Clean Slate

by Isla Olsen

  Clean Slate

  The Goode Life #1

  Isla Olsen

  Copyright 2021 Isla Olsen

  * * *

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in an article or book review.

  * * *

  All people, events and places featured in this book are products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious context. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Cover Copyright 2021 Cate Ashwood

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  About the Goode Family

  About This Book

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Also by Isla Olsen

  About the Goode Family

  Nora and Ted Goode had four children, all boys. They are:

  * * *

  Bennett, who married Eloise and had two children of his own: Webster (Web) and Kip

  * * *

  Walker, who married Genevieve and had five children of his own: Axel, Slater, Tansie, Everley, and Tucker.

  * * *

  Carson, who never married Lorelai but nevertheless managed to upstage his brothers with a brood of six: Candace, Livia, Harriett, Delia, Poppy, and (finally, the boy Carson always wanted!) George.

  * * *

  …and Rock, a late in life baby who gives his mother no end of grief by insisting he’ll remain a bachelor for eternity.

  About This Book

  Zack

  * * *

  Twelve years ago, I thought I had everything figured out: I’d go off to college, get my marketing degree, come back to my charming little hometown of Finchley in California’s Gold Country, help my high school sweetheart build his carpentry business, and live happily ever after…

  * * *

  Ha! That’s teenage naivety for you.

  * * *

  Instead, on the eve of my college departure, Slater Goode (henceforth known as The Devil) ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped all over it. Figuratively.

  * * *

  But I don’t care about that anymore. At. All. I have a great life in Chicago… I mean, things aren’t exactly rosy right now, what with my boyfriend slash boss cheating on me, and then losing my job over that little vandalism incident… But that’s just a blip. Things will get better. They have to. I’ll be damned if I’ll be returning home to Finchley with my tail between my legs.

  * * *

  But then I get some news: The Devil’s grandfather, whom I love as if he were my own, has passed away in a tragic mishap of the coital nature, and missing his funeral is not an option.

  * * *

  Despite my desperate prayers, when I return home I’m appalled to find The Devil has not been the victim of some disfiguring flesh-eating disease. Nope, if anything he’s even hotter. And he’s sweet, and funny, and everything I remember falling for back in high school. But he’s still The Devil who shattered my heart and there’s no way I’ll give him the chance to do it again.

  * * *

  Exes with benefits, though? Now that could be an idea…

  * * *

  Come visit Finchley, CA, where the sun’s always shining, the locals are always gossiping, and you won’t walk two steps without bumping into a member of the Goode family. If you’re lucky, you might find gold; or, even better…true love.

  Prologue

  Zack

  * * *

  “That didn’t happen,” I gasp out the moment I manage to recover my breath. I stare determinedly at the ceiling of Slater Goode’s bedroom, praying that if I put just enough conviction into the statement I can make it true. I’m also praying for the ability to disapparate like in Harry Potter, and for the formula for the flux capacitor so I can build a time machine out of my rental car. Anything that could get me out of this situation.

  Of course, my prayers go unanswered, leaving me stuck in this bed with the one person I so should not have woken up with this morning. Along with all the dirty, dirty memories of last night—and five minutes ago—running through my brain on a never-ending loop.

  Oh my God, what the fuck was I thinking? Slater Goode? I slept with Slater Goode! Several times!

  I keep praying for that time machine, but I’m not really holding out much hope. I’ve never really been big on organized religion and I doubt the big guy’s going to start doling out favors for me now. Not to mention…oh, that’s right, time travel is impossible—it’s called living with the consequences of your actions. Damn you, Drunk Zack, why do you always ruin life for Sober Zack?

  I feel the bed shift under Slater’s weight and then he’s hovering over me, flashing that boner-inducing grin of his. “I’m pretty sure it did, babe. In fact, I’m pretty sure that was your idea.”

  I groan, lifting a hand to cover my face. Because, yes, I may have initiated that round, but I’m holding my cock responsible. That guy just doesn’t know what’s good for him.

  In truth, the past twelve hours have included several rounds of the best sex of my life, but I can’t admit that. Not to Slater. I don’t care how amazing his smile is, or how sexy he looks with his golden hair all messed up like that. From my hands yanking at it while he was pounding inside me just now… Fuck, I need to get a grip.

  I may have let my guard slip a little—okay, a lot—in recent hours, but I need to remember Slater Goode is still the guy who shattered my heart into a million pieces twelve years ago. My needy cock and thoroughly-sated body might be trying to convince me to let him off the hook, but my brain knows better.

  “No no no...no! God! No!!” I shake my head in desperate denial.

