Into the Woods (Lust in the Woods Book 2) Read online

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2016 Alexa Sinclaire

  ISBN: 978-1-77339-082-6

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Katelyn Uplinger

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To all the Charlies out there trying to find out their own path in life.

  INTO THE WOODS

  Lust in the Woods, 2

  Alexa Sinclaire

  Copyright © 2016

  Prologue

  Charlie

  You’re not good enough.

  There’s a horrible catch-22 when you find yourself faced with the same message over and over again. There are those people who hear it and think “why bother” and then there are those who manage to misinterpret it to mean if they try harder, even though they’ve been told their efforts won’t matter, it might make them better, stronger, or smarter.

  It’s most often not even a direct message. It’s more like a slow growing mold.

  You’re not good enough.

  You’ll never be good enough.

  Two things happen to a person when they are deprived of any sort of support. Either they strive and fight for whatever’s missing, ensuring they never go without, or they become convinced they don’t need whatever’s missing, believing they can survive on tiny amounts. I’m not talking about water or food, shelter, or air. I’m talking about what makes us strive to keep going—love, affection, money, family, desire for success. Whatever. It’s usually a mix of some of those things. Ideally, a complicated balance between all of them and then some.

  So what happens when none of those things exist? What happens when all you get is water, food, shelter, and air? For a while, not a lot. But the slow growing mold develops and sinks into everything. It gets in between the folds of your jacket, sinks into your hair and under your nails. It becomes a part of you, something you’ve never lived without. And you just stop noticing it because it’s not part of you.

  You can’t remember a time when it wasn’t there. It’s all you’ve ever known and because of the ingrown familiarity, you stop seeing it for what it is—a parasitical dangerous fungus that eventually destroys everything around it. Instead, it just becomes part of who you are and you stop thinking it’s a problem. It’s just you.

  We’ve all heard those success stories about the kid who grew up wearing Goodwill clothes and living on food stamps but still fought their way to the top of the food chain and now own a Bugatti, have overcome their fears with regular therapy, and are well-rounded, wealthy, successful individuals with clear goals and effective plans on how to achieve them. Yeah, those people are the outliers.

  What you don’t hear about is the kid who grew up next door, in the exact same situation, and never escaped, not because they weren’t provided the same opportunities, but because they didn’t know there was a different way to live. They didn’t know they were even allowed to dream about living a different life, living a different way. Those kids, those are the ones whose stories no one likes to talk about.

  They are not the exciting outliers providing inspiration and hope. They are the ones who prove, despite all the anecdotal evidence about grit and perseverance, that demographics determine their fate, everyone’s fate, really. Because that’s the horrible reality everyone likes to hide from.

  Let’s run through some of those lovely statistics, shall we? If you are born into poverty, you most likely will live and die in poverty. If you are born into a broken home, you will most likely go on to create your own broken home. If you’re unlucky enough to have parents who are addicts, or whatever sort, you are most likely to struggle with addiction at some point in your life. The list is endless.

  Endless.

  So what are we supposed to do, in the face of insurmountable evidence that life will probably be pretty tough and crappy, despite the best will or the biggest dreams?

  Nothing.

  Just do the best you can, and maybe you’ll get lucky, although statistically it would be ludicrous to pin any hope on luck. Try and smile and take it one day at a time. Find joy in the little pleasures in life. Buy an adult coloring book and look for mindfulness. Order another cupcake because icing is a magical thing and can make any day brighter. Do what feels good, like having sex, and looking up in the sky when the sun is shining.

  It took me a long time to figure this out.

  It took me a long time to notice the mold in my hair, my lungs, at the bottom of my bag, sneaking into the credit card folds, covering the spare change and tampons. And even now I know it’s there, I don’t know how to get rid of it. There’s no cleaning service I can call who will simply fumigate my life and then hand me back the keys and tell me I’m set. Ready to go. I looked. There’s no company that does it.

  A long time ago, I figured out there were a few life rules that if I followed, I would probably be okay. Unfortunately, I learned those rules could only take me so far and actually they weren’t the best rules to live by. Not by a long shot. But they were all I had. They were my lifeline to a normal, healthy life. Sure, sometimes my rules meant I got relegated to the sidelines, sometimes I ended up doing things I didn’t really want to do to please others, and often times it meant putting my own emotions aside in order to stick by my rules. The long game always seemed worth it. Stability, safety, security, and hopefully, one day, love. Weren’t those things worth sacrificing for? Even if those sacrifices were small parts of yourself?

  Now, I’m trying out something new. I’m finding new rules.

  It’s not easy. It’s the opposite of easy. And that’s what I’m doing—the opposite of easy.

  ***

  Ford

  I’ve watched her for years. Silently supporting her the best I can. There’s no point pretending she secretly harbors feelings for me. I know that’s ridiculous. And even if she did, I doubt she’d act on them. I’m not the kind of guy she goes for.

