Be All (All Series, Book 1)

By Marie Wathen

Sent away every summer after her father is taken hostage, while deployed in Afghanistan, Breesan Maxwell is allowed to spend her first summer in thirteen years at home on Willow Island. Invited to a welcome home party for Morgan Walker, playboy and future heir to Walker Corporation, Breesan’s self made world of exile begins to fall away.

An introduction to Morgan only initiates the downfall of her self-contained world. His brother, undercover Drug Task Force Enforcer, Marcus Walker’s return adds to the chaos by uncovering family secrets, lies and evil plans to destroy her that will make protecting her heart and those around her extra difficult.

Family responsibilities, deceits and the criminal behavior twist these three lives together threatening their meager existences. One brother could offer her a love that will be all worth the downfall.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marie Wathen
• Release date: Oct 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301253234

Marie Wathen

New Adult Author of the All Series, book one Be All released July 2013. Other tiles in the series are, All is Lost, All This Time, Worth it All, Risking All, All We Are and My All. My short story, No Details, can be found in the Novel Grounds All Our Love anthology. It will become a full-length novel in 2015. I am the mom of two beautiful & intelligent daughters; Kaitie and Kayla, who both married Kyle's. I married my best friend, the most loving man that I’ve ever met, Barry. He supports me and encourages everyone of my wild dreams no matter how neurotic. I have two g'son, WD & RJ, who sweetly call me Lola (because that's what I want them to call me). I am a proud Italian-American, living in Alabama. Barry & I have a real passion for travelling via car, and we have visited over half the country in our eleven years together. I adore reading and Japanese food. When I actually do turn on the television, I must play catch-up with my overloaded DVR. My top faves are Game of Thrones, Persons of Interest, Sons of Anarchy, True Blood, Walking Dead, and recently I've added StarCross & the 100 to the lineup. I love Facebook, but hate to overload the news feed with posts about me, so you’ll see more shares than original posts, unless they are about my books. I have a blog, but I suck at updating it. I hope to find time to connect and use it as an outlet for my insane ramblings, but don't count on it. If you love my books, please follow my fan page Marie Wathen Author. I will do my best to keep you updated on where my books are as well as sharing teasers. Thanks for all the love!

Book preview

Breesan

I’m broken, but who isn’t these days? At the age of five years old, all hope for a normal life disappeared. While most little girls were playing with dolls, having their moms braid their hair, and finding friendships that led to happiness – as well as heartache – my life began to shred apart. Like ribbons in confetti, my heart is literally strands floating in the air from death, loss, and cruelty.

I was born eighteen years ago in Willow, a small Alabama island in the Gulf of Mexico, the day my mother, Casandria Maxwell, died while giving me life. Five years later, my father, Captain Brendt Maxwell, was captured while on a friendly military deployment and remains missing and the government won’t confirm if he’s alive.

My secluded life here on Willow Island, with my stepmother Julia, is what drives me to move to the University of Miami at the end of summer. The farther away I can get from her, the better. We are not close. She tolerates me, and at times she's proven to be cruel. Never physically that I can remember, but rather emotionally, which is sometimes worse. The hardest part is that she absolutely does not love me. Most days I hate the life destiny dealt me.

Destiny…what a joke!

Webster's definition of destiny, in essence, is a series of predestined trials, otherwise known as ‘shit happens’. It leaves you thinking, Now what? For me, fate is an isolated existence, some call it loneliness. At a young age, after getting kicked on my ass, I learned that being alone is best. Life has done nothing but teach me that I'm undeserving of emotional connections. Without exception, I have lost every person who has ever loved me.

When others are involved, I become a victim of destiny's twisted design, following an unknown course determined by it. And that just isn't an option. Not wanting outside elements controlling my heart and emotions, I chose to put my defenses up and fight – controlling destiny on my own terms.

Building an impenetrable wall to block out love, from friendships to men, will keep me safe. Blocking love is a genius idea, and I can only hope people don’t judge the way I deal with my life. Truthfully, no one has a clue what it’s like. I need this wall’s protection like I need air to breathe. Hindering access to my heart is easy. I deny friendships and don’t date because I’m not looking for true love. I know it exists. I just don’t want it. Finding it, only to lose it, would kill me.

