Kelly

By Anita Claire

*** Warning Steamy Sex Scenes and a Love Triangle ***
Sometimes everything that you want is right in front of you
Kelly has always been a wild child. She travels the world partying, competing in sports and hooking up – and not necessarily in that order. She's never had an interest in living in one place, having a steady boyfriend, or getting a job. Until she meets a guy who changes her mind about everything.

Of course, Kelly has her band of college friends that compel her to keep coming back to Silicon Valley; dubbed The Princesses from their freshman year Halloween costumes.

This is a stand-alone book, but much more fun if read along with the other Princess stories.

Author Motivation: All the princess books are coming of age stories. The main character progresses from college to becoming an adult. Overcoming an imbedded belief or coming to terms with adult issues is not always easy or pretty to watch. If I've done my job well as an author, there will be times when you yell at my protagonist to grow up, get their head out of their butt, or to stop worrying so much. Hopefully, by the end of each book, you will cheer the protagonist as they grow, change, and evolve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anita Claire
• Release date: Jan 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311911575

Anita Claire

Anita Claire is an author of contemporary romance novels. Her books explore women who hold non-traditional jobs and the situations they encounter. She writes about smart, hard-working women and the men they fall in love with.

Book preview

Chapter 1 – The Morning After

Ugh, my temples throb in rhythm with my pulse as I lay in bed shivering. With my eyes closed, I reach around searching for a blanket. All I feel are other people’s limbs, I want to sleep but I’m too uncomfortable.

I was dreaming of grape juice. In my mind’s eye, I could see the bottle, all perspiring and wet … I haven’t thought about drinking grape juice since I was a kid.

I’m so thirsty.

Someone moans and kicks my leg. I lay for a while longer. I’m unable to sleep but I feel too exhausted to get up. Rays of light filter through the curtains. Thirst drives me to sit up. My stomach immediately seizes and spasms. My mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton as I attempt to swallow back what’s rising from my stomach. Moving off the bed, I drag myself to the motel’s small crappie bathroom; the kind where the sink is in a separate room from the toilet and shower. I drink from the tap, then wash my face.

Leaning on the counter, I look at myself in the mirror. I’m naked, my red hair at best of times is a mass of disorderly curls, at worst of times looks like I’m going Rastafarian. Right now, I’d give Bob Marley a run for the money. My eyes are completely bloodshot and my skin has that sallow look you get when you’ve spent the night consuming too many calories from alcohol and not enough from nutrition. I can hear a female moaning.

Kelly, ugg, she slurs out. Can you get me something to drink?

I look around, it’s not like there’s a lot to choose from. I grab the first thing I see, a black plastic ice bucket. I fill it up with water and stalk into the bedroom. Tiffany’s lying in bed with a guy I don’t know. He’s big, jacked, naked, tattooed, pierced, and sporting some impressive morning wood.

All the sheets, blankets, pillows, and bedspread are on the floor. A flash of memory from last night jolts my foggy brain. Tiffany and I were making out; we were starting to have some fun. I chuckle at that thought. I’ve never considered myself gay since I don’t lust after women, but I’ve always been an equal opportunity partner when it comes to sex. Flashing back to Tiff and me, when it was getting good, Woody joined in. From that point on, it was a lot of skin and hands, while the sex got rather wild.

Tiff looks at me with parched lips and red watery eyes. Kelly… she whines, water.

Open wide.

I pour a stream of cold water slowly over her face as I aim for her mouth.

She sits up fast, sputtering.

What the fuck. Why are you always so insane?

Oh, you wanted it with a straw?

I drop the empty ice bucket and start thrashing around the floor looking for my clothes. The problem with my stupid water prank is it woke Woody. He sits up and scratches his neck. Oh, yeah, now I remember him. He was at the bar. He had this look of mischief on his face and a cocky ass smile, right before he jumped into that fight. Tiff thought he was beautiful. She’s right. He’s sporting a lot of tattoos and some interesting hardware.

I feel a surge of glee run through me. He certainly knew what he was doing … and the hardware … now that was interesting. He definitely could hit the G-spot and bring home the O.

You crazy ass chicks, Woody groans, his voice is rough and bleary.

Come on, get dressed, I yell at Tiff as I pick up and throw her shirt. We need to hydrate. We’re meeting Cal at a club to train in less than an hour.

You can train without me, she mumbles.

"If you can’t do what you need to the next day, don’t drink so much.

***

After drinking down three Gatorades, I still feel like shit as I enter the club. I find the weight area and watch Cal press. He sits up and gives me a good smirk.

You look like shit Red.

Tell me something I don’t already know.

Where’s Tiff?

She’s back at some motel with a guy.

New guy?

Who?

I saw you two leave with some new guy on the circuit.

He’s another cyclist?

I think he’s more of a badass partier. He’s strong and rides smart, but I don’t think he has the talent to get to the top, and with the way he drinks and fights, there’s no way he’ll be in condition to make up what God didn’t give him.

If last night is any kind of indication, he has plenty of talents in other areas and lots of stamina.

