Shape of My Life

  Copyright © 2017 by D.C. Renee

  ISBN-13: 978-1542530590

  ISBN-10: 1542530598

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  SHAPE OF MY LIFE

  Cover Design by Rebecca Pau, The Final Wrap

  Cover Model: Dillon Pau

  Interior Formatting by Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting

  Disclaimer: I took some extra liberties with parts of Shape of My Life in order for the story to work and to flow properly. I know some of the things I mention aren’t realistic/don’t exist. You’ll know what I’m referring to when you get to it. Please keep this in mind when reading, and I hope you enjoy reading Shape of My Life!

  They say time makes grief less palpable, and to some extent, that’s true. But with the birth of my daughter this year, time kicked my ass. It was that much more obvious the moments in life you aren’t able to experience. I love you, Babulya. I miss you.

  Baba Lena, I know you’re in a better place and no longer suffering, and I’m grateful for that, but I’m sad that you left us this year.

  Deda, you’re missed every day.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Connect

  Brooklyn

  I woke up lazily, the sunlight streaming into the room and hitting my eyelids before my body knew my mind was awake. Then my eyes fluttered open, and I yawned before I could focus on my surroundings. That was how I woke up every day of my life. Except today was different, and my mind had yet to process it.

  It was only after I sat up in bed that I realized I was naked under the covers. I immediately pulled them up to cover myself, although, from what, I wasn’t sure. My brain finally got with the program, and I looked around the room. Here was the funny thing about “reason” — it likes to mess with you … a lot. It made you think things that happened couldn’t be true, and things that weren’t true … well, it made you think it was possible. Take, for example, that I was clearly not in my room. I was undressed and felt like I had been loved seven ways until Sunday. I see clothes strewn about the room, and the shower was running in the bathroom. I even had only one drink the night before and was one hundred and fifty percent aware of what had happened. Yet logically, I couldn’t fathom it.

  No way did I hook up with Grennan Larter, lead singer for The Rising Sun. Nope. No way. Nuh-uh. I wasn’t opposed to one-night stands. I’d had a few, but I didn’t prefer them. The awkward morning after or the sneaking out after they fell asleep—it was just too much for me. Not that I would’ve said no to Grennan because, let’s face it, I was weak like that, but the way he pursued me the night before had my knees buckling and my heart melting.

  “He’s staring at you,” my best friend Cassidy had yelled in my ear as she tried to drown out the music blaring from the speakers. We’d been best friends for as long as I could remember. When Charlie pulled my pigtail in first grade so hard I tripped, Cassidy had appeared from out of nowhere like my savior and punched him in the stomach. We’d been inseparable since. Even when her family moved during junior high, we talked almost every day and saw each other during breaks as much as possible.

  Naturally, we’d enrolled in the same college, and we were even roommates. Even when my dad inherited some fishing shop from an uncle I didn’t know in a small town in the middle of nowhere when Cassidy and I had just finished college, we didn’t separate. I had no job yet, but Cassidy had been a fashion consultant after a successful internship. When my parents moved, they convinced me to go with them and help them run the shop. Not that we needed the money. We were loaded. I’m talking fancy house and ten classic cars loaded, so my parents could have easily gotten me an apartment to stay in the city. But they wanted me close by and said a change would do me good. Something about the way they had talked to me made me think it was the best thing. You could say I was a daddy’s girl and even a mommy’s girl too. Cassidy came with, claiming that some fresh air would do us both some good. We both ended up liking the small town life, the intimacy of it, and the super friendly people, so we stayed. I worked with my family, and Cassidy continued her business. She did a lot of work from home, looking at pictures of clothes and people online. Though she had to travel often, she said it just added excitement to her life.

  We made new friends, hung out at the local bar, and even traveled to nearby cities for some variety over the next three years, but we hadn’t traveled together anywhere farther than a few hours’ drive; Cassidy had because of work, but I never did. So when my twenty-fifth birthday rolled around, I was stoked when Cassidy announced we were heading to New York to celebrate. I didn’t know how she did it, but she scored us an invite to a star-studded little shindig.

  “But how?” I asked when she had told me the plans.

  “Connections,” was her answer. Cassidy was the type of girl who knew just about everyone, thanks to her line of work. She made people look beautiful, and sometimes, she called in a few favors. I figured this was one of them.

  That was how we ended up at Brady Logan’s party, the big movie star. At least one hundred people milled around in his swanky apartment, most so drunk they could hardly stand. All the women were drop-dead gorgeous and in clothes that most would consider indecent. Cassidy and I stood out like sore thumbs in our dresses. They weren’t conservative, by any means—Cassidy’s barely covered her butt, and the front was so low-cut, she couldn’t wear a bra, not even a backless one. My dress was high in the front, but the back was open all the way down, just on the verge of people saying, “Got crack?” But, hey, we did cover all the essentials, which was more than I could say for everyone else.