Pathetic I know, but I have no choice.

If only you could glimpse inside and see how broken my soul is, you would understand and agree with my terms. The risk you take with your heart when you love someone isn’t worth the pain the empty void leaves behind when you lose him. Abandoned after the loss of my parents, along with deceit by so many others, I face events in my life that I refuse to re-live. Fabricating this wall prevents attachments, offering a safe place for my easily broken heart.

A long time ago, I promised someone very special that I would live for myself, and only for myself. For the past thirteen years without my dad, I can say I’ve done a good job keeping that promise.

With limited access to my solitary world, there is one person who won’t give me the damn seclusion I so desperately desire.

Breesan! Anna yells, frowning as she glances at the pile of clothes strewn around my bedroom. She stands in the middle of my room with one fist jammed on her hip while the other scrubs across her forehead viciously.

Can’t I just stay right here? I beg stretching across my bed lazily. I was completely ready to climb under the covers and sleep this freaking night away. Unfortunately, with her being here, sleep isn’t likely to happen. She’s determined to be the bane of my existence, forcing me to go on a dumbass blind date.

Tristan will be here soon. Huffing, she pierces me with deep annoyance. You’ve tried on eight different ball gowns and, of course, you’ve hated every darn one of them.

The fact that her boyfriend, Tristan Walker, will be here any minute for our double date matters very little. Unconcerned with his impending arrival, I prefer watching her get twisted with agitation over my procrastination so I joke, Yeah, they make my ass look fat.

Ignoring my comment, she pulls another lame dress from my closet and holds it out like it’s some sort of prized possession. Quirking an eyebrow while placing the dress on the foot of the bed, she silently dares me to make another smartass comment. I smirk back teasingly, but keep my mouth shut.

It’s nearly seven o'clock. We’re running out of time here, so please tell me that you’re not stalling just to get out of going tonight? She glares at me, her mouth set with an unbecoming pout. Deep frown lines pop up between her eyebrows, indicating that she has a clue that I am doing all of this on purpose. That is what you’re doing. Her rage begins to rise for intentionally making us late. Hands clenching, she digs her fingernails deep into her palms before throwing both hands in the air and storming away into my bathroom. I should have expected this from you. My god you drive me insane. Literally, I’m going berserk and it’s your fault, she whines.

Anna is famous for being melodramatic and today is no exception. She’s unhappy with me for purposely delaying tonight’s plans. But I can’t stress how much I would love to get out of this absurdity.

Is that so? Well, if you’re so crazy maybe we shouldn’t let your crazy ass out in public. Continuing to provoke her bad mood, I’m disappointed when she doesn’t snap back with a quick retort.

Truthfully, canceling dinner would be amazing. It’s not like her relationship with Tristan hinges on this one stupid blind date. She’s locked in for life with him. But if, by some strange turn of events, they broke up, she could easily find a replacement boyfriend.

Noticing how nice she looks tonight, I feel a momentary pinch of jealousy.

Describing Anna Knight as gorgeous is a severe understatement. She’s tall, at five feet ten inches, with the perfect not-too-curvy body, but just enough to make the guys go bananas. Her eyes are the shade of coffee. Loose waves of dark blonde hair cascade down to her waist and are styled perfectly for tonight’s dinner. Her flawless skin glows with a very expensive sunless tan shade of café au lait, making her a damn bombshell. From her perfectly plucked eyebrows down to her buffed and painted toenails, she is a well-tailored woman, an absolute goddess.

With full scholarship offers from every top Ivy League school, she is a bona fide genius, but her gifts are not only limited to high intellect. She’s also a skilled athlete and has an exceptional flair for fashion. Anna has dreams of working in a Paris fashion house after graduating college. Lacking in the patience department doesn’t diminish the fact that she is the total package.

Thinking back to our childhood, I can vaguely remember a time when I actually allowed and wanted our friendship. She was practically like a sister. Born not quite a year after me, Anna lives just down the road from my house. Like me, she is also an only child. However, unlike me, she’s always desired siblings. Prior to elementary school, we spent nearly all our time together, growing closer each day. That is until my dad’s disappearance, when my stepmother put a sudden stop to our friendship. Julia’s hurtful directive made it easy for me to begin constructing my wall. Anna was the first person I shut out, quickly followed by everyone else.