Probably more information than I need to know.

After a couple of hours in the gym, I’m stretching out on the mats when Tiff finally shows up wearing the same clothes from last night.

Hey girlfriend, Cal and I’ve finished our workout. I think you missed out, I yell to her.

She winces at the sound of my voice as she sits down at the end of the bench.

I stayed for round two, she mumbles. I figured it would be more fun than this workout.

Something going on between you two.

Lots of sex. He’s actually on the same tour as us.

Cal told me.

If you two continue on with this level of partying I think the only tour you’ll be seeing is rehab, Cal comments as he joins us.

Now you’re starting to sound like my mom. ‘Tiffany, why did we spend so much money on college? All you’re doing is riding bikes and partying.’ Tiff mocks in a falsetto voice. That’s all I did in college, why would she think I’d suddenly stop now?

I’m taking a shower. Do you want to grab a coffee with Cal and me? I question.

A shower and coffee sound good, Tiff replies.

Chapter 2 – Racing

I wake up feeling good; probably because I haven’t had a drink in forty-eight hours. It’s my own personal policy before a race. After checking my air, brakes, chain, tires, and headset; I pull on my cycling kit and make my way to the course.

Once there, I look around at the people assembled. I’m currently racing Cross-Country and it’s a relatively small community. We’re all mountain bike racers, not ‘prima donna’ roadies. Even so, there’s a hierarchy. At the top are the elite athletes who compete on the big-name teams. They consistently make the podium, surreptitiously eyeing each other. They’re the ones that actually can make significant prize money and real endorsements. Then you get athletes like me, we ride well, can hang with the ‘big dogs’, and are always praying for the lucky break when we can pull it out and upset the field. We’re living day-to-day for that invitation to a major team, with the opportunities for sponsorship, salary, and promotion that could bring. Most of the riders at my level don’t last too long at this gig. Like the old saying, it’s pretty much ‘either up or out’. It’s hard to keep up with the riding when the money’s flowing out and nothing’s coming in. Most of us have a job in the winter that funds the summer season. Then lastly, there are the wannabes, weekend warriors that are good enough to ‘hang in’ but mostly just fill out the bottom half of the results sheet, without much hope of a podium finish.

Waiting for my race, I find a quiet space where I can get my head together and review the course in my mind. I rode it a number of times in the last few days, so I know where it will get technical, and where to put the hammer down and make up some time. What I love about Cross-Country racing, is it requires both skill and stamina. Now I need to give one last review to my tactics before I go out and pound hard. As I get ready to start, the energy from the other rider’s nerves energizes me and helps me to focus.

Halfway through the race, I’m feeling good. I’m strong and passing other riders. I made sure not to go out too fast and blow my energy too soon. I get into the Zen of breathing and almost forget my legs. Once into my ‘groove’ my world focuses down to one single purpose – ripping the course and taking down as many of my competitors as possible. Hitting something wrong, not taking a curve right, or catching the wrong kind of air can cause not just a loss of a few positions in the rankings but in the worst case, serious injury and a forced break from training.

The hardest part of any sport is controlling your own brain. When I’m on the course, with my adrenaline high, and the endorphins kicking in, I feel great, better than great, I’m superwoman. I’m never exhausted, never scared, it’s an amazing high I find no place else. As an athlete, I’m strong and have plenty of natural ability, but my best asset is my brain. I thrive on the competition and being on the edge of risk. When I race, I ride ‘full-on’. I never psyche myself out and always play it strategically. If only my off-course life was played as well, my parents would be thrilled.

Today I rode well, coming in ninth overall. That would be great if I was the ninth fastest receiver or forward in football, but in women’s cycling, that makes me known to the other women on the tour, it doesn’t bring in endorsements or race cash.

After the race, Tiff and a couple of the mid-pack riders join me. They fist butt and give me a high five. We hang around to watch the winners get called up to the elusive podium.

***

After a shower and a good meal, I head to the bars. Not all the cyclist’s party, but I definitely know the ones that do. My friends all share a feeling, like you need to grab it now, like you don’t want to miss out on anything, there’s an energy and an exuberance to our lives.

When I look around the bar, I can pick out my group, we’re the ones who are athletic and energized. We don’t have the pathetic look of some of the local patrons, an air of desperation, a look that shows hope has passed them by.

Cal greets me with a fist bump and a smile. Good ride.

Almost at the top, I need to pull a little more out of me. Am I riding too conservatively? Is my strategy wrong? Do I need to change the way I train?

I’ll need to play your tape to see where you can make up some time. Let me buy you this beer. You deserve some carbs after all the effort today.

I got plenty of carbs and protein at dinner.

Cal pours me a beer from his pitcher and hands me a glass.

A few more carbs wouldn’t hurt.

I clink his glass, then take a long slow swig. I love the feeling of a cool beer sliding down my throat and swirling around my stomach. Tiffany joins us, fist bumping Cal. She gives me eye contact before she tips her head to point to the game room at the back of the bar.

He’s here, she says with a gleam in her eye.