  “With all these girls vying for his attention and dry humping him, yeah, Cass, I’m sure he’s staring at me.” I had responded with sarcasm as we moved away from the speakers. But just as I looked up, sure enough, our eyes locked, and I swear I saw
a hint of amusement in his eyes.

  “Brook, he’s been tossing all those skanks aside and has kept his eyes on you all night.”

  “Even if he has, I’m not interested.”

  “Good,” she responded, and the finality of her voice sounded odd. “You don’t want to be just another groupie, right?” she added.

  “Exactly.”

  For the next half hour, Cassidy seemed to steer me away from him, but I could still feel his eyes on me. When we had made it to the balcony to get a breather, we both jumped at the sound of his voice.

  “It’s nice outside, huh?” We hadn’t expected him to creep up on us, so we both yelped. “Sorry”—he winced—“didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s fine,” I answered at the same time as Cassidy said, “Sneaking up on girls is never a good thing. You’re lucky I didn’t karate chop you.”

  “Uh, noted,” he responded, and we all chuckled. “So I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Grennan,” he said as he stuck out his hand.

  “I’m Brooklyn, and this is Cassidy,” I responded as I took his hand in mine. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down my spine.

  “What brings you two here?” he asked.

  “It’s this gal’s birthday,” Cassidy told him.

  “Well, happy birthday,” he chimed.

  “Thanks,” I told him.

  “You need a birthday shot.”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” I responded. “I don’t really drink much.” I wasn’t sure when it started, but much of my college life was a blur, and I attributed that to too much alcohol, so naturally, at some point, I drank less.

  “Oh, Brook, I love this song,” Cassidy announced. “Please come dance with me.” She gave me puppy dog eyes, and she knew I couldn’t refuse.

  “Best friend duties. It was nice meeting you, Grennan.” And then we were off. I thought that would be the end, but he found me when I was walking out of the bathroom a few minutes later.

  “Dance with me,” he told me.

  “Sorry, I’m all danced out.” It was partially true. The other part was that despite what my body was saying, my head told me Cassidy was right—I didn’t want to be just some groupie.

  “One dance, Brooklyn,” he pleaded, his voice naturally husky. I couldn’t help but melt at the way he said my full name, which just enforced my saying no to him. If I gave him even a little bit more of my time, I knew my body would outweigh my mind.

  “Maybe later,” I responded.

  “You don’t like me,” he mused. “That’s okay. I’ll get you to like me.” He said that as if I had challenged him. I hadn’t. But the glint in his eye told me he liked challenges, and I was a giant one he couldn’t wait to conquer. I was right because, for the rest of the night, he appeared in every room I walked into, he inserted himself into every conversation I had, and the cherry on the icing? “That girl right there …” I heard his voice as the music suddenly quieted. “The girl in the stunning blue backless dress by the name of Brooklyn is refusing to dance with me.” I gasped, and Cassidy grabbed my arm as she opened and closed her mouth several times.

  “I’ll dance with you,” someone yelled.

  “I’ll do more than dance with you,” someone else added.

  “Maybe if I sing her a song, huh? You all think she’ll dance with me then?”

  After a chorus of “yes” and “please” and even some random chanting, he started singing, and I literally had to hold the counter to prevent my knees from giving out on me. His voice was sensual, raspy, full of longing and desire, and his eyes didn’t leave mine. He walked, no, he stalked purposely toward me, but I was frozen in place.

  When he finally reached me, singing about the love of a boy whose feelings weren’t returned, he outstretched his hand, waiting for mine, and I gave him my hand in return. I barely registered the applause and catcalls as he pulled me toward him for a dance, our bodies melting into each other. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. Our bodies did the talking for us, and after more than one dance, he moved his head down, so his mouth just brushed my ear, his warm breath caressing me. “Tell your friend not to wait up,” he said. He wasn’t asking; he was telling. My mind should have woken up then, should have intervened with logic, but I found his command erotic. I simply nodded in return and walked off to find Cassidy.

  “This is a bad idea, Brook,” she told me.

  “It’s just one night of fun,” I responded.

  “One night.” She nodded after she stared at me for a good long time. “Just one night and we go back to our lives.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I saluted with a giddy smile on my lips as I headed back to Grennan.

  We barely made it to his place before our clothes were off, and I was experiencing a high I’d never felt before. His body, the way he moved, everything about him … He was skilled, and I was enjoying every minute of it.