  “It’s amazing,” Slater says in his sexy gravelly voice, “you were screaming the exact opposite of that only a a few minutes ago.” His chocolate brown eyes are dancing with mirth.

  I squeeze my own eyes shut to avoid looking into them. Those eyes are my one major weakness. Well, unless you count the smile. And that incredible body. And…god damn it, why can’t he be hideous? But those eyes…in spite of all my best efforts to reform, it seems one heated gaze from him is still all it takes to make my bones melt.

  I open my own eyes again and dare to meet his gaze, my breath catching at the look of raw desire he has me pinned with. Taking advantage of my momentary lapse, he dips his head to take one of my nipples in his mouth. And oh, my lord…

  I can’t help letting out a soft groan at the contact as heat floods through me. My cock is making a valiant effort to get in on the action; it’s like that drunk guy at the end of a party who won’t go home until he has ‘just one more.’

  Fortunately, for my sanity, I’m physically incapable of getting further into this right now and so it doesn’t take long for my brain to take back control. I give Slater a firm shove and he rolls off me and onto his back, his face stretched into a teasing grin.

  If only I’d managed to have that kind of control over my senses last night… But that’s the human body for you: your body says one thing, your brain says another (or in this case has its mouth duct-taped shut by a little prankster called tequila), and the next thing you know, you’re in the bathroom at your ex-boyfriend’
s grandfather’s wake and you’ve got his fingers inside your ass. The ex-boyfriend’s. Not the grandfather’s. ‘Cause that would be gross. And I’m pretty sure illegal.

  Okay, I need to get out of this bed. And get dressed. And leave.

  I spring up off the mattress and begin to turn over the room searching for my clothes. I can feel Slater’s eyes stalking me as I gather my scattered clothes and start to dress. I stare in dismay as I pick up my shirt and notice a bunch of the buttons have been torn off.

  “Seriously, Slater?” I ask, sending a frustrated glare in his direction.

  He merely shrugs, offering me a smirk. “You want to borrow one of mine?”

  “No,” I say with absolute conviction before threading my arms through the sleeves of the torn shirt. A one-time sex-only backslide is one thing; borrowing clothes is an entirely different situation.

  I tuck my shirt into my pants and then grab my tie, figuring if I tie it just right it might hide the open shirt from anyone who looks too closely. Not that anyone who sees me in a suit the morning after the funeral won’t make assumptions anyway…

  “Look, Slater, last night—”

  “And this morning,” he cuts in.

  I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. “And this morning. It was…fun.”

  “Oh I think we can both agree it was pretty mind-blowing.” He chuckles. “Like riding a bike, hey babe?”

  I press my fingers to my forehead. “The point is, it was a one-night only deal. Call it a bonus night or whatever. It’s over now. We’re done.”

  “If you say so.”

  I nearly jump out of my skin, because the voice came from right behind me. I was focusing on my tie and didn’t hear Slater move from the bed, but now he’s hovering right at my back, his breath heating my neck and causing a full-body shiver to run through me. He gently grips my waist and turns me to face him, then takes hold of each end of my tie.

  I nod, feeling a little off-kilter as I stand there allowing him to fix my tie. “Yes. I do say so.”

  “Mmmhmm.” He finishes the knot and smoothes the tie down.

  “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Because you’re not being very convincing.” He gives my tie a little tug, pulling me closer to him. And as his lips descend on mine, my brain once again fails to function; what’s one more kiss in the grand scheme of things, right?

  1

  SIX DAYS EARLIER

  * * *

  From the private Facebook group ‘Finchley Locals Community Hangout’

  * * *

  Post by Chance Kingsley: Reminder - the FHS baseball alumni cook-out starts at 12pm today at mine and Slater’s place. We’ll provide the food, you bring the drinks

  Tansie Goode reply to Chance Kingsley’s post: And by “you” you really only mean former Finchley High baseball players

  Chance Kingsley reply to Tansie Goode’s comment: That’s kind of what baseball alumni means *wink emoji*

  Tansie Goode reply to Chance Kingsley’s comment: I call discrimination!

  Chance Kingsley reply to Tansie Goode’s comment: What can I say? You weren’t on the baseball team in high school *shrug emoji*

  Tansie Goode reply to Chance Kingsley’s comment: They didn’t allow girls on the baseball team in high school!

  Chance Kingsley reply to Tansie Goode’s comment: Now THAT’S discrimination - take it up with FHS though, we’re just grilling burgers here

  * * *

  Slater

  * * *

  I’m lying on the bank of Dewer Lake, one of my favorite little spots about a half hour’s drive out of Finchley, the little town in California’s Gold Country that I’ve called home my entire life. The sun’s beating down on me with the heat of a perfect early fall afternoon, and I’m just starting to consider a dip in the water to cool off for a bit when Zac Efron appears next to me with a bottle of sunblock in hand.

