Once Upon A Time

by S. K. Hartley

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Letter to the reader

  Acknowledgements

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Once Upon A Time

  Copyright © 2014 S.K. Hartley

  HARTLEY INK LIMITED

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including but not limited to; photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

  All rights reserved.

  This file is not to be shared, copied or sold on any platform, or by any means.

  This file has been specifically formatted and DRM embedded in three separate ways for the recipient. If this file is found to have been shared, uploaded to the internet or the copyright of the author, S.K. Hartley, to have been infringed in any way, the strongest of measure of the law will be pursued.

  If you have downloaded this file or have been sent it via any other means, please contact s.k.hartley@hotmail.co.uk immediately.

  Editing: Modern Elektra Editing

  Interior formatting by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs

  https://www.facebook.com/PinkInkDesignsbyCassy

  FOR THE BROTHERS GRIMM,

  FOR ALLOWING YOUNG GIRLS TO BELIEVE THEY NEED TO BE RESCUED.

  CINDERELLA CAN KISS MY ASS.

  FAIRY TALES ARE FOR MORONS.

  ONCE UPON A TIME…

  I believed, like the I child I once was, fairy tales were more than just stories that our parents read to us every night before bed. I believed that I would one day grow into a princess and Prince Charming would rescue me on his white horse and whisk me away into the distance.

  … And they lived happily ever after.

  What a crock of shit.

  I inwardly groaned as my sleepy, hungover eyes took in the room; it was fuzzy and doing nothing to alleviate the immediate throb burning my temples. How much did I drink last night? I mean, shit. I felt like I’d been high-fived in the face with a two-by-four. Trying to adjust to the spinning room, my brain kicked in and yelled, “Hey, one of your arms is missing. Find it!”

  Confused, I moved my left arm, finding it slapping against my forehead as a throb so freaking hard barreled through my skull. Fuck, that hurt! Pausing, I waited for the splinter of pain to subside and within seconds I felt… well, I felt freaking hungover but thankfully no longer like a truck rolled over my skull. Finally, I got my bearings and quickly realized my right arm was, in fact, missing. Turning to the direction of the guilty limb, I found it. I mean, it was still attached to my body, thankfully. Then, I noticed where it was positioned. It was underneath another body, a very masculine body. One that was freaking snoring beside me.

  Star-fished.

  Mouth open.

  Foghorn-like noise sounding from the mouth.

  Oh. Dear. God.

  Sleeping next to me with his face buried in my beautiful duck down pillow was… er, we’ll call him Mr. Not-So-Charming. Don’t judge. I was inebriated. I mean, I had to have been to agree to bring him back to my apartment the night before. My eyes scanned the length of him, trying to reason with the section of my brain needed for rational thought, wondering where the hell it disappeared to when I needed it most.

  Mr. Not-So-Charming had blond hair, cropped at the sides and back but a little longer on the top. His skin had a slight tan, and as my gaze descended I noticed his very bare ass half peeking out from under the thin sheet. It’s not bad. Wait. What the hell is…

  Oh no.

  I threw my free arm over my eyes as I tried to rid the images that were forever imprinted in my memory. There’s not enough bleach in Wal-Mart to get rid of those. The images plagued my mind while I tried to establish exactly what the hell happened last night; surely I didn’t sleep with… it. Glancing down at the sheet that covered my body, I decided to take a peek underneath. Cautiously, I moved the sheet aside and got a good look at exactly what happened.

  I sighed in relief.

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened.

  The top half of my body was clearly bare, but the bottom? Yeah, completely covered. Mr. Not-So-Charming clearly lived up to his name. Literally. He couldn’t even charm the pants off me. My ripped blue jeans were still covering my legs, not to mention my left foot still had a freaking shoe attached to it.

  Classy, Payton. Really freaking classy.

  Shaking my head – which hurt like hell – I desperately tried to plan my next move while mentally writing a letter of complaint to my brain.

  Dear Brain,

  So, where did your friend Rational Thought go last night ? Hmm ?

  Please kindly let him know that after his little disappearing act, I picked up some random guy at a bar, who is not only drooling all over my freaking upholstery, but has a god damn tattoo on his ass that says “your name. »

  Also, if it isn’t too much trouble, could you please inform him that if the tattoo was the damn pick up line, our relationship is over.

  Love,

  A VERY hungover Payton.

  I groaned again, audibly this time, but quickly clamped my lips shut in the hopes Mr. Not-So-Charming stayed put for now. I needed a plan of action. Scanning the room, I tried to find something, anything to help me out of my alcohol-induced predicament.

  TV? Well, I certainly couldn’t throw that at him… I couldn’t even lift the damn thing.

  Lamp? No. No, not happening. That was a housewarming gift from my friend Quinn.

  Dresser mirror? No, I needed that.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Turning my head to my bedside cabinet, I noticed my cell.

  Score !

