That, combined with the vibration between my thighs, has me feeling more than a little squirmy. Instead of staying with the boat, I veer off and follow Asher. He glances over his shoulder, and I swear I see a hint of a smirk on those gorgeous, pouty lips of his. I check the speed. Thirty-eight miles per hour. But it feels a lot faster on water.
Baby steps. After playing around in the water a little more, Ash leads the way back to Dash and everyone. I look back at Dash for a split second before I hear Asher yell. My only option is to pull out the key and take a sharp right. I just narrowly avoid being hit, water splashes onto my face, and the two guys on the Jet Ski look back, oblivious to the fact that they almost took me out.
He has to be going at least sixty miles per hour to catch up to them. This is the old Asher. The hothead, always looking for a fight. Is he playing chicken? They try to dodge him, but he mirrors their every move. The guy tries to take a sharp turn to avoid getting hit, but they end up tipping over and going under.
One guy swims to the shore, and one mounts the Jet Ski, idling. A few more words are exchanged before they go their separate ways.
Asher dives off his Jet Ski and climbs onto the boat behind me. Those fucks were drunker than shit. He gives a short, forced nod, but then Whitley is there next to him, tracing her talons up and down the dips and grooves of his abs.
Asher tenses ever so slightly, but I catch it. I wish I was as confident as you are. Backhanded, mean girl compliments? Seeing her touch his body with such ease, such intimacy, was far worse than any insult she could sling at me. I sit on the cushioned bench on the very back of the boat, resting a forearm on my folded knees. Dash, deciding this is as good a place as any, throws the anchor over the side, next to another boat full of partiers. There are probably ten or so guys and girls who look to be a little older than us.
Maybe mid-twenties. Dash grabs the beer bong and steps over onto their boat and introduces himself. Ever the attention whore. Because that would be too easy. We both watch as Whitley sits on an uninterested Asher. Adrian tucks a wayward hair behind my ear, and I must give him the dirtiest side-eye known to man, because he laughs and leans in, explaining himself.
He just needs a little push. Adrian just has that way about him. He can bullshit his way out of anything, and everyone loves him. He cups the side of my neck, pulling me closer. Go with it. How different they still are. These kinds of games always lead to trouble. I gasp, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in to tangle with him. And then a moment later, a splash. My eyes shoot open to see Asher in front of me—face full of anger and clenched fists full of rage—and I hear Adrian sputtering and chuckling from the water.
Asher pushed him off the edge? That fucker was right. Say whatever the fuck you have to say to your brother. I know exactly what he was trying to do. And what the fuck was she thinking, letting him put his hands on her? His lips on her? After making up some excuse about needing to get back home, Dash hugged his sister and thanked me for offering to help her.
She was wearing my shirt this morning. Just my shirt. She kept it. When I saw her standing there with her back to me, bare legs and messy hair, I wished things were different. Nothing makes sense. I was about to ask her why she did it, once and for all, if only to keep from crushing my lips to hers, but then fucking Whitley walked in. My guess is that one of the other guys who still risks his life by putting his dick inside her tipped her off. I know she still tries to talk to Dash, but he shut that shit down a long time ago.
We were just two lonely, miserable people who used each other. I used her for coke, and she used me for sex. She knew the drill. I let Briar think that I invited her. Maybe it was payback for having to see her with Jackson. A devious smirk spreads across my face. This was a bad fucking idea. The ride back to shore does little to calm my anger. And right now, those thighs have me in a vise grip as she holds on to me for dear life. After hitting a rough wave that forces us even closer together, she finally wraps her timid arms around my stomach.
I feel her tuck into me, her forehead hitting the top of my spine—probably to shield her face from the wind—and her long, blonde hair whips in my face. We hit another wave, and instinctively, my left hand shoots out to grip her thigh.
Once we reach the shore, I yank the key out while she takes off her vest, exposing those perky tits covered by thin scraps of white triangles. Fuck, she looks good. I bend down and lift her around the waist, and even though she squeals, her legs immediately lock around me. I laugh darkly at her wide eyes. What was your plan? She lies there, and with the setting sun making her hair appear more golden than blonde, those faint freckles across her nose, and cheeks rosy from the sun, she looks even more innocent than usual.
She shakes her head. With Adrian? Higher, higher, higher. Were you going to let him touch your pussy? She pushes into my hand, and I feel her wetness through the fabric of her bathing suit. Is it for him? Or me? The sun is going down, so there are people only feet away, packing up for the day. I suck the soft flesh into my mouth, leaving my mark on her. A lone freckle where her neck meets her shoulder catches my eye, and without thinking twice, I bite into her.
She shrieks in pain before I feel her entire body tense up, and her knees clamp shut, effectively trapping my hand between her legs. She was screaming from pleasure.
