Repercussions (The Hot Mess Duet Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Repercussions

  About this book

  Prologue - Annie

  Chapter 1 - Annie

  Chapter 2 - Wyatt

  Chapter 3 - Annie

  Chapter 4 - Annie

  Chapter 5 - Wyatt

  Chapter 6 - Annie

  Chapter 7 - Wyatt

  Chapter 8 - Annie

  Chapter 9 - Wyatt

  Chapter 10 - Annie

  Chapter 11 - Wyatt

  Chapter 12 - Annie

  Chapter 13 - Wyatt

  Chapter 14 - Annie

  Chapter 15 - Wyatt

  Chapter 16 - Annie

  Chapter 17 - Wyatt

  Chapter 18 - Annie

  Chapter 19 - Wyatt

  Chapter 20 - Annie

  Chapter 21 - Wyatt

  Chapter 22 - Annie

  Chapter 23 - Wyatt

  Chapter 24 - Annie

  Chapter 25 - Wyatt

  Epilogue - Annie

  Acknowledgments

  Coming Soon

  Repercussions

  Book 1 of The Hot Mess Duet

  B.L. Olson

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  Nobody just decides to be a hot mess.

  I think somewhere along the way it just became who I was and I gracefully accepted the role…

  I feel so utterly stuck. Unwanted by anyone I could ever see myself with and alone despite having two "roommates" who constantly hover and meddle in my life.

  There are definitely repercussions for not pushing myself to be who I want to be. When I met my new next door neighbor Wyatt, I didn't think he would be the one to constantly challenge me. Tear me open and put me back together again in an entirely different way. The one who is dealing with his own repercussions as well…

  Prologue- Annie

  Repercussion #193: Not having a backup plan for when your relationship hits the fan means moving back in with your overbearing parents.

  FOUR YEARS AGO…

  ".... And they lived happily ever after." I lean back in my office chair and silently pump my hands in the air in celebration. Feelings of elation and accomplishment fill me, as well as a small amount of hope that I can actually do this. After several months of planning, outlining, and writing until my fingers cramped, I had just typed the final words of the first draft of my debut novel. While there has been other projects before, never anything I felt was worthy of readers' eyes.

  When I glance at my silver laptop sitting on the worn desk in my office, I get another sudden rush of giddiness. The whole time I was writing, I was so focused on getting this manuscript done and doing it justice that I didn't really contemplate where it could go. I have always been a writer, starting that fateful day I opened a word document and started my first Harry Potter fanfic. I always wanted to publish something of my own, have my creations out there for others to enjoy and discuss. Today I became one step closer to accomplishing just that.

  I can hear the downstairs door open and close. Inspecting the hands of the clock above my desk, I knew it would be my boyfriend, Travis. While he didn't exactly push me to be the best writer I could be or to actually publish my work, he never told me I was stupid for wanting to.

  The only times he really made an effort to read my writing was when I got to those filthy scenes that are well known in the romance genre because they amped up the sexual tension and made us explode. Or rather him, as I hadn't really cared about sex for a long time now. We have been together for 4 years, introduced in our junior year of college by a mutual friend, and I am woman enough to admit things have become a little stale in recent years.

  Saving my latest progress and shutting everything down, I close my laptop screen with a happy sigh and stand up. After sitting for the last three hours my legs felt like little pins were pricking up and down the length of them. I knew I should have gotten up earlier to stretch, but I was so close to the end and in the zone and just couldn't bring myself to stop.

  I head down the hallway and the stairs leading to the front entryway. Seeing the TV already on in the living room, I decide to head straight to the kitchen to get dinner started. One of the first things Travis did after coming home from his marketing job was catch up on ESPN. It's like he can't continue his day without knowing how some overpaid ball players fared that day.

  I know by experience that interrupting him would cause the battle of the century, and I wanted this giddiness to last just a little longer. I couldn't bring myself to interrupt the bubble of elation surrounding me. It was as if Glinda the Good Witch came down and bestowed her wand on me and put me in a giant ass bubble chock full of laughing gas. I even had the urge to don a pink puffy dress like the Good Witch herself, except I would never personally purchase a pink item for myself. That color was reserved for baby girls and Barbie and in my opinion, only they should be the ones to adorn it.

  It was twenty minutes later, and over the sound of the water boiling for the spaghetti noodles I hear the TV in the living room finally turn itself off. Footsteps head my way and Travis appears in the kitchen. I give him a small smile and dump the noodles into the pot. He rounds the counter and gives me a peck on the forehead. After four years of routine and being in a stable relationship, we were over the lovey-dovey crap that seems to come with new love.

  He opens the cupboard behind me and pulls out a glass. Ensuring the water won't boil over, I spin around and blurt out my good news to get it over with, "I finished my book today!

  He freezes, his shoulders going rigid. He slowly turns around and gives me a cold look, "Excuse me? I just thought you were writing that story for fun?"

  I could feel my features begin to morph into what my mom "lovingly" refers to as my bitch face, this is definitely going to be a battle, "For fun? I told you this one was different. I'm confident in my plot and characters and I'm going to either push for publication or self-publish it myself."