By my choice, I didn’t participate in any school activities or community functions. I ecstatically avoided every social situation, making myself an effective ghost at most times. However, my illusiveness painfully backfired on me in middle school. Ludicrous rumors about me, my family, and my secluded life generated quickly because of my preference for hiding. After a nasty incident with a mean girl, Julia briefly considered homeschooling me. It had infuriated her that I was drawing attention to myself, as if I had any control over what other people thought and said about me. Realizing that homeschooling would require her to spend more time with me, she quickly squashed that idea, which honestly was smart. Neither one of us could stomach the other.

As I entered high school, Julia begrudgingly permitted Anna to hang around, and Anna took full advantage. She got comfortable with the idea quickly, happily letting herself into my house whenever she wanted. I found her waiting patiently in my bedroom every day -- watching television, messing around in my closet, or listening to music. Oddly, it was as if she didn’t want to be at her own home, which made no sense. Unlike me, she had the perfect family life, so her needing to hide at my house confused me.

Besides being a pain, by always being stuck up my ass, Anna’s only other problem is that I can’t always trust her to be truthful. She says and does things that she thinks I want to hear so that I’ll be agreeable. Ugh, that shit really gets on my nerves. I constantly ask her not to lie, but she continues. Most of the time, I call her on it too. After a lifetime of arguing with her about lying and begging her to leave me alone, I finally cave. Now just because of that one freaking moment of weakness, she believes that we’re best friends for life.

Tristan is expecting you to go through with this date, she declares, emphasizing her point by pausing to flash an award winning, overdramatic, and uber serious expression.

Could you be more specific as to why Morgan needs me as his date? Narrowing my eyes, I warily await her explanation, or rather her lies.

Come on! Morgan doesn't really know anyone here, Breesan. He was born here but lived in England most of his life. During the summers he visited Willow. Desperation saturates her voice. And you… Halting midsentence, she turns, staring at me pitifully. Please, just do this for me. Her whiny voice triggers an irritating sensation that runs down my spine. Stalking around my room, she chews on the skin beside her perfectly manicured thumbnail, a notorious telltale sign of hers that indicates she is frustrated or hurt. Suddenly, I feel a little bad about picking on her.

Just a little.

If you go through with the date, you will be doing Tristan a huge favor, one that he will feel completely obligated to repay, she bargains dramatically.

He’s going to owe me big time. I’m not dating his cousin for nothing.

She replaces her frustration with a fake smile, and as soon as she changes her tactics, my shield goes up. You know, Tristan says Morgan has never been on a date before. Studying her face, I see her expression shift drastically. The soft skin under her eye begins twitching, and that’s when I know she is lying. Uh…can you imagine a hot, twenty…one year old, uh…sophisticated man who um…grew up in England who has never dated? She stammers through this implausible explanation.

No, I don’t believe it, but I don’t care enough to ask why. I shake my head in disbelief as she stammers through more lies.

Did I tell you I ran into him last week at Tristan’s grandparents’ house? Anyway, he is so pretty. Like GQ model pretty. Unimpressed, because looks aren’t everything, I roll my eyes, He has always been cute but oh my goodness honey. He has short, wavy, dark brown hair that sticks up in the front like all the hot guys are wearing. I would honestly have to invent a word to describe the shade of his eyes; green just doesn't do them justice. Um…what else? she taps a finger to her chin, while resting her elbow on her other arm, wrapping it loosely around her waist.

Frustrated and needing distance from her and this mind-boggling bullshit, I retreat into my closet and squat down on the floor, delighted with the severance. Unfortunately my solace doesn’t last because she follows, continuing to tick off her top selling points of all things wonderful about my, apparently, perfect date.

Oh, well I don't have to tell you that he's charming. After all, he is a Walker, and they are masters at being cute, lovable, and captivating. The best part… she pauses, and I hear the hopefulness in her voice. The hottie is your date!! She giggles, trying to lighten my mood, Whoa Mama! Breesan Maxwell is going on a date with a true hottie! she adds melodramatically.

