by S. M. Shade
Table of Contents
Worth It
Copyright
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
Epilogue
About the Authors
Short story
Acknowledgments
Worth It
C.M. Owens and S.M. Shade
Copyright 2017 by S.M. Shade & C.M. Owens
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without express written permission of the author. This eBook is licensed for your enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
The story in this book is the property of the author, in all media both physical and digital. No one, except the owner of this property, may reproduce, copy or publish in any medium any individual story or part of this novel without the expressed permission of the author of this work.
Cover art by Cover Me Darling
Interior design by Cover Me Darling
Formatting by Athena Interior Book Design
Chapter One
Henley
Bright red boxer briefs in a tree, and a toothbrush and razor smashed into the dirt. Just a typical Sunday afternoon in my stellar life.
“Henley?” Kasha calls, standing in my yard and staring at the open second-floor window. She steps back just in time as a pile of clothing flies out and lands in the grass.
“Door’s unlocked,” I yell cheerfully. I may be enjoying this a little more than I should.
Fighting back a grin, she finds me in the bedroom, stripping the bed. “Not that I’m not thrilled you’re dumping this loser, but isn’t that your sheet?” she asks as I toss it out the window.
“It’s tainted with skank. God knows what kind of crotch rot she has—herpes, scabies, Ebola. I don’t want it.”
I flop onto the bed and my best friend sits beside me. “Ebola isn’t a crotch… um… I mean… tell me what happened.”
“I took an extra shift at work today to cover for a friend. She ended up making it back a few hours early, so I left and came home to find Casey’s naked ass in the air while some emaciated slut made porno sounds under him. Seriously, it was the fakest shit I’ve ever heard.”
“Oh, hell. What did you do?”
“They didn’t see me, and since the easiest way to get two rutting dogs apart is a garden hose, I figured a mop bucket full of cold water would do the trick. It did.”
Kasha chuckles and helps me put a new sheet on the bed. “Well, you seem to be handling it well.”
“I feel relieved. I guess that should tell me something. I mean, being cheated on after a year of living together, I should be a mess, but I just want him out of my house.”
“At least you have good timing. A week away… where he can’t find you.”
I pull out my half packed suitcase and fold the last of the clothes I’m taking, tucking them inside. “Don’t mention this to Lydia. This week is about her. She acts like she doesn’t care, but you know that’s bullshit.”
Kasha, Lydia, and I have been best friends since we were kids. We’ve stuck together through high school hell, first heartbreaks, and family drama. I don’t know what I’d do without them. Lydia has always been there when we needed her, so when she announced she was going to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding, we didn’t hesitate. She needs us and we’ll be there to support her. Besides, it’s also Kasha’s family, so she sort of had to be there.
Kasha is right, though. The timing is perfect for me to rid myself of the loser who only drags me down. After a week on sunny Marco Island in Florida, I’ll feel like a new woman.
“I tried to talk her out of going.” Kasha shakes her head and follows me downstairs.
“Anderson was her first love and he royally screwed her over. I think she wants to go to prove to him she’s over it. That she can be the bigger person.”
“That shouldn’t be hard,” she states dryly. “Stay at my place tonight. I’ll get Lydia over and we’ll pig out and watch T.V. I just got the last season of True Blood.”
“Sold. Help me grab my stuff.”
My eyes flit down to her arm, and I notice she has a new prosthetic… if that’s what you can call it. It’s almost like part of the Terminator was robbed and attached to her. It’s chrome and black.
“New arm? Looks like it was pimped.”
She nods absently. “Dad’s latest ‘smart arm’ prototype. Meet Jill.” She waves her robot-like fingers. “Jack is still underway.”
“The fingers move better. Hope it’s smarter than the last one that caught fire when you tried to take a shower with it.”
She groans. “It’s waterproof. That’s the first thing I checked. He’s holding off with the synthetic skin because he can’t get the sensors to work with the Nano patch on my neck yet. And I’m not having neurosurgery to have the chip implanted in my brain. I do draw the line somewhere. So, I have to think really hard about what I want the hand to do for now, but Dad says it’ll get smarter as it goes, learning to pick up my thoughts easier.”
“That’s… cool? Creepy? Not sure which way to go with that.”
She smirks before holding her hand up. “I’ll be back,” she says in a deep, Terminator-like voice.
We both giggle like it’s the funniest shit ever.
And we’re dorks. Should be an interesting trip.
***
Lydia shows up at Kasha’s apartment with a huge box of donuts. Her strained smile betrays her anxiety over the next week. Kasha sits between us on the couch and opens a shiny brochure advertising Marco Island.
“Look at all the stuff we can do while we’re there. Zip-lining, snorkeling, parasailing. They even have a huge family center with laser tag and an inflatable obstacle course.” She puts the brochure in front of Lydia. “And look at the beach! We’re going to drink, lie in the sun, and make a nice vacation out of it.”
Lydia gives a half-hearted grin. “The beach sounds good. At least I’ve lost my winter weight.”