  He looks hot as fuck in a nothing but a pair of tight blank swim shorts, and he just smiles at me as he squirts a whole heap of sunblock onto my chest and starts rubbing it in. I don’t usually bother with sunblock, it’s such a pain in the ass, but if Zac wants to watch out for my skin I am totally on board with that.

  “Slate,” he says with a smile.

  I just stare at him with a big goofy grin on my face.

  “Slater,” he says again. Then his smile becomes a pout. “Slate, wake up.”

  Uh, no thanks.

  He slaps me a few times on the cheek, and this time when he speaks it’s in my cousin Webster’s gruff voice, which is fucking creepy. “Wake the fuck up, dumbass!”

  I finally snap out of my dream and become gradually aware of my real surroundings. It’s daylight. Hot. I’m in my backyard, I think. There are empty beer bottles scattered all over the ground—well, that would explain why my head hurts so much.

  “You’re not Zac Efron,” I grumble at Web who’s hovering over me, my eyes blinking rapidly as I adjust to the waking world.

  “Well spotted, dipshit.”

  There are other guys milling around the yard as well. I groan. Right—the barbeque. It was up to my roommate, Chance, and me to host this year’s get together with all the old guys from Finchley High’s baseball team and by the looks of things we pulled it off pretty well.

  Now that I’m more fully awake I notice a weird tickling sensation on my torso. Looking down, I find a combination of what must be every condiment from my kitchen pantry has been drizzled and smeared over my bare chest and now flies have started in on me, eager for some lunch.

  The fuckers. My own fault, I guess. It’s common knowledge around here that if you pass out in a public place or group situation you should expect to wake up in a somewhat compromised state.

  “Do I have a dick on my face?” I ask Web.

  He snorts a laugh. “Not this time.”

  I pat my hands over my face. Thank fuck. My eyebrows are still there. I scrub my hand through my hair and it feels normal. I don’t think I could have slept through a dye job, but it’s been known to happen to others.

  “Your hair’s fine, too,” Web assures me.

  I glance around, studying the suspects carefully. Most of them are smiling or laughing; it’s been a long time since I’ve been caught out like this. Chance and another of my cousins, George, however, are both studiously avoiding eye contact with me. Bingo. I should’ve known George would be behind this; he’s about as mature as my four-year-old nephew. As for Chance, well his position as my roommate comes with easy access to the condiments currently forming a crust on my skin. Add to that the fact that neither one of those assholes can make eye contact with me right now and it’s case closed.

  I get up and head off into my shed to grab the sponges and buckets I use to clean my truck. It’d be quicker just to use the hose, but after growing up with years of intermittent drought, you learn not to waste water. Besides, this will be more fun.

  After filling two buckets with lukewarm, sudsy water I carry them over to George and Chance and place one at each of their feet.

  “Seeing as how you boys love running your hands all over my hot bod, how’d you like to wash me down?”

  I hear a chorus of laughter behind me and sense the rest of the guys gathering around to watch the spectacle. Chance and George look at each other for a moment, shrug, then get on with it.

  I stretch my arms out and let them do their thing, which takes a surprisingly long time; some of the condiments they used have dried out in the sun and caked onto my skin, making it hard for the guys to clean off.

  “Stop laughing, Slate!” Chance says, throwing me a frustrated look under the bill of his Lakers cap.

  “I can’t help it! George’s got that look my mom gets when she’s scrubbing the range.”

  “If by ‘that look’ you mean fucking sexy then I’ll gladly accept the compliment,” the bastard says with a grin. “I can just imagine it, Aunt Gen wearing some of those pink rubber gloves, maybe her shirt gets a little wet from the dishwater.
”

  “Watch it, fucker,” I snap, yanking the sponge away from him. My mom was only seventeen when she had my older brother, Axel, and she’s still looking pretty good at forty-nine. Needless to say, Ax and I have been on the end of countless MILF jokes over the years. Although, I’ve got admit, I did open myself right up for that one.

  “Dude, that’s your aunt. What’s wrong with you?” Chance says to George, as if there’s an actual answer to that question.

  George merely shrugs. “Only by marriage.”

  “That’s enough. I can get the rest later,” I tell them.

  They’ve gotten most of the gunk off me, but there’s still some encrusted in the hair on my lower abdomen. Just as well I’m not rocking the Wolverine look like some of the other guys or this could have ended in an impromptu amateur waxing job.