also easy to work with, she’s great with our students, and she loves dancing just as much as I do. I completely forgot I extended an invite for her to come to my birthday.
I spin around to see a pint-sized Alodie wearing a white body-con dress. Her shiny black hair is smoothed down her back, and her pouty lips are colored with a bright pink lipstick.
“Happy Birthday, Ella!” She throws her head back and giggles, obviously pleased with herself for surprising me.
“Wow. Alodie, hi.” I lean in and give her a quick hug. “You made it. Thanks for coming.”
“I convinced some girls from class to come out and celebrate,” she giggles again. “Look at you, Ella! A pair of heels does wonders for your butt.”
“Um, thanks.” I reply and follow her curious gaze, which leads straight to Ryan. Of course, she is enamored by his good looks. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but there is an unfamiliar flop inside my chest that tells me I’m not liking the way she looks at him.
“Well, well, well. Who is this?” She coos and presses her palm to her chest. “Ella, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Ryan straightens up and pulls the corner of his lip between his teeth. I can tell by the way he’s scanning her body from head to toe that he also finds her attractive. But of course he would. She’s gorgeous with perky boobs, and very flirty.
“Alodie, this is Ryan.” I say, completely steady even though I’m a little annoyed. “Ryan, meet Alodie.”
“Nice to meet you,” he drawls.
“Um, this is Ryan? Like your best friend?”
“Guilty as charged,” he winks.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was hot as fuck?”
“Who, him?” I nervously chuckle. “Yeah, he’s alright.”
“Ella tells me you study at the University of San Francisco, too,” she says, batting her eyelashes at him.