“Like you aren’t always skinny,” I scoff. I’d kill for her metabolism. I can just smell food and my ass inflates.
We order a pizza and proceed to eat ourselves into a coma while watching hot vampires and werewolves battle it out on television. Lydia turns to me between episodes. “Aren’t you a little concerned about leaving Casey alone at your house all week? Last time you left him for a few days, he burnt your new carpet.”
I wasn’t going to bring it up, but I’m not going to lie to her. “I kicked him out today.”
Her eyebrows jump. “No shit?”
“Her yard and tree are full of his clothes,” Kasha laughs.
“About damn time, girl. You can do so much better.”
Sighing, I shake my head. “I’m starting to think they’re all the same. Lying, cheating, scumbag losers.”
“I agree. I’m just going to be like a nun.”
“Yep. Screw it. Celibacy is the way to go,” I agree.
Kasha snorts with laughter. “That’ll happen.”
“Wait. Vibrators don’t count, right? Because Buzzy takes care of me just fine.”
Lydia laughs, and Kasha winks at me. At least we cheered her up a little. “I’m going to bed. We have
a long drive tomorrow.”
“Even longer if you let Lydia bring that horrible dance mix CD,” Kasha groans.
“I didn’t bring it! I know you two have no taste in music,” Lydia replies, throwing a pillow at me.
I hear them both go to bed right after me.
***
It’s still dark out when we get ready to leave the next morning. Chilly air finds every tiny gap in my clothes and makes me shiver.
“Ugh, why do we have to leave so early?” Lydia groans, throwing her suitcase in the back of the SUV I rented for the trip.
“It’s a long drive. We need to get started,” I reply, hopping into the driver’s seat.
“We should’ve flown,” she grumbles, curling up in the back seat with a blanket.
“Last minute plane tickets cost a fortune. And you were the one who suggested a bestie road trip, remember?” Kasha tells her.
“Didn’t know we had to leave in the middle of the night.”
“So go back to sleep, you grouchy bitch,” I laugh, and she gives me the finger. By the time we hit the nearest drive-thru for some coffee, she’s snoring away. I make a quick detour past my house to see if Casey has been back. There are no more clothes scattered on my lawn, but the underwear still hang from the tree. Guess they were too hard to reach. The sight puts a smile on my face.
Kasha smiles and plugs in her iPod. The sun begins to show its face as we pull onto the highway, Kasha and I bouncing around to the upbeat sound of Imagine Dragons. “I hate you guys,” Lydia mumbles from the back seat, and we dissolve into giggles. This might be fun after all.
Lydia perks up when we stop to stretch our legs a few hours later. By the time we hit the road again, dark clouds are moving in and the wind blasts against the side of the SUV, nearly pushing us into the next lane.
Rain pelts the window fast and hard, making traffic slow to a crawl, and I lean forward, struggling to keep my eye on the white line. The headlights are on, but it doesn’t help much. It’s gone from bright and sunny to dark as night within a minute or two.
“We should get off the highway,” Kasha suggests. “Wait for this shit to pass.”
“Next exit,” I agree. I really can’t see anything but the hazard lights of the car in front of me. A semi with a picture of a chicken on the rear flies past us, the blowback pushing us to the right and slamming us with more water.
“Fuckstick,” Lydia blurts. “He’s going to cause an accident.”
The girl should be a fortune-teller. Less than five minutes later, just as the storm begins to let up, traffic comes to a halt. Flashing lights warn us we may be here a while.
We inch closer to the accident and Kasha laughs. “It’s the dick weasel with the chicken ass!”
Sure enough, a semi lies on its side, blocking both lanes, the large goofy picture of a chicken prominently displayed. At least he didn’t take any other vehicles out with him. A burly, bearded man who’d look right at home with an axe perched on his shoulder stands beside the rig, staring at it like the truck crashed itself just to piss him off.
A policeman stands by the side of the road, flagging the line of vehicles onto the exit ramp. Guess we’re getting off the highway after all. Light rain falls as we find ourselves on an unfamiliar country road. Cornfields line each side of the twisting road, and there are no signs to lead us back to the highway.
“Update the GPS navigator so we don’t get lost out here. Find a restaurant where we can wait this out,” I tell Kasha. The rain may have let up, but ominous clouds are coming at us fast.
“I’m on it.”
The GPS leads us to a small town nearby, and I pull into the Grab-a-Bite restaurant. “We may as well eat here while we wait for the storm to pass.”
An elderly lady with a kind smile waits on us. She introduces herself as Dorothy, and proceeds to bring us more food than we order or could ever eat in one sitting. “Eat up! You girls are as skinny as a poor man’s wallet,” she says with a smile, putting a platter of fries in front of us.
She’s so nice, which is more than I can say for the man in the corner booth. He’s alone and obviously drunk off his ass. Apparently, saying please or thank you would mortally wound him. He barks orders at Dorothy and yells for her every couple of minutes. Nothing is good enough, and his shouted complaints fill the small restaurant.