Baby girl likes it rough. She throws an arm over to shield her face and rolls away from me. Take me home. You must be going through quite the dry spell to get off so easily. Or is it just me that has that effect on you? Getting a rise out of her is my newest addiction. Briar sits up and jumps down from the tailgate, then stomps around to the front of the truck.
She hops into the passenger seat and slams the door. I decide to let her stew in her post-orgasmic bliss-slash-guilt while I set the Jet Ski up onto the trailer. It takes a while, and by the time I get back, the sun has completely set. Briar sits in the front seat, chipping away at her white nail polish. Not even when I start the truck. And not even when we pull up to her house.
Besides making you come on my hand? Does she think I do this on purpose? That I like feeling this way? I want to hate her. I do hate her. But I also just want her. This is her fault. At least, we were. Such a saint. Such a victim. I see you. I stand in front of the house I grew up in with its flaking, once-white paint, and front yard full of dirt for the second time since coming back.
The first time, I took exactly one step inside before bailing. The mailbox is knocked over, almost completely horizontal. I kick it when I walk past, inadvertently causing it to stand almost straight.
I raise a fist to knock before deciding to let myself in. Years of smoking in the house have resulted in nicotine-stained walls, but I can still see faint white patches where pictures used to hang. And then I see him. John Kelley, in all his glory. Passed out in his black, cracked leather recliner, in front of an old television with a rabbit-ear antenna.
A cigarette dangles from his fingertips with ash a mile long, and below it sits a collection of beer bottles. Wordlessly, I scan his face, noticing his yellow complexion and clammy skin.
But, the bitterness, resentment, and flat-out disgust are all still there. I look him dead in the eyes. Finally, he breaks the silence. But David was different. How would she know what happened? He nods and reaches for the beer bottle at his feet, liver be damned. She stood there seething for about ten minutes first. She was just a little girl. Also known as drinking enough vodka to kill a horse while watching Skinemax.
Most likely in his underwear. Got my drunk ass up just in time to see her flip me off. No one has the balls to stand up to John Kelley. Not even me, for a long time, anyway. I stand and scan the hellhole I used to call home one more time before deciding to leave.
I used to fucking hate this place. It made me physically ill to be here, to be around my dad. To face the memory of my mom. You and I were never just friends. For tonight, at least. I end up heading back to their house after driving around for a while. A couple of days ago, I called the number listed on the building permit posted in a yard a few streets over on a whim.
Asked the dude if he needed a roofer, and without even wanting to meet me, he told me the house would be ready for the roof by tomorrow and to show up ready to work. Fuck, I love my job. And my head is not a pretty place to be. Not compared to the people of Cactus Heights. Dare was the one who convinced me that I needed to spend a little to live a little, and I finally caved and bought my truck.
Besides Briar, I think, but she never really was mine. Briar: Same goes to you. No more Whitley, or no deal. Me: Easy enough. Our little agreement has me giddy, though I know better than to think it means anything other than Asher being territorial. His behavior has become slightly erratic, accusing me of being a tease for not responding to him one second, and then apologizing in the next breath.
I chalk it up to him not being able to handle rejection. Guys like him never can. So, against my better judgment, when he asked if he could come over to talk, I said yes. I doubt it will. I step out of the pool to get dressed before Jackson comes over. Not only that, but he let himself in. My face burns with embarrassment as I wrap the towel around me. I run inside to throw on some skinny yoga pants and a plain white tee before meeting Jackson back outside.
His easy smile is gone, and he appears to be on edge. I want to ask him about the list, whatever it is, but I decide to ease into it. Nothing happened. At all. I tried to make myself want him, but it turns out the heart is a stubborn, fussy bitch. And mine has only ever wanted Asher. I thought things were going well, and then it was like you just…lost interest. I stand, crossing my arms, and Jackson follows suit.
That it most likely has something to do with why he pursued me, and that he betrayed my trust. When I open the sliding door, Dash is sitting at the breakfast bar, while Adrian fries some eggs. Adrian drops the spatula, and they both flank me in an instant. He was just leaving. Ultimately, he decides to test his luck. I swear to fucking God, Briar. Why do you think I kept pursuing you?
Suit yourself. He watches me. I ignore him. He talks to me. I fucking hate that chair. I glance up at him, debating on whether or not to respond, but something in his hopeful expression has me caving. I turn my attention back to the giant oak entertainment center—probably about the same age as the decrepit couch—that takes up almost the entire length of the wall.
I know they used to be in here. That old bastard probably destroyed them. I turn it over. A familiar feeling washes over me like an old friend— a mixture of anger and resentment—and I stuff it down into the trash bag full of all the other useless shit.