  I shuddered—in a good way—as I remembered the night before.

  “Undress for me,” he commanded as we made it to his room. His voice was thick with desire, and even though it hadn’t been a question, his tone made it seem like he was begging. I backed up a few steps so I could slowly pull my dress down over my body as he watched, his eyes taking in every inch of me. I could almost feel his eyes caress me, and I know I shivered under his gaze.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “Hot,” I replied huskily as I stood before him in only my black panties. I felt on fire as he continued to stare at my body.

  “Then let’s start a fire,” he responded as he closed the distance and consumed my mouth, his tongue daring me to dance with his as his hands pressed into my back, forcing my body to his. “God, I want you,” he said against my lips. “I need you,” he added.

  “You’re still dressed,” I told him, trying to be cute, but it came out as more of an accusation.

  The next thing I knew, I was on the bed behind me, propped up on my elbows as I took my turn to stare at every inch of him while he took off his shirt and then jeans. No boxers. He stood before me in all his glorious nakedness, his hard length pointing straight at me as if to say, “You, yes, you, I’m coming for you.” Pun intended.

  I wanted to gasp at the sight before me, but I was too busy drooling, my body buzzing with anticipation. Grennan took a few lazy steps toward me as if he suddenly had all the time in the world, ignoring how I was greedy with need. But when he reached me, he gripped the sides of my panties, and with one hard tug, they were gone, discarded somewhere. He bent over me as his climbed on the bed, his knees on either side of me, and kissed me. His hands moved gently and slowly down my body. Stopping first at my nipples, he pinched each one lightly, eliciting a wanton moan from me, his lips never leaving mine. His hands continued their descent until they found me wet and wanting. He circled my clit, and it took everything in me not to come. And then he pushed one finger inside me, and I cried out.

  “Not yet,” he whispered against my lips, and my body obeyed, fighting off my orgasm.

  He pushed in another finger and slowly slid in and out as his tongue did the same to my mouth.

  “Now,” he told me, and my body exploded against his hand, my own hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair as I experienced an orgasm like I had never before.

  He pulled his fingers out of me and slipped them into his mouth. I died. I. Just. Died.

  “Delicious,” he said, “but I need another taste to make sure.” I had no response as his body slid down until his mouth was flush with my sex, then I felt his tongue, and my hips lifted off the bed of their own volition.

  “Grennan,” I panted as he licked and sucked. And only moments later, I was screaming his name as another mind-blowing climax rocked me.

  I heard the telltale noise of a condom wrapper as I lay sated on the bed, and then Grennan was climbing back up, his mouth finding mine once more as he pushed himself inside—hard, demanding, and unapologetic. It was rough and sinful, but my body only craved more as I arched myself for him to go deeper. And deeper he
went. I know I cried out at least twice before I could comprehend what was happening to my body. He was a singer, a guitar player, and suddenly, I was his musical instrument, and he was playing me like the skilled musician he was.

  I felt my walls convulse around him as he pushed inside me once more, his own release hitting him just as hard as all of mine had. He kissed me again, gently this time as he lay half on me. His breathing matched mine, our bodies still intertwined.

  It should have ended there, but it didn’t. I should have grabbed my clothes and called a cab so I could head back to my hotel room with Cassidy, but I didn’t.

  “Stay,” he simply said. “I’m not done with you yet. And I know you’re not either.” I just nodded in response.

  We showered together after, and when we made it to the bed, Grennan began to question me. He wanted to know about my life, about me. I answered every question, and he answered all of mine. We did things backward—first sex and then getting to know your partner.

  “I’ve been with more women than I can remember,” he had admitted, “but you’re different. There’s something about you. And I knew the minute I saw you that one night wouldn’t be enough,” I heard him say as I was drifting off to sleep. And here I was, sitting in his bed, wondering what I should do next.

  I got up and started tiptoeing around, trying to gather my clothes quietly but quickly, but just as I thought I was done, I jumped. “Trying to sneak out while I was in the shower?” he asked.

  “I … uh …” There was no point in lying, so I answered him truthfully. “Yeah, actually, I was. I didn’t want any of that awkward morning-after stuff, so I figured I’d save us both and head out.”

  “So you really don’t like me?” he asked. “I thought I changed your mind.”

  “No, I do. You’re great, and last night was … fantastic,” I was sure I took on a dreamy look just then as I remembered the way my body had responded to him.

  “Then stay, have breakfast.”

  “Do you usually treat your one-night stands like this because you’re kind of ruining it for all the other guys out there,” I tried to joke.