’90s Playlist
Brighton Walsh
Lorelie Brown
Amy Jo Cousins
Audra North
Rebecca Grace Allen
Jennifer Blackwood
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
My Strongest Weakness, Copyright © 2015 by Brighton Walsh
Creep, Copyright © 2015 by Lorelie Brown
The Belle vs. the BDOC, Copyright © 2015 by Amy Jo Albinak
Worthwhile, Copyright © 2015 by Audra North
Smells Like Teen Spirit, Copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Grace Allen
Little Red Thong, Copyright © 2015 by Jennifer Blackwood
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Pink Kayak Press www.pinkkayakpress.com
Cover design by Book Beautiful www.bookbeautiful.com
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition October 2015
Contents
My Strongest Weakness by Brighton Walsh
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Worthwhile by Audra North
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Creep by Lorelie Brown
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Smells Like Teen Spirit by Rebecca Grace Allen
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
The Belle vs. the BDOC by Amy Jo Cousins
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Little Red Thong by Jennifer Blackwood
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
My Strongest Weakness
Brighton Walsh
She's the last thing he needs, but she's the only thing he wants...as long as it's behind closed doors.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. No one would find out; no one would have to know. And then once turned into twice, and twice turned into several times a week, and now pierced, punk-loving, rebellious Tia Lanning is banging Mason Brooks, the big man on campus and Mr. All American.
But banging him isn't the problem. Falling for him is. Especially when he's content to let her remain his dirty little secret.
If by Janet Jackson (1993)
Chapter 1
Tia
I can’t believe I’m here. I don’t try hard to keep the sneer off my face as I weave my way through the throngs of frat boys and sorority girls grinding in the living room, fucking Sugar Ray pumping through the speakers in the corner. I just know I’m going to be forced to hear such gems as Hootie and the Blowfish and Backstreet Boys the whole time I’m here. I’ll be lucky if my ears don’t bleed by the time the night’s over.
This is so not my scene. It’s not that I hate parties…just these parties. Snooty sorority girls with their Heathers cliques, whispering and pointing at anyone who looks different from them. Jocks who are obnoxious and irritating, doing keg stands or groping chicks in the corners or on the couches. I’d rather be just about anywhere. But when Stacy, my roommate from Freshman year, cornered me in the quad after my foreign film class and begged me to come along, saying all her other friends bailed on her and the guy she was trying to catch the eye of was going to be here, I figured why the hell not?
Plus, I thought it would be a good opportunity to fuck with him.
Him being Mason Brooks. Starting quarterback, a legacy and vice president of Zeta Alpha Tau, and Mister All-American. He’s perfection personified. Perfect hair, perfect body…straight white teeth anchoring the perfect smile. Perfect clothes. Perfect life. His parents, both lawyers, are still married. They attend every football game, or so I’ve heard, and live about an hour upstate in a suburb I can’t even afford to drive through, let alone live in. Perfect.
We’re like water and oil, never mixing well. As different as night and day. I hate him on principle alone.
A game of Quarters is going on in the corner, and he’s there, standing almost a head taller than everyone else he’s with. He looks stupid in his backward baseball cap, No Fear shirt, and jeans, just a lemming talking to his lemmings. Everything about him should turn me off, from his neatly cropped hair, to his cocky stance, to his booming voice, to all those muscles hidden beneath his clothes.
Sadly, it doesn’t, which is what got me into this situation in the first place.
He’s talking with some guys I’ve seen him with around campus. Two girls hang off each of his arms—one of whom I overheard in the dining hall say she was going to hook up with him tonight. Since overhearing that, there’s been a fissure of…something…that started low in my belly and worked its way up, and now it’s nearly overwhelming. Must be anticipation. Excitement at the shit that’s about to hit the fan. Mason hasn’t noticed me yet, and I’m kind of looking forward to when he does. The Fourth of July will have nothing on the fireworks between us when he sees I’ve broken our code and shown up on his home turf.
There aren’t a lot of rules between us. In fact, there are only three: No interacting in public, no unscheduled hookups, and no home turf invasions.
I’m planning to break all three tonight, just for the hell of it.
“Tia!” Stacy grabs my arm and spins me around, pointing toward the far end of the house. “I see Brad over there, so I’m gonna try and catch his eye. You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, waving her off. “I’ll find you when I want to leave.”
“Okay, an hour, tops!”
Without another word, she takes off in that direction, her long hair flying behind her, and I’m left without a buffer. There’s no denying Stacy fits in here with the rest of the crowd in the house. She’s everything I’m not. Styled blonde hair and trendy clothes, bubble gum personality to my black licorice. When we were assigned the same dorm Freshman year, I thought it’d be a disaster. Turned out we clicked despite our differences and managed to keep in touch even when we moved on to other living arrangements.