  Like the stealth ninja I am, I grabbed my cell and gently pulled my arm out from under the sleeping man before slowly making my way off the bed, padding across the carpeted floor to the en-suite bathroom just a couple of feet away. When I was sure I was safe and clear, I quietly clicked the door shut and sighed heavily; mentally, I totally fist pumped my awesome skills as an expert ninja. With a press of a button and a slide of a finger, I pulled up my contacts and search for Quinn’s cell number. He’d know what to do.

  Pressing call, I placed my cell between my ear and shoulder as I sit down on the toilet to pee.

  “If you’re calling to tell me that your neighbor’s damn cat has caught a mouse again, I’m hanging up.”

  I rolled my eyes, ignoring his comment about the mouse incident with my ne
ighbor’s cat, Fluffy.

  “We’re at DEFCON 1,” I whispered.

  I heard Quinn gasp dramatically, followed by an over enthusiastic squeal and what sounded like him jumping up and down.

  “Oh. My. God. I’ll be ten minutes!” he shrieked into the phone.

  “Wai—”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear. He freaking cut me off!

  I groaned as I finished on the toilet, pulling my hand back as I tried and flush it. I couldn’t. It’d wake Sleeping Beauty, and I wasn’t ready for that just yet. Turning to the mirror, I quickly wiped under my eyes, noticing the black mascara transfer onto my fingers. Oh classy. Not only had I picked up a random stranger at a bar with the worst tattoo ever, I also had panda eyes. My hair looked like a bird’s nest too.

  I was a walking zoo.

  After removing as much of last night’s makeup as I could, I opened the bathroom door and slowly tip-toed back to the bed. Sliding in quietly next to the heap of man who hadn’t yet moved, I wondered when the hell Quinn would get here.

  Then, I gagged.

  He, my snoring stranger, farted.

  Oh, kill me now.

  Holding my breath, I placed my cell back on my bedside cabinet and waited, hoping Quinn realized the magnitude of DEFCON 1. Minutes rolled by as I stared up at my whitewashed ceiling, trying my hardest to stay silent as to not wake my unassuming bed partner.

  Why did I get myself into these predicaments? I mean, seriously, I’m twenty-five and I’m still yet to settle down and get married, pop out two-point-five kids and live in a house with a white picket fence. Ahh, the American dream. You know the one, where the husband is bending over his secretary and the kids are pushing the mother to drink while the paint on the fence flakes off with every martini the mother ingests? Yeah, it sounded more like a nightmare than THE DREAM to me.

  A couple long minutes ticked by before I heard the click of the lock from my apartment door. Thank freaking Christ.

  Show time.

  Closing my eyes, I bit back the sadistic smile playing at my lips and waited for the commotion to start. My ears pricked as I heard heavy footsteps against the hardwood flooring of my living room, softly evening out as the steps faded into my carpeted bedroom.

  Then I waited.

  And it came, right on cue.

  “What the fuck is this?” Quinn’s voice boomed from beside me.

  I wanted to laugh, I wanted to laugh so hard even in my compromised state, but I couldn’t. I needed to stay focused and in character. I dramatically jolted awake, flailing my arms and legs around so hard I hit Mr. Not-So-Charming once in the jaw and twice in groin for good measure.

  It was acting, I swear.

  “Quinn! What, what are you doing home?” I stuttered, pulling the sheets over my exposed chest while a no longer sleeping male jumped from the bed beside me. “This isn’t what it looks like!”

  I bit my lip as I noticed just how seriously Quinn had taken my DEFCON 1 comment as a baseball bat dangled loosely by his side in his right hand. My gaze then latched onto my bed partner, who was now frantically glancing around the room for some form of clothing while trying to hide his junk under both hands.

  I doubted he needed both hands, but hey, who am I to judge?

  “This isn’t what it looks like, man. I swear,” Mr. Not-So-Charming implored, finding a pair of jeans and throwing his legs inside, not noticing he had them on backwards. “I don’t even remember.”

  Well, if that wasn’t a blow to my ego I didn’t know what was.

  “You fuck my wife and you tell me you can’t even remember doing it?!” Quinn yelled, raising the bat and pointing it at a slightly shaking Mr. NSC. “You have three seconds before I shove this bat where no bat should ever venture.”

  “I swea—“

  Mr. NSO was swiftly cut off the moment Quinn started counting.

  “One.” He winked, scratching the bat against the stubble on his chin.

  “Fuck! I’m going.” He ran, yelling behind him as he made his way out of my apartment, not before stumbling a couple of times and running into God knows what in my living room.

  The moment the door clicked into place behind him, Quinn let out a deep belly laugh, dropping onto my bed in hysterics. The bubble of laughter I’d been trying to keep back poured from my mouth and together with my gay best friend, we laughed until we cried.

  Once the tears subsided a couple of minutes later, I noticed Quinn’s serious gaze latching onto mine. The baseball bat, long since forgotten, sat at the end of my bed and I eyed Quinn wearily.

  “Spit it out.” I groaned, pulling the sheet higher against my chest.

  “You’ve known me for ten years, when have I ever spit it out?” Quinn winked, a smirk playing at his lips.

