Be Good

  Be Good

  A New Adult Romance

  Dakota Madison

  Be Good

  Copyright © 2013 by Dakota Madison

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  This is a work of FICTION.

  Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author's offbeat imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead or previously dated by the author, is entirely coincidental.

  A SHORT ON TIME BOOK:

  Fast-paced and fun novels for readers on the go!

  For more information, visit the website: www.shortontimebooks.com

  “Be good.”

  E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial

  One

  A small ray of sunlight peeked through the window shade and woke me up. I panicked slightly when I realized I wasn’t on the side of the bed I normally slept on. Weird.

  It took me another moment to realize I wasn’t in my bed at all. Another round of panic overtook me until I remembered the wedding. Hannah and Brandon’s wedding was last night and I was one of the bridesmaids. I was staying at a hotel with the rest of the wedding party. I let out a small sigh of relief.

  The sun seemed to be barely coming up so I could probably go back to sleep for a while. I could enjoy a few hours of solitude until I had to go back to my freaky roommate and her evil cat. Ugh! I hated that damn cat.

  Then I felt an arm swing over my shoulder.

  Shit. I wasn’t alone. Was I even in my room?

  I racked my brain trying to remember any details of how I got back to the room I was in and who could possibly be in the bed beside me.

  Nothing.

  My mind was blank. I had little recollection of the previous night’s events thanks to a few too many tequila shots, no doubt. Or was it Lemoncello? Barf. The thought of Lemoncello made my stomach churn. I felt like I might spew.

  It was definitely too much Lemoncello.

  “Good morning, Beautiful,” murmured a male voice in the bed beside me. Unfortunately, it didn’t sound the least bit familiar.

  Was I in his room or had I taken him back to mine? Knowing me, I had suggested we go back to his room so I could make a quick escape in the morning.

  I couldn’t remember who I was with or how we ended up in bed together. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time I couldn’t remember how I had gotten into some random guy’s bed. I’ve had many slutty moments in the past but few of them were this slutty. Hooking up with someone at a wedding was an all-time low. And not just any wedding—one of my best friend’s weddings. Oh, God…had I become a wedding slut?

  I could feel whoever it was easing toward me in the bed and my heart start racing. Panic was setting in again. I needed to escape. All of my past slut-scapades had ended with me sneaking out of bed, quietly gathering my things and bolting before any embarrassing morning-after crap had a chance to materialize.

  Now it was too late to escape unnoticed. He was awake (whoever he was) and I was going to be forced to face him. And I didn’t remember a thing.

  I could feel my stomach churning again and I realized my head was also throbbing.

  Great. I had to deal with a hangover, too.

  I jumped up from the bed pulling the sheet along with me and ran into the bathroom. I just made it to the toilet when the contents of my stomach decided to make a reappearance.

  It was definitely Lemoncello. I wouldn’t be drinking that again for a while. A long while. It tasted absolutely God-awful on its way back up.

  I laid my head on the cool side of the toilet and let out a sigh.

  I tried to remember anything I could about the previous night. Why did I have an image of a clown so prominently in my mind? What did it mean?

  There was a soft knock on the bathroom door. “Are you okay?” the male voice said. There was a tenderness to his voice that surprised me.

  “No,” I replied more curtly than I wanted to. Sarcastic and curt remarks often popped out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. It was one of my many flaws. I kept a running list. I had been keeping ANNA’S FLAW LIST since I was 12 years old. It started with all of the flaws my mom and dad liked to remind me of and built from there. Most of the flaws came from guys I dated and were used as excuses to break things off. Or maybe they were right and I was just a fucked-up chick (Flaw 15), who didn’t deserve to be loved.

  “Can I come in?” the male voice asked.

  I hadn’t even bothered to glance at myself in the mirror as I hurried by on my way to the toilet. When I tried to sit up, I felt like I had just gotten off one of those Tilt-A-Whirl rides at an amusement park. I felt like I was going to hurl again but I was pretty sure there wasn’t anything left in my stomach.

  “No,” I managed to mutter right before I dry heaved into the toilet.

  “Why not?” The voice was calm but concerned. Why didn’t he sound familiar? I was starting to wonder how my moral compass had led me so far astray.

  “I’m sick.” I muttered as I laid my head back down on the cool toilet seat.

  He didn’t listen. He came into the bathroom anyway. At least now I could see who I had spent the night with. When I glanced up I was surprised to see Brett Conner looking down at me. His eyes were filled with compassion, which made me want to cry and punch his clown head at the same time. Except that he no longer had clown hair. His reddish brown hair was cropped short, nicely styled and actually looked good. I had to remember to ask him about his stylist. It was difficult to find people who could deal with my thick main of curly blonde hair. Guys often called me a blonde-haired blue-eyed babe with a killer body. Girls said I was the girl every guy wanted. What I felt like was the girl every guy claimed to have scored with. Only most of them weren’t lying.