Head held high, I ignore the thinly veiled looks of judgment tossed in my direction as I make my way through the crowd. God forbid I not be here in a schoolgirl skirt and a baby tee clinging to my tits, all my goodies on display for everyone to see. The chains of my necklace jangle as I walk through the party, not really sure where I’m going. But moving is better than stand
ing still, waiting for the vultures to strike.
Even though I’m on my third year here, I’ve managed to make it my entire college career thus far having yet to actually step foot into a frat house. Until tonight. It’s bigger than I thought it would be. Cleaner, too, even with all the people around. I was picturing a slum, basically. Bug infested, maybe, with garbage lying all over the place, beer-stained carpets and cigarette burns on the couches. How could it not be, with a horde of guys living under the same roof and multiple parties here every week? They must have someone in to clean, because there’s no way any males from the ages of eighteen to twenty-two could keep this shit up.
There’s a wall to my right showcasing dozens and dozens of photographs. I don’t know a lot about fraternities, but I know enough to realize they’re pictures of members of Zeta Alpha Tau, going back several years. Mason is in those photos, somewhere, though I don’t allow myself to stop and look.
I’m on a mission, and reminding Mason our agreement is tenuous is priority number one.
* * * * *
Mason
What the fuck is she doing here?
I noticed her about thirty seconds after she walked in the door. I always notice her, even when I don’t want to. I don’t know what it is about her, but she’s like a magnet for me. I usually try to ignore it, ignore her…force my eyes away. Hard to do when she walks right in front of me, smirking in my direction without ever actually looking at me.
It’s loud in here—too loud. Sugar Ray is blasting over the speakers, and there’s a game of Quarters going on about five feet from me. Those should be the reasons I can’t pay attention to what Kevin or Dan have been saying—something about last night’s football game—but it’s not. Nope, that’s solely because I’m too engrossed in watching Tia but pretending I’m not.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice her head toward the stairwell then disappear up the steps. When she’s been gone long enough not to raise suspicion, I extract my arms from the girls clinging to them, leave the people I was talking to, and follow after her, a little confused and a lot pissed. I can’t believe she’d break one of our rules—rules she helped make—so carelessly.
When I get to the hallway upstairs, it’s empty except for us. She’s roaming around, poking her head in doors, making herself right at home. And she looks…hot. Like nothing I’ve ever been attracted to before, but I can’t deny how tight my jeans get when I take in her ripped tights, short shorts, minuscule tank top, and mid-calf Docs. Everything on her is black, like usual, even her hair. Everything except the bra that’s clearly visible under her tank top. Dark purple. The one with the lacy cups that lets me see her nipples straight through it.
Keeping my voice low, I say, “What are you doing here?”
She glances at me over her shoulder, her eyes connecting immediately with mine, telling me she knew I’d follow her up here. She was counting on it. “Well, hey, Mr. Vice President.” She cocks her head to the side, her lips pursed, the silver of her lip ring flashing in the overhead light. “Is that how you like to be addressed here, with all your peasants?”
Clenching my jaw as well as my fists, I ignore her question and ask again, “Why are you here, Tia?”
She turns around fully now, sticking out her bottom lip in a fake pout, then saunters over to me, her tiny hips swaying in those even tinier shorts. “Someone’s not happy to see me.”
Reaching up, she runs her finger down the middle of my chest, and now I definitely have a problem in my pants. Before she can get to the waistband of my jeans and find out for herself, I grab her hand and stop her, fingers tight around her wrist. Leaning down, I say, “This isn’t part of the deal, and you know it. Especially this close to elections.”
She rolls her eyes and snatches her hand out of my grasp only to push me against the wall between two doors. “Chill out. I haven’t forgotten the deal. We both agreed to it, remember? Your precious presidency isn’t going to be compromised, so don’t be so tense. It’s not like I’m going to suck you off right here in the hallway of your frat house.” She tilts her head to the side, then glances down at the front of my jeans, smiling at what she finds constrained behind the denim. “Though that might be fun…”
“Stop fucking around,” I bite out.
“But fucking around is all we do, Mason.”
Before I can do anything, before I can walk away or stop her, she’s on her knees in front of me, her fingers undoing my button and tugging down my zipper, and then her lips are around my already hard cock, and her mouth… God, her mouth is like fucking heaven. The stud of her tongue ring slides against the underside of my dick, the sensation making my eyes roll back in my head.