The sight is so foreign. The occasional cup of coffee, maybe. An article from the year I made regionals in swim. A birthday card. A photo of me with my first swim medal. Trust me on that. My dad has never had a problem expressing his feelings. Just the opposite, actually. He loved hard, and he fought harder. Whether he was crying happy tears at one of my swim meets or in an alcohol-induced fit of rage, he felt everything more than most people.
Even when he beat the shit out of me, I knew that he loved me, as fucked up as that sounds. More than that, there was no desire to reel it in. And therein lies the problem. If for some god-forsaken reason I ever become a father, I will live and fucking breathe for that kid.
I stare blankly, waiting for him to continue. I was going to help set you up with your own place. But you were already gone. Said you ran away, and he never bothered looking. All of it. Hell, you raised yourself after your mom died. I wondered. But I had faith that you were safe. I remember arguing with my friends, each of us bragging about the strength of our fathers, claiming they could lift cars and other ridiculously embellished tales. Tearing my eyes from the burnt spot, I look him in the eye.
You lost both of your parents the night your mom died. My biggest regret is blaming you. I just needed you to know. My dad gives a resigned sigh, and I pause, one hand on the door, looking back at him. Instead, I found myself at a local hole-in-the wall bar.
I had exactly three shots of cheap whiskey before a woman approached me. She was pretty, in that white trash, damaged sort of way. You could say she was the female version of me. In my car. Right there on the bar, if I really wanted it. Even without the deal. Which, in turn, pissed me off even more.
I slapped a twenty onto the counter and walked out without a word. I light up a cigarette, relishing in the comfort and the slight buzz as the nicotine is absorbed in my bloodstream. The one that leads back to my old house. When I pull up to the driveway, I know something is off immediately. I run toward the sound to find the front door cracked open.
Walking as quietly as I can, I nudge it open and step inside. David, my uncle, has John against the wall with his hand around his throat. He hits him one, two, three more times as I charge in their direction, both oblivious to my presence.
Coming up behind David, I sucker punch him to the side of the head, and he goes down like a ton of fucking bricks. I jump on him, raining blow after blow to his face, head, stomach, anywhere I can. Three years and fifty pounds later, I can finally hold my own against him. A sound from my left distracts me, and I look over to see my dad struggling to get to his feet.
David jumps on the opportunity, striking my jaw with his fist. Flipping me onto my back and straddling me, he gets the upper hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see John pull himself up, using the arm of the recliner as leverage. I take another hit to the eye, then the mouth, before I hear the unmistakable sound of a pistol cocking.
David freezes with his fist mid-air, and I give him a deranged smile through bloodstained teeth. I shove him backward with both of my palms, and then I stand above him. I laugh, shaking my head. I know details, David. He jerks the gun in the direction of the door, and David scrambles to his feet. Among other things. I was pissed off at the world, and the money was too tempting to pass up.
Whether you want to get more done, lead others better, develop skill faster, or dramatically increase your sense of joy and confidence, the habits in this book will help you achieve it faster. Each of the six habits is illustrated by powerful vignettes, cutting-edge science, thought-provoking exercises, and real-world daily practices you can implement right now. Best of all, you can measure your progress. A link to a free professional assessment is included in the book.
At its core, The Power of Habit contains an exhilarating argument: The key to exercising regularly, losing weight, being more productive, and achieving success is understanding how habits work. As Duhigg shows, by harnessing this new science, we can transform our businesses, our communities, and our lives. The Power of Habit is an exception. Charles Duhigg not only explains how habits are formed but how to kick bad ones and hang on to the good.
The secret to having the healthy body and life you want isn't just in a rigid way of eating. It's in developing your own Health Habit. Coined by nutritionist and author Elizabeth Rider, your Health Habit is a skill, or a set of skills, that allows you to make the best choices that serve you most.
By focusing on action--not just theory--you won't even have to think about "being healthy. With this paperback edition of her fresh look at healthy living, Day Kick-Start Plan, 50 recipes, and online community, Elizabeth will get you started, keep you motivated, and connect you to health-conscious people around the world. How do successful companies create products people can't put down?
Why do some products capture widespread attention while others flop? What makes us engage with certain products out of sheer habit? Is there a pattern underlying how technologies hook us? Nir Eyal answers these questions and many more by explaining the "Hook Model" -- a four steps process embedded into the products of many successful companies to subtly encourage customer behavior. He wrote the book he wished had been available to him as a startup founder — not abstract theory, but a how-to guide for building better products.
Hooked is written for product managers, designers, marketers, startup founders, and anyone who seeks to understand how products influence our behavior. I love this book. World-renowned high performance trainer Brendon Burchard reveals that the main motive of humankind is the pursuit of greater Personal Freedom.
We desire the grand liberties of choice—time freedom, emotional freedom, social freedom, financial freedom, spiritual freedom. Only two enemies stand in our way: an external enemy, defined as the social oppression of who we are by the mediocre masses, and an internal enemy, a sort of self-oppression caused by our own doubt and fear.
