by Anne Jolin
Chasing Rhodes
Copyright © 2014 Anne Jolin
Cover Design: MG Book Covers
Cover Photo: Cro Alen
Editors: Anna Coy / Mickey Reed
Formatting: Stacey Blake of Champagne Formats
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
Quote
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About The Author
Choosing Henley
Broken by K. Webster
Broken - Chapter One
(Broken- Chapter One) A dark two weeks…
Commitment by Heather Dahlgren
Commitment - Chapter One
“SHIT.” SHIT. SHIT. Shit. “He’s having another stupid party,” I murmur under my breath as I pull into the driveway. I momentarily consider parking Clifford, my ’99 red Chevy truck, on the street so that he doesn’t end up with a bed full of beer cans, but it’s three thirty in the morning, and out of sheer laziness, I opt to leave him in the driveway. Sorry, buddy.
I try to keep my tight, little hostess dress from riding up while I hop down from the truck. I teeter in my nude pumps on the cobblestone but manage to catch myself on the doorframe before I can execute an embarrassing bum drop in the driveway. Crap. I really should have changed at the restaurant. Maybe I can sneak into Jackson’s room to change before anyone sees me. I look a little too hoochy in my work uniform for my liking. I say the term ‘work uniform’ loosely because it’s less clothing than I’d ever normally be caught dead in. It’s a tight, black, too-short, tube top dress that hugs all my curves and makes my legs look longer than they are when paired with my ‘must wear’ high heels. Instead of chancing another round of ‘kiss the cobblestone,’ I slip off my pumps, grab my overnight bag from the backseat, and make my way towards the front door, sidestepping cigarette butts on my way. Gross.
Every light in the two-story box house is on and the music booming. My boyfriend, Jackson, and his roommates, Jayden and Jamison, have been renting the top floor of this house for the last eight months. You’d think I was making this shit up, right? Three guys, all with first names starting with a J, all tattooed, and all sharing a house... It’s a little much but true nonetheless. We all get a kick out of teasing them and have dubbed them the J’s. They hate it, which makes it all the more fun for the rest of us. I’m as surprised as anyone that they haven’t been kicked out yet. Lucky for them, their landlord is a sweet old lady who likes to smoke more than her fair share of Mary Jane and doesn’t seem to mind the endless partying.
I pull the handle of the front door, and in typical J’s fashion, it’s unlocked. Martha, Jamison’s black pit bull, is waiting for me on the other side wagging her tail like I'm her favorite person in the world.
"Hi, pretty girl," I say and give her a scratch behind the ear.
Martha is named after Martha Stewart. Jamison’s first love is making acoustic guitars, but his second love is cooking. The day he rescued her, she ate an entire slow-cooked pork roast. We all tried to tell him it was just a dog thing to do, but he was adamant it was because she had exquisite taste in food and thus named her Martha.
I finish saying goodbye to Martha and head for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Jackson’s room is the closest to the top of the stairs, and if I’m fast, I can get in there before any of the drunken party goers saw me. I hit the top step, make a sharp left turn, and scurry into Jackson’s room, slamming the door behind me. Success!
I drop my bag on the floor and reach for the hem of my dress. I can’t wait to get out of this thing and into a pair of jeans. I’ve begun to inch my dress up when I hear his voice. I freeze as the smooth, deep baritone rolls over me and my knees involuntarily clench together. Who the hell is behind me?
I spin slowly and nearly hit a fever pitch when I see him. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, but even then I can tell he would tower over me. Beautiful tattoos start at both wrists and disappear underneath the sleeves of his black White Chapel T-shirt. It is impossible not to notice that his shirt does little to hide the muscular chest underneath it. I lick my lips. His dirty-blond hair is buzzed shorter than his five-o’clock shadow, and his eyes are the palest color of blue I’ve ever seen in my life. Holy fucking shit! He looks just like Charlie Hunnam! I blink just to make sure that I’m not hallucinating, but he is still here, smirking smugly at me from the bed.
“Hi,” he says for the second time, shooting me a panty-dropping grin.
Oh God. I could do without the grinning Mr. Hunnam. It feels like my skin is on fire. If he grins again, I’m going to spontaneously combust. What the hell is wrong with me?
“You’re not allowed to be in here,” I stutter, tripping over my own words. Smooth. Really smooth. Wait, who cares if I am being smooth? I have a boyfriend.
“Jackson said I could borrow his computer.”
I look around the room, and to the left of him I see Jackson’s laptop lying on the bed, closed. “Well, it would seem as though you’re finished with it. So, do you think maybe you could get out now so I can change?”
He doesn’t answer me right away. Instead, I feel his eyes move up my bare legs and stop at the hem of my dress. I instantly curse myself for not pulling it back down before I turned around. I feel completely exposed. His eyes continue their lazy stroll up my body. My long auburn hair is falling in waves down my back, and he seems to appreciate the way my full chest is rapidly rising and falling. When his blue stare meets my green one, I feel like my entire body is buzzing with an electrical charge. This is what it must feel like to be on drugs, I thought.