Peeking out from my closet, I glower at her with disbelief. Did she just say Whoa Mama? She looks up, wiggles her eyebrows and catches my puzzled look. Stifling a laugh, she covers her mouth with the back of her hand as I roll my eyes again, something I seem to do more of when she’s around. She clears her throat, attempting to regain her composure, and I can’t help chuckling at her silliness. Somehow, I manage to hide it from her because I refuse to encourage her bullshit tactics.

Anyway since you are my bestie, who for some insane reason doesn't like dating and just barely tolerates all guys, I know you are the perfect choice as his date tonight, she says with finality. Why does she think I’m the perfect choice?

Downplaying her excitement and completely uncertain of what the hell she means by that statement, I offer a noncommittal shoulder shrug, and she growls. I know this nonverbal form of communication pisses her off, and that’s exactly why I do it. I pat myself on the back internally while I watch as her level of frustration jumps to DEFCON 5.

Why do you always do this? she snaps, her eyes taking on an icy glare.

Good question. Sadly, the answer lies locked down deep inside my broken soul, never to be revealed to anyone. She continues rambling at a sound level that only dogs can hear now, and I am no longer listening. Honestly, when she starts talking about boys all I hear is yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah, this, that and the other.

Breesan! she yells, trying to get my attention.

Oh shit! My head to snaps up and I find her standing at the entrance to my closet snapping her fingers intentionally. This, she knows I hate it, and she’s doing it on purpose. I know it’s payback for antagonizing her, but what a bitch. Consumed with indignation, she crosses her arms, and arches an eyebrow, all while staring at me. A strange thought passes through her mind, and I see the sparkle in her eyes fade.

Really Breesan, are you listening to anything I'm saying? She releases a long, defeated huff before loosening her fists and dropping her hands to her sides. Barely holding her head up, she walks away pitifully.

Sarcasm, being my usual tone when she sets me up, suddenly doesn’t seem appropriate. I lose my bad attitude and choose to pacify her. I answer softly, I've heard every word.

There's really no pressure on you. Turning her head slowly, she stares over her shoulder at me. With a dejected tone, she whispers, Tonight is simply about showing Morgan a fun time in Willow.

Staring at my wrenching hands in my lap, I freeze from her sincerity, feeling like such an ass for behaving so badly. Now she’s finally being real. I wasn’t expecting this approach, but I was afraid it would happen eventually. And now, I feel guilty. Watching her walk away, I realize that I don't deserve her attention and especially her friendship. She’s always too good to me and I’m such a shitty friend. Why do I care?

Her final coercion method works on me. In the end, my own inadequacies, plus not wanting to hurt her, leaves me doing the right thing. Looking up, I see that she is staring at me through the mirror while fingering a stray lock back into her French twist. It must have popped out during her meltdown. I offer her a smile, but she doesn't reciprocate.

Being so focused on her going on about my date for the past half-hour, I suddenly realize the misery in his situation. If any of what she’s told me about him is true, I can't help but think about his tragic life; gorgeous, but reclusive. Is he really so pathetic that he can only get a date with the one girl in town who despises dating? For his sake, I hope that Anna’s lying.

Intent on seeing her cheer up, I resume digging through my closet again, searching for my damn stilettos. It’s a giant walk-in closet, overflowing with trendy jeans, shoes, and accessories. However, my favorite part of this closet rests on the back shelves.

Two full walls, floor to ceiling, stacked with every concert t-shirt known to humanity. I have a freak obsession with collecting them. It’s strange and sad to admit, but it validates me. If I have the shirt then I was really there in that moment, proving I exist. Existing means that I have survived a lifetime without the kind of love that most people share: love of a parent, a lover, or friends. I actually think that I’ve done a pretty good job of it because I don't love anyone, not even Anna.

It's a sad thing to admit, but it's the truth. When others would have crumbled from the lack of love, I survived it; true survival, not just existing. As much as I want to escape life and all the pain it offers me each day, I refuse to be weak.