  Setting the still empty glass on the counter behind him, Travis leans back, crossing his arms and appraises me with disapproving eyes. I take a moment while he contemplates his next words to really look at him. His suit that always seems to melt perfectly on his lean, yet toned body is wrinkled and in disarray. There was a crease in his brow, probably from the conversation at hand, and his chocolate brown hair is more disheveled than I have seen it in a long time. I know his days are long and stressful, but today looked particularly more so than usual.

  "Yes you told me, but there were other projects you were equally excited about. I work in marketing Annie, how would it look if my girlfriend released a porno book? That would make me look as trashy as you."

  I take a step back in shock and bump into the stove. Remembering the spaghetti noodles, I turn and stir them quickly. A moment later I murmur, "You certainly didn't think it was trash when I was writing the steamier scenes and our sex became better than just fine for a change." To call it a sex life though would be laughable, we hardly ever did it and we never seem to be in the mood at the same time.

  His eyes narrow and his stern voice grinds out, "I let you work part-time and stay home to write the remainder of your day with the idea that you would at least be bothered to clean or cook something besides spaghetti every once in a while. But no!" He flung his arms out to the, admittedly, cluttered kitchen, "Look at this disaster! I work my ass off all day at work and expect to come back to a clean home and a meal that is at least somewhat inspired. But apparently, the only thing that inspires you is your damn smut!"

  My jaw drops in shock. While in the past he had made snide comments here or there on my messier days, he had never been downright nasty. He also never explicitly stated that the expectation was for me to cook
and clean because I cut my hours at work to write, "You let me go to part-time? We had a lengthy discussion about this Travis! We both agreed that it would pay off for me in the long run, possibly more than working at the library if I was successful. And if you wanted me to be your live-in maid and personal chef, maybe you should have said something to me when we had that talk!"

  Travis stills, his body coiled in anger and what looks like disgust, "I thought you were smarter than this Annie. Your job as my woman is to support me, emotionally and not financially. I make more than enough for the both of us and your only task is to take care of my needs. Are you doing that, baby? Do you think my needs are taken care of?"

  My hands ball into a fist, my fingernails biting into the palms of my hands, "Are you fucking telling me that my job because I am a woman, is to cook what you want? Scrub the house before you get home? Sit here and let you freaking talk down to me!?" I was about to lose my shit and I didn't even care what the repercussions would be. To be talked to this way, to be made to feel like I was nothing more than a caretaker, first for Travis and then for whatever kids we talked about having, was one of the worst feelings in the world.

  His stupid smug smile tells me everything I need to know, but still, he has to keep going, "Don't forget about my other needs, Annie. A man needs his dick sucked on a regular basis. His woman down on her knees worshiping him. Are you doing that? Are you on your knees in front of your man giving him what he craves?"

  He has to be kidding me! This self-absorbed prick only ever cared about what he wanted, about his own selfish needs, "And what about your woman? Are you giving her what she needs? I wrote the raunchiest scenes in the hopes that it would spark something in you when I asked you to read them, but even that rarely helped." I turn my back on him and stalk off in the direction of the living room.

  I don't make it far before he grabs my long ponytail and forces me to turn around and look at him, "Oh Annie, you want to know why I haven't been very attentive? Here's the truth. You're boring, beyond stupid when it comes to anything that truly matters, and going absolutely nowhere in your life. I knew the day would come to cut you loose. Hell, I wanted to kick you the fuck out a long time ago, but my parents kept telling me how appropriate you were for me and my life. If only they could read the trash you claim to be publishing." He sneers at me, an almost gleeful look passing across his face, his hands harshly gripping my chin and face, "You wanna know the kicker though, baby? I have had someone else on their knees worshiping my dick for a while now. In fact, she was just in my office doing so while I sat in my comfy little throne."

  My knees wobble. Cheating on me? But we have a life together! A house, which sure he paid mostly for because I made peanuts compared to him. Friends, that we made as a couple. We even have a friggin' joint Costco membership! If that doesn't scream being in a committed relationship, I don't know what does.

  I take a moment to study the man in front of me, his disheveled clothing and hair suddenly making a lot more sense than him working late. Travis, the man who taught me how to love, kneels down and sneers in my face, "You can pack your shit and get out of here as soon as possible. I am done with you now. Do you hear me?"

  He reaches to the stove behind me and knocks over the pan of boiling water to the ground, splashes of hot water hitting me as it does. I scream out at the sudden flash of pain on my thigh where more hit than anywhere else, a physical reminder of the mental abuse this man instilled in me from day one.

  Chapter 1- Annie

  Repercussion #274: Don't ever shave your vagina. You will just cause ingrown hairs that will look like nasty bug bites on your vah-jay-jay. Or y'know demented looking herpes or something.

  "Fuck me," I mutter quietly under my breath as I hobble around the circulation desk. I take a quick scan of the disastrous children's book corner of the small library I work at. It looks like the site of a fucking massacre, and I had only stepped into the back room for a few moments!