  The two things my father taught me before he kicked me out of the house were the two things I’ve never managed to do. The first is that any man who knows what he wants only has himself to blame if he doesn’t get it.

  The second is a real man is tough.

  That one’s pretty obvious. Although surprisingly hard to actually live up to. Especially when toughness for my father literally translates into muscle mass, fat bank accounts, and counting how much easy pussy you can tap. Graduating college, coming home and telling my dad I had no interest in taking my place in the family business was met with derision. Further confessing to wanting to open a coffee shop after spending six months living in South America was met with flat out rejection. He didn’t take away my trust fund, but I wasn’t welcome in the house anymore. In the yelling that ensued before the door slammed behind me, as I was exiled from my family home, he reminded me of all the other ways I’d failed him: I wasn’t an athlete, I wasn’t a ladies’ man, and now I wasn’t even going to make any real money. I was barely a man in his eyes.

  What the hell kind of man was I?

  It’s hard to see past that kind of accusation. But I did and now I’m happy.

  Sort of.

  I want Charlie. And for the first time I’ve realized maybe there’
s some truth in my dad’s first rule. The only person standing in the way of getting Charlie is me. I’m her boss and her friend. Now that her best friend’s gone, I know Charlie’s lonely and doing what she always does—throwing herself into the arms of men who don’t even want her. Sure, they want her for a night, an afternoon, hell probably just an hour or two if they can convince her with their bullshit. But they don’t want her.

  But I do. I want her. I want everything about her. I want her to see me for the man I am. Somehow I’ve managed to friend-zone myself with her. The only woman I’ve actually wanted and she doesn’t even get it when I flirt with her.

  All that’s about to change. Because I’ve realized, after too many years of hoping, taking it slow and steady with Charlie isn’t getting me anywhere. I used to tell myself I kept my feelings low-key out of respect for her but the truth is I didn’t have the balls to take what I wanted. To tell her we would be perfect together. To point out the man of her dreams is right in front of her. Slow and steady is worthless when the woman of your dreams is literally about to walk out of your life forever.

  Chapter One

  Charlie

  Standing in the small bathroom of my apartment, I quickly ran through the list of things I needed to do before my date tonight. I was running a bit late but only because I’d stayed up late talking to Katy on the phone and hadn’t given myself enough makeup time to cover my eye bags. She was in Paris, living the most ridiculously romantic adventure with her boyfriend Sam. The man had literally flown across the world to win her heart.

  I missed her like hell and if it meant staying up late, despite having worked all day and still trying to look good for my date, it was still totally worth it. Katy didn’t know about my past but she also wasn’t an idiot, and over time I think she’d collected enough bits and pieces that she knew when to push and when to back off. Either way, she loved me for me. Even though I’d moved a few hours away from the sinkhole of a trailer park where I grew up, it was hard to shake where I came from. But with Katy, it didn’t matter.

  She showed up one day at the coffee shop, in need of a friend and we clicked. The fact that she’d finally managed to reach her dream of living in Paris, with the added bonus of finding her soul mate, got me holding onto to my own dream. My dream wasn’t as elaborate as Katy’s. I didn’t have a lot of aspirations. I figured by my ripe old age of twenty-three it didn’t matter that I didn’t have a long list of lofty goals and dreams. What I needed was simple.

  Just stability and love.

  That’s all I wanted.

  I didn’t need bling. I didn’t need a white knight or my dream man.

  Just the basics.

  My date tonight had potential. Greg was cute and even though he didn’t seem enthusiastic about anything, including me, if I was honest about it. But he was fun to hang around with. Okay, he wasn’t fun to hang around with. He was sometimes fun and sometimes he got me off but I figured the fact that he wanted to spend time with me was something.

  He’d texted me earlier asking me to wear my sluttiest dress and meet him at his place. One thing Greg was enthusiastic about was sex. I had no problem with that. I wouldn’t go so far as to describe what we did as adventurous or kinky. But Greg liked me to dress up for him and I got off on it. I mean, it was hard not to get turned on by the look on Greg’s face when I turned up in a trench coat and nothing else on? Tonight was one of those nights, I thought. And it fit in with my first rule of life— always make sure you have something to offer. If you have something someone wants, they’ll usually be nice to you in order to get it. And what I had to offer, Greg wanted.

  Half an hour later I knocked on his door, wearing the tightest dress I owned. It was so tight the only way to wear it was fully commando, but I figured it was just a bonus for Greg. The look on his face when he answered the door was just as I thought it would be. His eyes immediately darkened and his heavy gaze wandered my body, settling on my perky breasts. I’d hit rule number two on the head, going by the look on his face—give them what they want.

  I swallowed my disappointment when I saw he was wearing sweat pants and an old baggy hoody with what looked like a grease stain. I guess he wasn’t going to be taking me out anywhere. But I put on my best smile as he crooked his finger at me and stepped back.