Weakness is a mental deficiency that I can’t afford. I found an outlet for dealing with destiny’s bullshit while maintaining my sanity. Exercising is my drug of choice, and literally my answer when everything goes wrong. In addition to a twice-daily five mile run, I joined the gym in the city center. There, I attend boot camp a few days a week and recently implemented tabata into my routine, talk about a workout. But my absolute favorite workout is boxing. In a sport like boxing, being a small woman is irrelevant. The key is constant training, and I put forth the effort like it’s a job. Mastering it recently, I’m in need of a new challenge. Next week, I’ll have my first class in learning the art of Brazilian jiu-jitsu. I can’t wait.

If everything were as simple as exercise and conditional training it would make life a lot easier. I could tear down the wall. Perhaps then I might be willing to open my heart for love. Honestly, even by admitting this, I know it would have to be a love so rare that it makes me feel worthy, because right now I don’t. But if it was a love worth fighting for, I would definitely choose it. The truth is, I know my true survival will one day depend upon that type of love. My heart aches for it, but terror always denies me. Luckily for now, I haven’t met that person yet.

I’m waiting for him.

Wow, what him? My mind just traveled a pathetic path, led by my stupid heart. Feeling ridiculous, I decide rather than continuing to daydream that I’ll just focus on the task of finding my damn heels again.

Ah ha, found them! I holler, hoping to calm her slightly, but she ignores me. Wow, I thought for a second there that I had lost my best heels.

My perverse game of procrastination is Anna’s cause of stress. Shamelessly, I must admit that watching her like this is fun stuff! It's not like she doesn't deserve it a little. She is involved in this whole ridiculous plan to get her pathetic friend a date. Hell, she’s probably the mastermind. But this is not just any old date; it’s a blind date with Tristan's cousin, Morgan Walker.

Apparently, Morgan moved back to Willow recently. According to Tristan, his cousin will follow up his college career by starting his graduate studies at Stanford in the fall. I guess that I can believe Anna’s story about him being hard up for a last-minute date. How lucky is it that the honor falls on yours truly? Kill me now!

Dressing elegantly in designer gowns for a welcome home party, hosted by Tristan and Morgan's family, is more than a ‘fun night out' and Anna knows it. The celebration is being held in the main ballroom at the illustrious Renaissance Castle. It’s a really big deal because everyone on the island will be in attendance. Anna’s just trying to make light of the event to keep me from freaking and backing out on my promise.

I have a bit of an anxiety disorder. Really, it’s just that occasionally I panic, pass out, or make shit up in my head. On that last point, she calls me worst case scenario girl. Little does she know, I am currently in the midst of a minor episode. I really want to hide in here all night and avoid looking like an idiot.

Resigning on being a bitch, I tell her, Okay, Anna. I know you love Tristan.

I watch Anna's face brighten with a grin and instantly feel better. And I lo –

Holding up my hands, I interrupt her remark, stopping her from saying those three words that I can’t bear to hear. "As I was saying, going on this date with his cousin will make you happy, and it will help out Tristan, but I have agreed to this one and only date with Morgan. So I need you and your boyfriend... I stretch out the word sarcastically and she snorts, To understand, I’m only doing this because no one is expecting a second date. Everything is cool. So, yes, I am still going with you on this damn date tonight." She releases a very long held breath.

We understand, she promises, giggling.

At her acknowledgment, I slip into the ninth dress of the night. Standing in front of the full-length mirror together, we grin, satisfied with this selection. I swipe light pink gloss over my lips, squirt perfume behind my ears and then smooth a hand over my long, dark chocolate hair, which is pulled into a side ponytail with a black vintage hair clip. Lastly, I step into my heels.

I’m as ready as I’ll ever be for my date with Morgan Walker.

Truthfully, I'm not entirely opposed to dating. I just don’t want to fall in love. It scares the shit out of me to give one man that much of myself. I know that Anna means well, but on more than one occasion, she has attempted and failed at hooking me up with guys that she deems ‘just perfect’. They were just as she said which made them safe. Because I’m not worthy of perfect, I never let them get close.