  A pubescent boy's voice squeaks from behind me, "Is that an invite?"

  Letting out a small sigh and pasting on the most professional smile I can muster, I unsteadily turn around and regard the young teen. He sits up and puffs out his chest at my inspection, his honey colored eyes betraying the lack of self-confidence beneath what he is showing on the exterior.

  His eyes find the small strip of cleavage peeking from my blouse so I cross my arms across my breasts and give him a glare, "I'm sorry, that is definitely not an invitation. Did you happen to see who did this?" I gesture at the scraps of paper, scissors, and torn up books that surround me.

  The teen shrugs and whips back around toward his own computer, not interested in making conversation since hooking up with me is clearly off the table. So young and yet already a man who has only one thing on his mind.

  I let a sigh escape my lips, and slowly bend down to start picking up scraps of books. Evidently, some mom set her children loose on the library and didn't pay attention to the fact that they were cutting pages out of picture books as if they were making one big collage. Hundreds of dollars down the drain because some mother couldn't be bothered to keep an eye on her kids.

  I swear some peoples children are the perfect form of birth control. Not that I really need to worry about that at the moment. These days, my vagina is drier than the Sahara and about as populated.

  I had this sneaking suspicion when I drug my ass out of bed this morning that it would be one giant shit show. It all started with the wind storm that knocked out our power long before I got to blow dry my hair, which meant dealing with a frizz of epic proportions. Normally, my long honey blonde hair doesn't have an issue, but when it's wind dried on your walk to work, well a hairstyle that looks straight out of the Hunger Games is what occurs.

  When I got there, the hits just kept coming. I have to use a stool to shelve books as my five-foot-four ass cannot reach the taller shelves, and when I went to step backward off of it, I missed the ground and twisted my ankle. It is now three times its usual size and causing me to skulk around the library like Quasimodo.

  Needless to say, my hot mess crown will not be taken from me anytime soon.

  As I finish cleaning the butchery of my library's precious books, I feel my phone vibrate from inside my bra. The one great thing about big boobs is being able to throw things in there and have it act as a pocket when your outfit doesn't have any of its own. Discreetly looking around to make sure the creepy teenager isn't watching me, I remove my phone from my bra and see a notification for a new text message.

  Mom: Power came back on for a few hours but the wind knocked the power line across the yard and it's back out. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO USE FRONT DOOR OR YOU WILL FRY. You will have to jump the fence from the neighbor's yard and use the back door. I left it unlocked for you.

  I heave a sigh. If I didn't need to get home and ice my ankle, I'd go to the bar for a few drinks after work. Or track down a local distillery and camp out there for the night. This day is for the birds and I am sick of being shit on.

  Limping around the library, I start to tidy up and shut down the many computers. I give a fifteen-minute warning to the lone teenager in the building and head to the back room to finish up a few things before I leave for the night. The stale scent of old books is in the air but there seems to be something else with it. A sense that life isn't quite done screwing me over just yet, and whether or not this will be to my benefit remains to be seen.

  I run through my closing duties as quickly as I can in my injured state and notice the teenager slip out the door when I am almost done. Well if that isn't some perfect timing. Locking up the door and wandering the small library to make sure everyone is truly out, I finally let myself relax a fraction. But only for just a moment, there is still one craptastic part of my night that I still need to hurdle.

  Literally.

  Turning off the lights behind the circulation desk, I head towards the front door on the opposite end of the building. Unlocking it and opening it just a fraction
is all the wind needs to swing it wide open. Lucky for me my face is there to keep it from slamming into the wall on the other side. Dazed and confused, I take a moment to shake it out. Lesser people would cry, but I have dealt with so much more bullshit than this pile of a day and I will not let it get to me.

  Once the stars behind my eyelids clear and I am sure I'm not going to pass out behind the wheel of my car, I grab the door and fight the wind to close it. I somehow manage to use muscles I didn't even realize I have and get it closed and locked.

  I glance wistfully at the bar that is connected to the library, which is actually owned by my best friend Makayla and her husband Jake, but I know I need to get home to ice my ankle and to take the longest and bubbliest of baths. My mom will even donate a glass of wine to the cause if asked.

  I climb into my small Honda and start it up. Thank crap I ran home and got the car on my lunch break since the wind showed no signs of letting up on its tantrum. Luckily, that was before I fell off the stool and my injury would have made it impossible to do so. I am so used to the cosmos granting me zero reprieves from bad luck and clumsiness that I am usually well prepared for what comes my way.

  I sincerely hope that there aren't too many branches on the roads en route to my parent's house. You never know what to expect when the wind decides to tear through town in a rage. You either get pulled all over the road, have to play Mario Kart with rolling garbage bins and flying branches, or both if it's a doozie.

  I feel the familiar twinge of mortification as I head in the direction of the house I share with my parents. It's not like I woke up one morning and designed some master plan that involves living with them at the end of my twenties. It wasn't planned and it sure as hell isn't wanted, but this is my reality and I would like to think that I gracefully accept the position I'm in.