He lets another slow, cocky grin spread across his face as he stands, engulfing the small room. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He winks at me before closing the door behind him.
I stand against the wall, rooted in place as my chest continues to heave. Mary, mother of God, what in the name of all things holy just happened? My brain is working overtime trying to process the last few minutes when a loud laugh from the hallway startles me out of my daze and I quickly set about getting changed. Jackson will be wondering where I am by now, and I need to get my butt out there. I slide into a pair of old jeans and pull a white flowing tank top over my head. This will have to do, I think to myself and make my way out of the bedroom to find my boyfriend.
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br /> I round the corner to the kitchen and smile when I see Jackson. He is beautiful. Tall and lean with dark-brown hair just long enough to run your fingers through. He’s busy talking about the new Call of Duty with a group of guys I don’t recognize. He tosses me a goofy drunk grin as I get closer and pulls me to stand in front of him, wrapping his tattooed arms around my shoulders.
He leans down to kiss me on the cheek and whispers, “Missed you, baby,” before turning his attention back to the conversation.
As I pretend to listen to the boys talk about the most efficient ways to decapitate a zombie, I let my gaze drag across the living room. Before I even saw him, I could feel him. When his eyes meet mine, I shiver. I knew in my soul that this boy was as dangerous as a high-rise-building fire.
Mama said that you shouldn’t play with fire or you’ll get burnt, and I, Hannah Rhodes, have no intention of running into that fire. Ever.
Six Months Later
OH GOD. THIS is it. I’m dead. My tombstone is actually going to read ‘Te-kill-ya, it killed her.’ I never should have let the girls convince me that breakup drinking was a good idea. When is drinking ever a good idea? Ugh. I’m never drinking again. Lying on my side, I’m attempting to work up the courage to open my eyes and suffer the light of day. Okay, I can do this. I can open my eyes. I’m thirsty and I need to pee. This has to happen. Wake up, Hannah! Little mental pep talk over with, I decide to take the plunge. I start with squinting open my left eye and then slowly my right. I’m momentarily blinded by the sunlight streaming in from the window above the bed. Wait. What? I don’t have a window above my bed. My eyes fly open, much to the dismay of my pounding head and I start to take in my surroundings.
The first thing I notice is a large framed poster of Parkway Drive, the Australian metal-core band, hanging on the wall. Next to it, a tall, black dresser with an array of colognes strewn across the top and in the corner is what seems to be an old acoustic guitar. I don’t know this room. Fuck, I think I’ve officially screwed up something fierce. I groan out loud, and my mental ass-whooping comes to an abrupt halt when the arm underneath my head moves. Oh my God. An arm! A muscular, tattooed arm is under my head. I take a deep breath and begin a quick inventory of my clothing—or, in this case, my lack thereof. I’m naked. Great! Good job, Hannah. You’ve been single for barely a month and you’ve already landed your first one-night stand.
Operation Get Out of Dodge starts now! I slowly roll onto my stomach, and by slow, I mean a turtle could do this faster, shell and all, but I do not by any means want to wake up the owner of that arm anytime soon. Once I’m on my stomach, I steal a quick glance at him. He’s lying on his back, head facing away from me and the sheets are lying dangerously low on his hips. Well, looks like he’s naked too! I’m giving myself another mental chastising for my naughty shenanigans when he shifts in his sleep and the sheet inches lower. My mouth goes dry. I’ve lost all train of thought and I can’t help but stare. His body is stunning. A beautiful red-haired siren sitting on a rock in the water is artfully covering the left side of his torso and across the entire width of his chest, a menacing lion stakes its claim. I move my way down his body, his chest rising and falling slowly, and take in his chiseled abdomen. He looks powerful, even in his sleep, much like I imagine the predator tattooed on his chest would look like in real life. I take one last look at the sexy V leading beneath the sheets and sigh. He has the V... I smile at myself and dish out a mental high five. The owner of the arm is incredibly good-looking.
All right, ogling time is over. Plus, ogling someone while they sleep seems kind of creepy, even if you have already slept with them (but don’t remember). I ease off the bed and decide that locating my phone seems like step number one because I have no idea where I am and I’m sure I didn’t drive here. I find my iPhone lying on the floor, half underneath the bed. Ignoring the missed messages lighting up the screen, I type out a quick text to my older sister, Beth.
Me: I need a ride. Can you pick me up? I’ll call you in ten minutes and let you know where to meet me.
Second step, clothing. Of course I couldn’t have worn a sundress or something so that I only had to locate one item. I have to be a lover of layers, although most Canadians are given that the weather changes every five minutes. After searching high and low, I’ve found my jeans, boots, left sock, bra, sweater and jacket. Still at large is my right sock and my shirt—whatever, I could do without those. Another two minutes and I’m dressed. I don’t think I’ve ever dressed myself that fast in my life. I’m more of a ‘rip everything out of the closet until my room looks like a bomb went off’ kind of girl. Step three, find Michael. There’s no way Michael is going to be collateral of my one-night stand with the owner of the arm, whether he’s delicious or not. I know what you’re thinking... No, Michael’s not a person; he’s my handbag. I’m actually not a very preppy girl, for lack of a better word, but since my cousin, Wyatt, came out of the closet a few years back, I’ve taken a major liking to designer handbags. The one currently evading me was my green Michael Kors hobo, and come hell or high water, I am not leaving this place without it.