In my eighteen year, I have had a couple of crushes. I am somewhat a normal girl. My most recent crush was on Garrett Sanderson, a cute guy that works at the bookstore in town. I was attracted to him and for once eager to go out. We went on a total of one date. It turns out he only wanted to date me because of a stupid bet. His coworker, Elle, a really hot and ditzy barista, bet him that he wouldn’t ask me out. They’re now dating and living happily ever after. I’m over it and my heart is still safe, meaning what he did doesn’t hurt me. That’s really all that matters.

However, I'm not sure that I will ever get over my first crush. I admit that most would say that at five, I was too young to understand love, but I disagree. I understood the love that I had for my father at that age. So really, what’s the difference in loving a boy at that age? His name escapes me, but ours was a relationship made prior to my catastrophe. I met him while he was on vacation one summer in Willow. Too soon, unavoidable circumstances ended our time together. I wish with all of my heart that he could have stayed. Sometimes I still miss him. It’s illogical, yet for some unexplainable reason, the fallout didn’t destroy what I feel for him.

Anna will never know about either crush. I know that she loves me and wants me to be happy, but it is difficult for her to understand that being single is a commitment that makes me happy – it’s what I choose.

Walking slowly, she approaches me with a suspicious curl on her freshly glossed lips. You know you really are the best! I love this dress and your hair is amazing, but something is missing. Her smile grows wicked and her brown eyes sparkle with a golden hue. Oh! I know. This! she answers teasingly while uncurling my hand and placing a pair of black diamond drop earrings in it.

She is always giving me ridiculously expensive stuff. Usually it feels like she is trying to buy me off, but not this time. These earrings are mine. It's a silly little game that she started years ago. When either of us has something the other likes, we simply say, Ooh, I like that, and the owner of the property must relinquish the item, forever.

Glancing in the mirror, I slip my favorite earrings in and check my reflection one last time and smile back at her, smiling at me.

I can't believe you are home all summer, she confesses. My heart leaps with her whispered excitement. It’s going to be the best summer eve. Except for all the great times you'll have with me, what are you doing to keep yourself busy?

I have no idea, I lie because Anna doesn’t need to know my plans.

The last summer that Julia allowed me to stay home, I had been a child. At the age of five, she started sending me around the world. She claims it was to broaden my horizons by learning new skills and languages, making me more valuable in the workforce, and worthy of a good husband – nausea and shivers attack my body at the mere thought of the last reason. But I know the real reason that she didn’t want me around and none of that is it. Now that I’m an adult she has no authority over me and I refuse to leave home this time.

Beyond the fact that my father was a soldier and Julia reminds me constantly how his commitment to our country meant more to him than I did, I know nothing personal about the man. So this summer my plans are to research my father’s family history. Secretly, I’ll sort through his personal belongings to learn the truth about him and where I come from. The one person who knows everything is a nasty, evil soul and refuses to discuss him. Claiming it is too painful having the reminders of her loss so close, she packed away most of his things in our attic and the rest she stores in a warehouse near the docks. Lucky for me, she leaves soon to sail the Mediterranean for a couple of months’ vacation, offering me the perfect opportunity to investigate while avoiding her hostility.

Julia claims that she loved my dad with her whole heart and says that when the military told her that he was missing, and possibly dead, her heart died with him. Her sorrow and concern is a disguise, hiding the truth to people who don’t really know her. She never actually loved my father.

Only I can see through her charade.

Besides the fact that she never talks about him, I honestly don’t think she’s capable of love. When I was young, I wanted him home to sing, or read bedtime stories, but instead of consoling me, she would tell me to stop being so selfish, or she would shout at me just to go to bed. Eventually, I would end up succumbing to her demands and cry myself to sleep. She’s gone as far as forbidding me to mention him, claiming that she misses him so much she can’t stand to hear his name.

All of that was brutal, but pales in comparison when she told me that it made her sad looking at me because I bear a resemblance to him. Except for having his eye and hair color, there are no other similarities between us. Silent tears streaked down my face when she took kitchen scissors to my waist length hair, roughly chopping it in an ugly, short bob. That was nearly ten years ago. Standing here in front of the mirror, scrutinizing my features, I don’t understand how she could react so harshly.