The march to Personal Freedom, Burchard argues, can be won only by declaring our intent and independence, stepping into our personal power, and battling through self-doubt and the distractions of the day until full victory is won. Recalling the revolutionist voices of the past that chose freedom over tyranny, Burchard—at times poetic yet always fierce—motivates us to free ourselves from fear and take back our lives once and for all.
All it takes to make creativity a part of your life is the willingness to make it a habit. It is the product of preparation and effort, and is within reach of everyone. Whether you are a painter, musician, businessperson, or simply an individual yearning to put your creativity to use, The Creative Habit provides you with thirty-two practical exercises based on the lessons Twyla Tharp has learned in her remarkable thirty-five-year career.
In "Where's Your Pencil? In "Coins and Chaos," she gives you an easy way to restore order and peace. In "Do a Verb," she turns your mind and body into coworkers.
In "Build a Bridge to the Next Day," she shows you how to clean the clutter from your mind overnight. Tharp leads you through the painful first steps of scratching for ideas, finding the spine of your work, and getting out of ruts and into productive grooves. The wide-open realm of possibilities can be energizing, and Twyla Tharp explains how to take a deep breath and begin Want more free books like this? The easy-to-follow guide to learning how to awaken your inner passions and become influential at work, step out of your comfort zone, and control your emotions to help with addictions and depression.
Description The 5-second rule is the opportunity to bring change in your life by teaching you one simple thing: HOW to change. By counting backward from five, you will learn how to wake up your inner genius, leader, rock star, athlete, artist, or whatever passion you have inside. Full of real-life testimonies of people who used this rule in unique ways to take charge of their lives, you can adopt this technique as well to change the trajectory of your life.
Use the technique in a variety of ways: become influential at work, step out of your comfort zone, become more effective at networking, self-monitor as well as control your emotions and help with addictions and depressions.
It acknowledges that we all need a push sometimes to get started, and by using the 5-second rule Meg Robbins helps give you that push! I tried setting audacious big goals. I almost always failed them. I tried to make changes last. They didn't. Until one day, he was gone without a trace. Callous and cruel. I should hate him. I was drawn to Briar Vale from the first time she looked up at me with stars in her big, blue eyes. She was just a kid, nothing but elbows and knees, but she was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen.
We could never be together. I was too old and she was too off limits. She was too good and I was too fucked up. Eventually, the temptation became too much to resist. I risked everything for a kiss and she betrayed me. My downfall. I hate her for what she did. But she's always been my drug of choice. Could they have at least made her 18 when they reunite? I read in online reviews that they are 17 and 21 in later chapters. I quit reading once he started making a move on her at while she was We can not romanticize this kind of junk.
It will give young girls the wrong impression. Asher is a creep. Charleigh Rose wrote a fabulous story of young love, miscommunication and second chances. The misery of these two idiots seems really unnecessary. I loved this book. The characters had enough depth to make it interesting without driving the story overboard.
The writing was flawless and well timed and the narration was spot on for both Lexy and Roberto. Bries age bothered me. But I liked the characters and kept an open mind. The writing, the pacing, the story, the characters were all perfect. This one had all of the feels and a HEA. Asher is the ultimate book boyfriend! I almost wish this was a series. I had a problem with the female lead being under age.
Listening to sex scenes about a 17 year old was not cool. And who was that sexually and emotionally mature at 17? I had no idea what I was doing at that age, yet this lead acted more like a 30 year old than Far fetched. I enjoyed it, it was angsty full of assumptions that made the plot of our story full of a major plot twist.
Loved it. All the characters were their own person and I was easily able to feel as though I was there standing next to them laughing. Nat was a hoot. I enjoyed this story and the narration. Some people may be triggered by the age of the main characters. I enjoyed the storyline and the narrators. It was pretty good but I without giving too much away there could have been more dark moments and I felt Briar gave in too easy all of the time.
But a feel good read nonetheless. I loved Asher and Briar! This was such an addictive forbidden romance that it had me on the edge of my seat! I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop ie. They get found out! Add to Cart failed. Please try again later. Add to Wish List failed. Remove from wishlist failed. Adding to library failed. Please try again. Follow podcast failed. Unfollow podcast failed. Stream or download thousands of included titles. Bad Habit By: Charleigh Rose. Narrated by: Lexy Richmond,Roberto Scarlato.
Falling for someone like him was asking for heartache. But I was a sucker for punishment. Dare: I had a routine. Eat, work, sleep, repeat, only ever doing the bare minimum to keep up appearances. I kept my circle small and my guard high. Then Logan showed up in my town, in my tattoo shop, testing my patience along with my self-control. She was fire and I was ice.
But I had been cold for far too long. Jesse Shepherd. Star athlete. Cocky as hell. You know the type.
0コメント