I look across the bar into the back room. The guy from the other night’s playing pool. He’s one nice looking man. Now I remember, that’s what I thought when I pulled him out of the fight to join us.

You want to get more of that? I question.

I couldn’t get enough of him the other day, she enthusiastically replies.

I don’t need to listen to this, Cal complains.

We’ve done it, are you jealous? You want more of this? she says pointing to herself.

Tiff, you certainly give a man a run for his money. But I think if we do it again, people will start thinking something’s going on between the two of us.

Now having sex with someone you’re in a relationship with, that would be wrong.

Tiff’s eyes move back to checking out Woody’s nice looking ass.

Do you know his name? she asks Cal, as she points to Woody.

I thought the two of you fucked him?

He’s got lots of tats, but it’s not like any of them have his name on it, I reply.

Anyway, who’s Marissa? Tiff asks.

Marissa? I question.

He’s got a tattoo on his back with the name Marissa on it, Tiffany explains.

Must be some old flame. That’s why you never get a lover's name on your body.

Tiff continues to watch Woody while some friends join us. They start riffing on a conversation we had earlier about cycling gear. Johnny, a strong rider, and a big partier gives me the eye, he’s got a flair for getting the party going.

Big Red, how about a game of darts? Loser buys the next pitcher.

Cal slaps Johnny on the shoulder. Johnny, you must have money to spare if you’re stupid enough to challenge Big Red.

I give Cal a wink as I turn my energy to Johnny. Let him have his couple minutes of bravado before I show him how to throw a dart like a girl.

The other guys catcall and whistle.

Dude, now you need to win so you can show her how men rule.

We’ll see who rules. I get off my perch and make my way to the dart board. I don’t want to eat up all your money, but I sure like drinking for free, I tease.

Johnny and I each get a couple practice throws, to get a feeling for the board before we start playing. Tiff follows us, maintaining a hungry looking eye on Woody. I can tell he’s noticed the two of us but hasn’t made any indication that he’s interested in a repeat performance. I understand. A hook up is fun. If you start doing it with the same person too often, you find out too much about them. Feelings can get in the way of a good time. I like to keep sex fun and casual. I have plenty of my own shit to work out; I don’t need to get bogged down with anyone else’s. While I wait for my next throw, I contemplate Woody. He’s hot, but what makes him interesting is he telegraphs a layer of anger and angst, this makes him sexy. I wonder if Marissa is the reason. That would fit the bill. He acts like a guy working a woman out of his system. A man like that doesn’t want any new entanglements.

I don’t think he’s looking for a repeat performance, I confide to Tiff. Go hit on some other guy.

No, we left it good.

Some people never want to see the truth. She’s a big girl. She can go over there and get turned down. Then she’ll find someone else.

Alex, one of our group’s regulars, joins us with a new guy in tow. The new guy looks good. I measure out at a little over six feet; naturally, I go for men who are tall. I also like my men muscled and athletic. The only thing that turns me off is bad teeth and guys who smoke or chew.

Yes! I yell, raising my arms in victory, after easily winning against Johnny. Can any of you throw better than a girl? Johnny, you need to buy the next pitcher.

After an eight-game winning streak, I feel the beer goggles descending. As the bar tilts to the left. I’m now too drunk to continue playing. I look around to see where the new guy is. Woody is making out with some blond chick while Tiff watches with a frown on her face. I called that one.

I’m done, I announce, as I back away from the board. Someone else needs to take the next bet.

My eyes land on the new guy, man, he’s looking even better. With a smile, I walk up to him. Hey new guy, do you have a name?

A few of the guy's catcall. They know how I play. New guy smiles. He has nice white teeth. He leans in close.

Kit.

Before responding, I move a little closer.

Kit, did you ride today?

My buddy Alex was doing all the riding. I’m passing through. He scratches his unshaven jaw. Saw you ride. You’re strong. He looks me up and down with a cocky smile. I like the red hair.

Lets me stand out in the crowd.

I move a little closer.

Oh, you stand out in the crowd. Where did you learn to play darts like that?

I grew up in a bar?

Really.

Oh, you want really. I have four older brothers. If I wanted to play with the boys, I had to play like a boy.

He looks me over again. This time, his eyes stop at my lips.

Do you play everything like a boy?

I have girl parts, but I don’t like it sweet.

Oh, there’s nothing cute or sweet about you. I’m sure you give all the guys a good workout.

Where are you staying? I ask as I decide I’ve had enough blather and want to move on to the next game.

I have a camper on my truck, makes it easy to see America.

What parts of America are you interested in seeing? I move even closer. I’m so close I can rub myself against him, which telegraphs I’m not asking for a trip report.

Right now, I’m thinking a little tour of Ireland would be nice.

I’m all Boston, but a little tour of your camper about now sounds wicked good, I answer with a strong Southie accent.

He scratches his jaw again and chuckles, though I have no idea if he gets the joke. I’m so close now; I speak into his ear.

I’m ready to leave.

I’m parked around the corner.

Well, Kit, a friend of Alex, the night’s still young.

With a light kiss on his bottom