  I usually ended up with popular jocks who used me to prove just how virile they were. I was a feather in their cap. The fantasy girl every guy wanted but only the top dogs tried to tap. So how in the world did I end up sleeping with Brett Conner? In college, everyone called him clown hair because his mop top was so bushy and curly. He was a nerd, kinda of cool, but still too geeky to ever take seriously. We were never friends but he was friends with some of my friends. I certainly knew of him. I also knew that people made fun of him and picked on him often, mostly because of his outrageous hair but also because he was quiet, and smart and just—well—geeky.

  When my eyes moved down to the rest of his body, I realized he was naked except for a pair of boxer briefs. I remembered him being lanky but those days were obviously long gone. He had definitely filled out in all the right places since his clown hair days in college.

  I was suddenly aware of the awkwardness of the situation and was a wee bit embarrassed, which was unusual for me. I normally didn’t give a shit about what anyone thought of me. But for some reason, I cared about what Brett was thinking. I looked at the bathtub and then at the overhead light then down at the tile floor—anything to avert his gaze.

  I heard Brett turn on the faucet and when I looked over, he was wetting a washcloth in the sink. After he wrung it out, he turned and kneeled down next to me. He gently washed my forehead and cheeks with the warm washcloth.

  “Is that better?” he asked looking into my eyes.

  I gulped. No man had ever washed my face before, not even my father. And certainly not anyone I had ever slept with. “Why did you do that?” I asked before I could stop myself.

  He looked at me like it was the most ridiculous question he’d ever heard in his life. “Because you’re sick. I want to help you feel better.”

  Why was he being so nice to me? I suddenly had the urge to run straight out of the room. I tried to get up but my
legs were like Jell-O and the sheet around me was starting to fall down. I didn’t know whether to grab for the sheet or try to stop myself from falling on my ass but neither act was successful and I ended up falling and losing my sheet at the same time. Luckily Brett was quicker than I was and he managed to catch me before I hit the floor. The sheet went bye-bye though.

  I was naked in Brett’s arms and completely humiliated. I quickly grabbed for the sheet and tried to cover myself but only managed to look completely ridiculous in the process.

  “I’ve seen you naked.” Brett stifled a grin. “And I’ve been inside you half the night.”

  I could feel my face growing hot with embarrassment. Maybe if I could remember any of it, I wouldn’t feel as ashamed as I did at the moment.

  Brett managed to put the toilet seat down, while he was still holding me then he sat me down on the lid. He smoothed my hair down in the back and then tucked it behind my ears. Then to my astonishment, he gently kissed the top of my head. I could feel my withered heart (Flaw 23) come alive a bit with the gesture.

  Brett sat down at the edge of the bathtub facing me. “Would you like something to drink? Maybe Ginger Ale or Sprite will settle your stomach?”

  I shook my head. “Maybe I’d just better go. You don’t have to take care of me.”

  “Maybe I want to take care of you,” he said matter-of-factly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

  I didn’t even know Brett. I didn’t know anything about him other than he was a geek in college and had clown hair that was now tamed. It was obvious we’d slept together but I didn’t remember it. Why was he being so nice to me? Even guys I had been on multiple dates with had never been this nice to me. Most of the guys I had slept with couldn’t wait for me to leave in the morning or were relieved that I had snuck out before they woke up. Brett didn’t even seem to find the situation a bit awkward.

  “My flight to Palo Alto doesn’t leave until later this afternoon, so there’s no rush. It’s only eight o’clock. Do you want to go back to sleep for a while?”

  Maybe if I could get the drummers in my head to stop pounding on my temples, I would feel a little better. “Do you have any aspirin?”

  “Just a sec.” He went back into the bedroom and I could hear him rustling around in his bags. He came back holding up two white tablets. “I found some.”

  He grabbed a glass from the counter and filled it in the bathroom sink then he handed me the pills and the water glass. “Thanks.” I downed the aspirin and all of the water.

  “It’s a good idea to hydrate after drinking. Would you like some more water?”

  I nodded. I was about to get up but he grabbed the glass from my hand and refilled it then handed it back to me. “Thanks, again.” This time I sipped the water more slowly.

  “You had on your bridesmaid dress last night. I don’t think you want to put that back on again, do you? I can give you a tee shirt and pair of shorts of mine to wear. They’ll be big on you, obviously. Or I can go to our room and get your stuff?”

  He could go to my room if I could actually remember what room I was in. Was it 226 or maybe 262? (Thanks to Flaw 8: a bad memory and Flaw 16: a tendency to drink to excess and lose said memory.)

  “I guess I’ll wear your shorts and tee shirt, if you don’t mind.”

  He shrugged. “Why would I mind?”

  He exited and I could hear him rustling through his stuff again. He returned with a pair of jogging shorts and a red Pearl Jam tee shirt. I also noticed he had gathered my bra and underwear from the floor and added them to the small pile. He handed me the clothes.

  I don’t know why having Brett watch me get dressed felt awkward and a little embarrassing. It was a ridiculous feeling. As he had pointed out, we had been intimate all night.

  I averted his gaze while I tried to step into my underwear but was immediately struck by the fact that my legs weren’t working exactly the way I wanted them to. When Brett grabbed my arm to steady me, I realized the reason he was standing there watching me probably wasn’t to get a show, he wanted to make sure I was okay.