I don’t remember exactly what he looks like; fading memories and one very old picture are the only things I have left. Days after the memorial service, one that she insisted we hold without confirmation of his death, she packed away all photographs of him, including the ones from my bedroom. Only two remain: the forgotten one, on the desk in his study, and my hidden one. I think she leaves the one in his study out for appearances, in the event anyone was to ever visit – no one ever does. My secret picture is safely tucked away from her wicked, tormenting clutches.

Wondering what my father would think if he was to see me tonight, looking all grown-up and beautiful, I smile a bit because for the first time ever I look unbelievable. Since I spent the afternoon at the salon, where my personal miracle worker slaved for three hours coaxing, waxing, and camouflaging me so well that I don’t even recognize myself now, I expect nothing less.

It’s incredible how different I look from my usual no makeup and hair down all frizzy, or pulled into a tight ponytail. My standard everyday attire is a comfy pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and running shoes, adding a scarf occasionally for going out.

The masterpiece I chose to wear this evening is a floor length, white with black satin, trimmed with silver sequins halter top gown; a spectacular creation for someone so unexceptional. Four-inch black and silver stilettos finish off what Anna calls a 'romantic look'.

Unlike Anna, the fashion goddess, I play dress up and always end up feeling so uncomfortable. I don’t like the attention it draws from men when I dress this way, although, I’ve never looked this beautiful before. Typically, guys are not instantly drawn to my normal look. I’m cute but nothing extraordinary.

My skin is porcelain pale, I’m short at five feet and four inches, and curvy, but it’s mostly muscle. The only exception that sets my looks apart from being completely average is my striking gray eyes. I'm seriously fine with being average, and I say that with confidence because it doesn’t bother me to go unnoticed by men.

Dating is a distraction to so many girls, and right now that isn’t an option for me. So I do what I must to avoid attention by downplaying my already plain looks daily. Unfortunately since I agreed to tonight’s date, I must dress the part and look like something out of a Disney fairytale.

Anna’s mother, a buyer at a top department store, is the reason I own a dress of this magnitude. For years, Anna has been sneaking fabulous items into my closet. I have the latest in fashion, from dresses and jeans to handbags and shoes, practically everything she can get her hands on she crams into my closet. She makes me her personal make-over project every opportunity she can, and I hate it. Finding something appropriate to wear for tonight’s event isn’t an issue, but for me to actually feel comfortable in it is a whole other story.

Anna lets out an awkward laugh drawing me out of my pity-party. I knew you were only messing with me about not going tonight. All the time and money you spent at the salon should have tipped me off, but your crappy attitude had me so frazzled that I forgot you went this morning.

The doorbell chimes signifying Tristan’s arrival, and I say in my most saccharine filled tone, Let the fun begin. Turning on my heel, I face a proud Anna wearing a silly smile, forcing another eye roll from me.

Chapter Two

Breesan

Overly animated, Anna practically bounces down the hallway toward the front door with me in tow. I get a good look at her and as usual, she looks beautiful. Her dress is a strapless aqua gown with an empire waist that she’s paired with glossy patent leather black heels. She is dripping with diamonds and in one word, she is stunning.

Throwing open the door swiftly I am nearly trampled as Tristan leaps passed me, grabbing Anna around her tiny waist and snuggling her into his arms. After swinging her dizzy, he draws her into a sweet embrace. Gingerly, his large hands move to stroke the sides of her face, careful not to damage her hair and makeup, while his eyes travel down from hers to her lips, greedily.

Slowly, he lowers his mouth to hers, claiming it in a smoking hot kiss, not desperate just demanding, but worshipping. Her hands find their way around to his back, clutching tightly. After several searing moments and awkward sounds – awkward for me – they slowly part. Her bright smile is infectious, and I find myself grinning like a fool while she continues staring deeply into his eyes. They really are precious, but at the moment I feel like I am intruding on a private lover’s moment.

Tristan Walker, aka BMOC: Big Man on Campus, or because he picks on me relentlessly like a brother would his sister, I like to think of him as Big Meany (who should be) On a Catwalk. Swoon. He is hot. Honestly, he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. His hulking six foot tall frame, dark blue eyes, square jaw line, and dark copper hair streaked with dark brown low lights and sun-lightened tips are just the tip of the iceberg on the beauty of Anna’s boyfriend. His athletic physique is sculpted perfection – muscular with wide snuggly shoulders and a big chest. He has a sun kissed tan that’s not overly done. And if possible, he looks even better now than when he dresses casually. Dressed in a black double-breasted suit with a white shirt, and no tie, Tristan is in Anna’s words – yummy.