“Jesus,” I whisper, reaching out and slipping my fingers into her hair. I should push her away from me, tug her to her feet, and then get the hell out of here before someone sees us together. Though we keep the parties segregated to downstairs, people always roam, and it would take nothing for someone to come up here. Even now, I hear voices drifting up the stairwell. If someone saw the two of us together, especially here, it could compromise everything I’ve worked for within the fraternity. Not to mention what my parents would think about us. But knowing we could get caught doesn’t make me want to stop her; it only makes this encounter hotter.
Because of that, I don’t push her away. The warm wetness of her expert mouth, the roll of the ball on her tongue ring, the way she cups my balls with one hand and grips my cock with the other has zapped all intelligence from my brain. Pulling her closer to me, I thrust my hips faster into her mouth, not able to help myself. I look down at her, seeing her dark red lips wrapped around my dick, her eyes, a brilliant, clear green, staring up at me before she blinks them closed. Long hair dyed black, more piercings on her face than most girls have on their entire body…and the piercings on her body? Fuck… I shudder just thinking about them, my cock jerking in her mouth as I remember the feel of her nipple rings on my tongue.
Tia Lanning is the opposite of everything in my world—one where pageant queens, sorority girls, and cheerleaders reign; my mother happened to be all three. Tia doesn’t come from a well-off family, as far as I know. Isn’t involved in any extracurriculars, unless you count chain smoking as an EC. She’s not in a sorority. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the first time she ever walked into a frat house. She’s not a cheerleader. Probably hasn’t ever even been to a football game. And pageants? I almost laugh at the thought. She’s about as far removed as any girlfriend I’ve ever brought home to my parents. The kind of girl I don’t associate with.
And yet she has the sweetest mouth I’ve ever had the pleasure of coming in.
She’s getting me there now, working my dick the way I like it. I’m tense and ready to blow, my breaths coming in pants as I stare down at her, watching her head bob as she engulfs my length over and over again. When I’m on the verge, ready to fall over the edge, she takes one long lick along my length before she pulls away, and nothing but cool air hits my cock. Groaning, my chest heaving and balls drawn up tight to my body, I snap, “What the hell?”
She stands up, patting me on the stomach as she reaches her other hand up and around my neck. Tugging me down to her level, she pushes up on tiptoes and whispers in my ear, “Why don’t you have one of your little cheerleaders I saw hanging all over you finish you off? You know, since it’s not our night, and I wouldn’t want to break any more rules—especially when your Presidency is at stake. I heard Taylor is looking forward to it.” And then she pulls away and tosses me a wink as she wipes the corner of her mouth before disappearing down the staircase. Leaving me to deal with this situation she created all on my own.
And leaving me thinking about her, just like every other fucking night.
Chapter 2
Tia
Fielding calls from my divorced parents is exhausting, especially when they’re only calling to bitch about one of three things: money (or the lack thereof), each other, or me—how I look, how I d
ress, if I have any new holes in my face. Which is why, most of the time, I let the answering machine pick up any and all calls that come in, mine and my roommate’s stupid joint message filtering through the cramped space of our dorm room before the beep sounds and the caller’s voice booms.
“Tia, why don’t you ever answer the goddamn—”
Mom this time. And she wonders why I never pick up. I slip my headphones over my ears, cranking up the volume on my Walkman. The mix tape is one I got from a guy at work, and it’s actually pretty good, everything from Tori Amos to Pavement to Bikini Kill making it easy to get lost in it as I focus on the paper I need to write for my Intro to Italian Cinema class.
Piper, my roommate, has classes all afternoon, which is a good thing considering this paper’s due tomorrow and I’m just now starting it. I’ve never quite gotten over the need for solitude when scribbling my thoughts down in my notebook. I’ll have to head to the computer lab sometime tomorrow morning to type it all up before class.
Twenty minutes later, I have a passable paper—enough for a C at least—just in time to head to Spin, the music store I work at. I rip the sheet from my notebook, stuffing it in my folder before I grab my flannel and backpack full of schoolwork and head out the door. Some days I wonder how it’s possible I’ve managed to make it into my third year of college without getting hooked on uppers just to be able to do all the shit I need to. Between work and school and attempting to have a social life, I’m lucky if I slip in a few hours of sleep a night.
But this film degree isn’t gonna pay for itself, and God knows good ol’ Mom and Dad aren’t pitching in shit for it.
When I get to Spin, it’s dead, only a couple people browsing. It’s just Sean and me working tonight, and he’s already behind the counter, looking like he just blazed up.
'90s Playlist (Romance Rewind Book 1) Page 1