I am checking behind a large, leather chair in the opposite corner when I hear shuffling across the room. Oh God, please don’t let the owner of the arm be awake, I think as I turn back towards the bed. My one-night stand shifted in his sleep, again, and is now lying on his side facing me. FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuckidty, fuck! Screw Michael. I’m out of here. Right fucking now! I turn swiftly on the heel of my boot, ready to make a run for it, when I trip, sending my iPhone flying across the carpeted room. I send a panicked glance towards the bed. Still asleep. Whew! Man, someone’s looking out for me today, I think as I crawl towards my phone. Well, I thought wrong... I am no more than three feet from my phone when it starts to ring, loudly. Curse me and my stupid need to have everything at maximum volume all the time! I lunge for it, but in my haste, I only manage to send it flying farther away from me as my sister’s ringtone, “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye begins blaring from the tiny speakers. I’m going to kill Beth when I see her! Kill her right on the spot for choosing that terrible ringtone. I reach the phone and silence it. Still on my hands and knees, I look towards the bed, hoping the owner of the arm is a heavy sleeper. It was a false hope.
Looking back at me is a pair of pale-blue eyes I’ve only seen once before. Shit. I just had a one-night stand with the Charlie Hunnam lookalike.
YOU KNOW THOSE nightmares you have where you’re being chased by some Freddy Krueger looking motherfucker and he finally catches up with you, you go to scream for help but nothing comes out, and you’re frozen in place, awaiting impending doom? That's exactly the way I felt looking at him, less the Freddy Kruger part. My Hunnam lookalike is definitely easier on the eyes than ‘ol Freddy. He’s looking at me, giving me a sleepy half grin, clearly amused at my predicament. Not only have I just slept with him but don’t recollect any of it, but to top off the trifecta, I’m also on all fours having just been caught attempting to execute the sex equivalent of a dine-and-dash.
“Mornin’, sweetheart.” He moves to sit up, making no attempt to cover himself as the sheets fall away.
My throat goes dry again looking at him. He’s hard as a rock, and I lick my lips again without thinking about it. I’m not even sure I can remember what words are. Before I can attempt to say anything, my phone starts ringing again. Fucking Marvin Gaye. He chuckles, and I shoot him what I hope is a death glare. I don’t have the bitch face quite as down pat as my best friend Lennon, but I think it still packs a pretty good punch.
“I have to go,” I croak out and make a beeline for the bedroom door. I guess my fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in, and I’ll be damned, for the first time in my life, I am thrilled that my body chooses flight because there isn't a snowball’s chance in Hell I am staying in this room any longer.
I’m a glutton for punishment, I guess. It’s the only reason I can explain why I thought it would be even a remotely good idea to steal
another look at him over my shoulder. He’s still watching me, looking hot as hell, sitting naked on the bed. I’m stalled in the open doorway. The option to get naked again and spend the rest of the day in bed with him flutters through my mind, but I shake off the thought just as quickly as it came.
“Thanks, I guess,” I say and instantly regret it. Thanks? Hannah, seriously? The last thing I hear as I’m making my way out of the townhouse is his sexy laugh.
Once I’m outside, I walk a couple of blocks over so I’m not standing right in front of his house and try to figure out where I am. It doesn’t take me long to realize that I’m over by the high school. I send another text to Beth letting her know to meet me there and start walking. Rock Falls is a pretty small town. I say pretty because it’s small enough to always know where you are, but still big enough that you don’t know every single person who grew up here; most, but not all. I’ve lived in Rock Falls my entire life and I love it. It is a picturesque town on the coast of British Columbia. It’s covered in tall, green forests and stunning lakes. People come from all over to ski and snowboard our mountains in the winter and bike them in the summer. My parents, Oliver and Anna, met here. When they got married, they decided that it would be the perfect place to raise their family, and it is.
I’m mulling over my thoughts when I see Beth’s blue Mazda, complete with four-leaf clover stickers and tire chains, pull into the parking lot. I quickly rip open the car door and climb inside, rubbing my hands together and blowing on them. It’s bloody cold in Rock Falls in January. I’m warming up nicely, when I can feel Beth staring at me.
“What?” I snap. I’m tired and embarrassed and I just want to climb into my own bed.
“Don’t you dare snap at me, Hannah Lynn Rhodes. I just dragged my ass out of a warm bed to come pick you up! And what kind of text is that anyway? ’I’ll let you know where to meet me...’” She does what I imagine is supposed to be a mimic of my voice and continues on. “That’s a grade-A bullshit text and you know it. You scared the crap out of me!” She’s arching her perfectly plucked, perfectly pissed-off blond eyebrow at me.