  Brett continued to hold me steady as I pulled my undies up and then he helped me put the shorts on. They were baggy and I felt like a puppet in them but they would have to do. I definitely didn’t want to do the walk of shame back to my room wearing my bridesmaid dress.

  I put on my bra then Brett helped me into the tee shirt. “At least you have good taste in music,” I pointed out. “I don’t know what I would have done if you marched in here with a boy band tee shirt.”

  “I have great taste in music,” Brett corrected. “Pearl Jam is one of the all-time greatest bands.”

  I smiled. “They’re actually my favorite band.”

  “Mine, too,” Brett agreed.

  We both looked at each other for a moment and a tiny bit more of my withered heart expanded.

  “I know you probably don’t want to think about food but maybe you should at least try to eat something. A little scrambled eggs and toast? I was thinking about getting room service. How about it?”

  I could feel my stomach churning at the thought of food. “I don’t know,” I muttered as my hand instinctively moved to my stomach.

  “Even if it’s just a few bites, I think it’ll settle your stomach.”

  I sighed. Normally I had no trouble saying no to anyone ever. I could tear someone to shreds with my razor sharp tongue (Flaw 10). But Brett had so much warmth in his eyes it was hard for me to say no to him. I’m not sure what is was about him but he brought out something in me that was rarely seen, like a star nosed mole or a frill necked lizard. Brett brought out nice Anna.

  “Okay,” I agreed as we exited the bathroom.

  Brett hopped over to the phone and ordered us eggs, toast and coffee. Then he grabbed another tee shirt from his suitcase, this one with Green Day, and slipped it over his head.

  “Another great band,” I commented.

  “How could you doubt my musical taste?” he teased.

  I suddenly felt a twinge of sadness. I had slept with Brett, shared my body with him, yet I knew nothing about him. I thought about all of the guys I had been with and how little I really knew about them, how little I cared to know about them and how little they cared to know about me. My love life (if you could call it that) had been little more than a series of casual hook ups.

  When I looked at Brett, he was staring at me. “What?” he inquired when our eyes met.

  “Nothing,” I replied even though there was so much more going on inside my head. How could I possibly admit that I remembered nothing about our being together when it was becoming clear that it had meant something to Brett?

  Brett pulled on a pair of jeans and I noticed how well he filled them out. He really did have a nice body. I would have loved to remember having sex with him.

  “Lie down on the bed with me until the food gets here,” he suggested.

  Brett grabbed my hand and led me over to the bed. He lay down and I got into the bed next to him. He grabbed the remote and turned on the television. He flipped through some stations until he found an old movie playing, The Breakfast Club.

  “I love this movie,” we both said at the same time.

  We looked at each other and laughed.

  “John Hughes movies are the best,” Brett declared .

  “My favorite is definitely Pretty in Pink.”

  “And what about Sixteen Candles?”

  I nodded.

  “And Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” we both stated at the same time and laughed again.

  “You can rest your head on my chest if you want,” Brett offered. I wasn’t the type to cuddle (Flaw 42). The few clingy guys I had dated, mostly in high school, made me feel trapped by their constant need for me to be close. I guess Brett sensed my hesitation because he quickly said, “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I understand.”

  I compromised. I placed my hand on his chest. I could see a small smile form in the corners of his mouth.
Then he placed his hand over mine.

  I don’t believe in coincidences and I rarely have good luck but I noticed that our food arrived exactly as the movie ended.

  “Great timing.” Brett flipped off the television and hurried over to the door. The ease with which he did everything and the comfort he seemed to feel in his own skin actually made me a bit jealous. I never felt completely comfortable with anyone and I felt the least comfortable with myself.

  When the waiter left, Brett carried our food tray over to the bed. “Breakfast in bed, for my lady,” he said with a cheesy fake British accent. He was a little corny but it was cute. And no one had ever gone to the trouble of providing me breakfast in bed.

  Brett sat down across from me on the bed with the meal tray between us. “Dig in. I’m starving!.”

  “Aren’t you the least bit hung over?” When I looked up at Brett all the color had drained from his face.

  “I don’t drink,” he said seriously. “Ever.”

  I gulped. The way he said it was almost pained. But why? Had he told me and I had forgotten? I racked my brain to try and remember but nothing came to me.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

  “It’s okay,” he said but I knew he was lying. It wasn’t okay. Nothing about the night we had spent together was okay.

  Then something strange happened. I could feel my cheeks getting wet. Moisture was dripping down my face and it was coming from my eyes.

  “Don’t cry,” Brett whispered and I wondered if I had heard him correctly.

  “I don’t cry,” I snuffled. “I never cry. It’s flaw number five.”

  “Apparently you do.” He came around to my side of the bed and took me in his arms. As he held me tightly I could feel myself sobbing. WTF? I felt like I was observing myself from outside my own body. I was probably eight years old the last time I remembered shedding a tear now I was quickly deteriorating into a sobbing heap.

  “It’s okay,” Brett whispered. “I’m right here.”

  Brett continued to hold me tight in his arms as I let it all out. Years of bottled up emotions seemed to pour out of me. I could feel snot running down my nose and before I could ask, Brett said, “I’d better get you some tissues.”