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head at the sexual innuendo master that was my gay best friend, finally noticing what he was wearing. Did he get dressed in the freaking dark?

  He was wearing a white wife beater, showcasing his not-so-bulging muscles beneath the thin fabric. Then, there were the jeans, tight blue jeans that did nothing to hide the strength of his thighs, and as my gaze moved lower I noticed the chunky brown work boots on his feet. My, he went all out.

  Quinn had been my best friend since college, ever since he randomly burst into song in the middle of the corridor. I was minding my own business, trying to find my English class when he grabbed me by the hand, my books falling all over the floor, before twirling me around three times and dipping me dramatically. We’ve been best friends ever since.

  “I’m bypassing your need to talk about semen in every conversation we have and instead I’m going to ask you what the hell processed you to put...” I waved my hand in his general direction, “this together?”

  Quinn’s back straightened as he sat up, looking down at his horrible wardrobe malfunction before smirking at me. “You said DEFCON 1. We haven’t had one of those since high school. I thought this would be a little more convincing than me prancing in here with a freaking pink shirt and heels.”

  I cringed; he had a point.

  “One, you don’t own heels.” I stared pointedly, counting my fingers as I went. “And two, high school was a different story. Everyone was scared you’d take them prisoner behind the bleachers and suck their brains out through their genitals.”

  “Yeah, because I’m a raging gay pervert, apparently.” He rolled his eyes before his gaze turned a little more serious. “I hope you were careful last night, Payton. I don’t particularly want to start my day at the clap clinic.”

  The hell?

  “Did you really just say ‘the clap clinic’?” I balked, smacking him in his chest. “We didn’t have sex. My jeans are still on my freaking legs.”

  I sighed hard, falling back into the comfort of my pillow. Maybe I could start the day over in a couple hours.

  Quinn sighed along with me, moving to the other side of the bed where, only moments ago, my bed partner slept. He grabbed the pillow, cringing as he noticed the wet patch of drool. “That’s so fucking gross,” he complained, flipping the pillow over and lying down beside me.

  “So, what do we call this guy then?” Quinn asked after a beat.

  I closed my eyes and rolled onto my side, facing my best friend. “Mr. Not-So-Charming.”

  Quinn chuckled softly and a small smile played at my lips.

  “You’re certainly kissing a lot of frogs, babe,” he whispered, moving a loose strand of hair from my face.

  “Do you have to use fairy tale analogies?” I sighed again, opening my eyes and searching my friend’s face for a hint of amusement. It wasn’t there. In its place was sympathy… or pity. I couldn’t work out which. “How many times do I have to tell you, Quinn? There’s no such thing as Prince Charming or Mr. Right. There’s no fairy tale adventure, dramatic once upon a time love and there certainly isn’t a happily ever after.”

  “Fairy tales are real, Pay. You just have to believe.” He winked, leaning in and placing a kiss on
my forehead. He leaped from the bed and strutted his ridiculously toned ass to my closet, rifling through my clothes until he pulled out a pink tank top.

  I shook my head.

  He rolled his eyes, diving back into the heap of clothes he’d created.

  “Sure they are,” I said, standing from the bed, ensuring the sheet was secured around the top half of my body. “Please tell that to Mr. Not-So-Charming, Mr. Wrong, Mr. Very-Wrong and Mr. Let’s-Not-Freaking-Go-There.” I paused, stepping behind Quinn and plucking a grey shirt from the closet. “If fairy tales are real, then maybe I’m due my happily ever after because I’m pretty sick of kissing frogs — including this morning’s toad!”

  Turning, Quinn flashed me a smirk before throwing himself back onto my bed. Gesturing towards my foot with his eyes, I lifted my leg, dropping it onto his right knee.

  “It’s been a while since DEFCON 1, sweetie,” he said, pulling the single shoe that’d been left on my foot since last night. “Care to fill me in?”

  He peered up at me through his lashes, wiggling his eyebrows before flinging my shoe across the room.

  “Which part?” I sighed. Turning, I dropped my sheet and searched through my dresser drawer for a clean bra. Pulling it on, I continued. “The part where he farted or the part where I saw his tattoo that said ‘your name’?”

  Throwing on my shirt, I turned to a clearly amused Quinn.

  “Okay, that totally warrants DEFCON 1!” He laughed, pulling out his cell from his pocket. “Oh hey! Kylie’s on her way over. Do you want coffee?”

  I raised my brow. “Is that a trick question?”

  Rolling his eyes, Quinn fired back a text to Kylie while I headed into my bathroom to brush last night’s alcohol from my teeth. So gross. I decided to wait until Kylie brought the coffee before I had a shower; I needed caffeine and there’s nothing better than the coffee from the coffee house that sat on the corner of my street and today I needed hot black coffee to get rid of the throbbing hangover niggling behind my eyes.

  “She’ll be ten minutes,” Quinn hollered from the bedroom. “She said you better be ready to drop the goods on Chad… wait, who the fuck’s Chad?”