A brilliant and goodhearted man, he too exudes perfection. People like Tristan because he genuinely cares about everyone. One of my favorite qualities about him is his protectiveness – he’s possessive, yet gentle. But, I’ll never admit how much I actually like him having my back.

Once he lives out his college football dream, he plans to work in his family’s business that specializes in alternative methods for sustainable island living. With all of the amazing things about him, he’s still sad at times and I think the source is his family commitments. But I don’t ask and he doesn’t discuss it. From the things that Anna has shared, I know that his dad has some disturbing control over him that causes Tristan major distress. I hope he can overcome it because he really deserves happiness.

Tristan and Anna are the perfect couple, matching in amazing good looks as well as generous personalities. Although they have only been dating for five years, Tristan has been in love with her most of his life. He is completely devoted to Anna, and in his opinion, no better woman exists for him. His affections for Anna are so dreamy – if you’re into things like that, which I am not! I don’t have false hope that I’ll ever have a love like theirs. Dreams of true love are nonexistent in my world, a fact that I am perfectly content with. If I were to date, I would choose guys who share my beliefs and purposely avoid romance – not that they would get sex from me either.

Tristan lifts Anna once again before gently returning her feet to the ground. Then, with a soft kiss on her cheek and one to the tip of her nose, he whispers reverently, Sweetness, you are so beautiful. And you’re wearing the dress I like you in. Anna’s cheeks burn with a rosy blush from his compliment.

You’ve never seen this dress before babe, it’s new, she corrects him.

He grins bashfully, I know.

Oh my god, that’s seriously the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.

She kisses him this time and then they stare lovingly into each other’s eyes while holding hands, oblivious to the world around them. Clearly forgotten, I clear my throat hoping they’ll stop this nauseating display.

Thank you, babe, she replies. Her tongue slides across her bottom lip nervously and she runs her hands over the hard planes of his chest. You look simply delish in this suit.

With a big dumb grin plastered on his handsome face, he glances over her shoulder at me. Wow, Breenie Weenie, you look great too. I smile at his compliment even though he calls me a nickname. After knowing each other for fourteen years, he refuses to use my real name, but I won’t let him see how much it aggravates me when he sticks me with another new stupid nickname. I don’t think he does it maliciously. It’s more like an annoying habit that he does with all of his friends.

Thanks Tristan. You look so handsome. No doubt you two will be the most beautiful couple at the party, perfect as always. Uncharacteristically blushing at my compliment, he shrugs his large shoulders and jams his hands into his front pockets.

Stepping close, his voice is low and serious when he replies, You know I owe you big time for agreeing to this double date. Morgan has been here for three weeks and I couldn’t get him to hang out once, and believe me I tried everything. He shakes his head like he just doesn’t understand his cousin’s problem, I even suggested taking guns out to the range to do a little target practice. Five hundred rounds of major firepower to blow up shit is a great option for letting off some steam. He blew that idea off for some reason and I haven’t seen him much since.

Blue eyes that usually sparkle with life darken with gloom and he sighs. Hey B, uh – if he is a little withdrawn tonight I hope you don’t take it personally. He's been busy with family stuff and sometimes – His words stop abruptly, he chuckles to himself while regarding me for a moment and then he says, Ah heck, who am I kidding? I’m sure it doesn’t matter to you anyway.

He’s right. I don’t care if his cousin says one word to me or even looks my direction once tonight. I actually prefer he doesn’t, so that there are no awkward moments or attempts at being social. I don’t need his attention, and I don’t want his friendship. Unfortunately for me, the party is in my date’s honor so I’m sure there will be plenty of talking and required dancing. I guess intentionally neglecting him the entire evening would be rude. Damn, what have I agreed to?

Huffing out a breath, I whine, Can we just go already? Opening the door, Tristan allows us to exit first. After I step out the door, he flashes a suspicious smile my way