  “Wow, Charlie, you look fantastic. Let’s see how fast I can get you out of that dress.” Pulling me into his arms, he leaned down and kissed me. His warm lips caressed my mouth and I sent a blessing to the makeup goddesses for inventing smudge-free lipstick.

  The next morning, I woke up as I felt Greg jackknife out of bed.

  “What’s going on?” I sat up and stretched, my nipples hardening in the cold morning air.

  “Oh my fucking God! My mom is here,” he whispered to me. Moving at a speed I’d expect of a Navy SEAL, he pulled on his jeans, throwing my dress in my general direction, all the while muttering under his breath. “I can’t believe I forgot she was coming over. Shit.”

  Sensing speed was of the essence, I got moving and had my dress in place and my heels slipped on at the same time Greg pulled on the same gross hoody from the night before.

  “Why are you freaking out?”

  “I’m freaking out because my mom is here and you’re here and—”

  The voice called out again, closer this time. “Greg, honey?

  “And…?” This was the first time I’d slept over, although really the fact that we’d both fallen asleep after round two, which had ended only a few hours ago, didn’t really make this seem like an official girlfriend sleep-over situation.

  “I just wasn’t expecting this. I take it you don’t want to hide in the closet until she leaves?”

  I glanced over at him, laughing at what I thought was a joke until I saw the look on his face.

  “Oh come on, Greg, it can’t be that bad. It’s just your mom. Come on, let’s say hi.” Before he had a chance to protest, I grabbed his hand and headed towards the bedroom door.

  “Wait, Charlie, I—”

  “Hi! We’re just coming,” I called out before turning to glare at Greg. “You’re being rude. She’s going to start thinking something happened to you!”

  Yanking open the door, I came face to face with an attractive older woman, carrying a laundry bag.

  “Oh my, I didn’t realize you had a guest, Greg. I texted you last night to let you know when I’d be dropping off your laundry.” She lifted up the pile of neatly folded clothes, including a few boxers, which looked ironed. I ignored the fact that Greg didn’t do his own laundry and his mom ironed his underwear. Not weird at all.

  “Hi, I’m Charlie, Greg’s girlfriend.” I shook her hand enthusiastically, ignoring the fact that my nipples were practically visible through my skintight dress and my hair desperately needed a brush. This wasn’t exactly what I wanted to look like meeting Greg’s mother but it was what it was and I was going to make the best of it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard some lovely things about you.” She stared at me as if the idea of her twenty-seven year old son having a woman in his room was a totally alien concept.

  Glancing at Greg, I was surprised to see him staring at his feet, rubbing his hand through his scruffy hair, a crimson red staining his cheeks.

  “Hey, Mom, slipped my mind you were coming by,” he finally said, his eyes flitting between his mom and me. What was his problem? “Charlie, aren’t you going to be late for work?”

  Take the hint, Charlie. Remember rule three: Stay out of the way. Leave when you’re not wanted. No one likes a hanger-on.

  Realizing Greg was about to melt into a puddle of awkwardness, I took my cue and skirted around his mom, babbling away in an effort to ease the tension. Rule number three was an important one and I was always amazed more women hadn’t figured out their man didn’t want them hanging around all the time. Know when you’re not wanted. It wasn’t hard and sometimes it stung to face reality but guys didn’t want a clingy woman and making sure I applied rule num
ber three effectively meant I increased my chances of keeping a relationship going.

  “Yup, I need to get going. That coffee’s not going to serve itself. It was great to meet you, Mrs. Hollins. Come by Java anytime. That’s where I work.”

  A small smile was all I got and I quickly grabbed my purse from the hall table and hustled out the door. Checking my purse to see what the actual time was, since it felt pretty early, I realized I’d left my phone in Greg’s kitchen. Quickly turning back, I slipped through the front door and froze as I heard his mother’s voice coming from the kitchen.

  “Good Lord, Greg, please tell me that woman was not really your girlfriend? She wasn’t even wearing a bra.”

  Okay, she had a fair point, it was a bit chilly and my outfit did look pretty revealing this morning but Greg had told me to dress up for him. It’s not like I walked around in my slut gear most days.

  “Of course she’s not, Mom. She’s just some girl I bumped into last night.”

  “Well, boys will be boys but I hope when it comes time to actually introduce me to a girlfriend, you’ll pick better than someone like her.”

  My throat constricted as her words hit home. I’d been seeing Greg for four weeks. Four weeks. I’d seen him almost every other night. We’d even discussed ditching condoms, which I know meant exclusivity, so I knew I wasn’t totally crazy. I needed to get out of there before I broke down, but I really needed my phone. Closing the door loud enough to give them a warning I was returning, I put on my happy face and walked back into the kitchen.

  His mother stared at me, her mouth slightly agape.

  “Just forgot my phone!” I cheerfully explained as I grabbed it off the kitchen counter before turning and getting the hell out of there.