Dorothy seems to know him—small town, I guess everyone knows everyone—and does what she can to keep him from bothering the other customers, who turn a blind eye. I can’t do it anymore.
As we get up to leave, he yells at her again. “This coffee tastes like shit! And it’s cold!”
My eyes meet Dorothy’s. “Let me translate. I speak asshole pretty well. He would like another cup of coffee, even though there’s nothing wrong with his. What he really wants is to feel like a man, and since the tiny appendage between his legs won’t let him, he gets off by being rude to women.”
A woman sitting beside her boyfriend spits her orange juice across the counter, and he laughs aloud. Dorothy is trying her best not to laugh as the jerk turns to her and slurs, “I’m a paying customer!”
“So are they,” Dorothy replies, refilling another customer’s coffee.
“She-she called me an asshole!” he splutters.
Turning to Dorothy, I shrug. “I honestly thought he knew.”
Everyone in the restaurant laughs, and the man’s face burns red. I leave a large tip on our table, and Lydia tells Dorothy, “Thanks for the wonderful breakfast. I’m too stuffed to walk.”
“You’re more than welcome, girls. Be sure to stop in if you pass through this way again.”
“We sure will,” Kasha promises.
The rude man is grumbling under his breath when we leave. “That’s his car,” Kasha says, pointing out a sedan in the parking lot. “I saw him pull in.”
“Okay, so?” Lydia replies.
“So, I have an idea. Watch for him to come out.” He’s parked at an angle, so there’s no way he can see her from his booth. Kasha grabs a handful of ketchup packets from the console of the car and tears them open.
Lydia and I play lookout while she tucks a few under each of his windshield wipers. The other she uses to coat the driver’s door handle. “How old are you?” Lydia asks, giggling, as we pile into our car.
“You’re never too old for revenge. Look! Here he comes!” It’s sprinkling, and his windshield is just wet enough for him to have to use the wipers. We watch, holding our breath as he grabs the door handle. He must just think the handle is wet because of the rain, since he instantly rubs his ketchup-covered hand across the front of his white T-shirt.
The look of horror on his face is hilarious. It’s a good thing we’re parked far enough away from him so he doesn’t hear us. He grabs a paper towel from the back-seat and attempts to clean his smeared shirt, just rubbing it in worse. Cursing, he gets in his car.
The engine starts, and we hold our breath, just waiting for it. Finally, it happens. The wipers sweep across the windshield, squirting ketchup in all directions. It takes him a second to shut them off, so they drag back and forth across the red mess a few times, covering the middle of the windshield.
This time, he must’ve heard us laugh, because his eyes fall on our SUV. His face is so red, it’s a wonder steam isn’t pouring from his ears. “Uh-oh,” Kasha says, locking the doors. Just as I start the engine, a police car pulls in behind him. Busted. Maybe Dorothy called them. I don’t know, but either way, he’s obviously drunk and was going to drive.
He yells and gestures to his shirt and his car until the cop puts him in handcuffs. It’s hard to appear innocent when you’re shitfaced and covered in ketchup. As we pull out of the lot, Dorothy stands outside the front door of the restaurant and gives us a surreptitious thumbs up. “She saw it!” Lydia squeals. “Awesome!”
The rain has stopped and the sun beats down on the sparsely populated highway. The rest of our drive isn’t nearly as eventful. We take turns choosing the music and singing a
long to our favorites. As much as I’m looking forward to the beach and all the activities, driving with the windows down and the warm breeze through my hair, while belting out my favorite song with my best friends, will still rank high in my week.
“You are so going parasailing,” Lydia tells Kasha. “Don’t be chicken shit.”
“I’m not chicken shit! I mean, have we met? I’m accident prone on dry land. Who knows what I’ll do five hundred feet in the air? I’ll probably throw up, then crash into it.”
A two lane concrete bridge carries us across the water to Marco Island, and a few minutes later, we’re parking at the massive Anderson estate. “I just want a long, hot shower,” Lydia says as we grab our luggage and head inside.
“We should have just enough time. There’s a little get-together at seven for all the wedding guests, and I suppose we should be there.”
Kasha slings an arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“So far so good.”
“You let us know anytime you want to make a quick escape and we’ll get you out of there,” I promise.
Our room is huge, spotless, and frankly, too damn comfortable to want to leave. After a day of driving, I just want to eat and crawl into bed.
My dread of the approaching evening is nothing next to Lydia’s. Though she’s putting up a brave front, worry is written on her pale face. “Don’t worry,” Kasha tells her. “You’ve got this. Just keep reminding yourself he’s the selfish dick who cheated on you.”
“And he had a small one,” Lydia adds with a grin. “Seriously, it was like a pimple with a pulse.”
“Let’s get this party started and show him what he gave up,” Kasha announces. “I can promise no one will forget us, and no one will remember the bride by the time this week is over.”
Chapter Two
Kasha
Face down, ass up… No, it’s not as sexy as it sounds. Humiliating would be a more accurate word to describe this moment.
This is not what I meant about not being forgotten.
