My First Second Chance Read online

  My First Second Chance

  A Dirty Fairytale of Godly Proportions

  By WSJ and USA Today Bestselling Author KB Winters and Evie Monroe

  Copyright © 2018 BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  Contents

  My First Second Chance

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Chapter 1

  Gabe

  There was absolutely no chance of making curfew now.

  Twelve minutes to midnight. Meg’s trailer was clear across town. It’d probably take a good, long while to ease ourselves out of the backwoods mud I’d driven my old, bald-tired pick-up into. Plus, the only light for miles was that of the digital clock on the dash blinking through the back window, and I had no clue where most of our clothes were.

  But, like always, Meg played it cool. Every time my head swiveled toward the clock, she gripped my chin in her hand and brought it back to her face, so I had no choice but to focus on her. In the darkness, she was like a supernatural being, kneeling there in the bed of my truck, her long hair loose over her tits. Her gorgeous tits, all pale perfection, nipples like two rosy petals, reflecting a slight greenish tinge from the glow of the clock. I wished for moonlight. Fluorescent light. Any kind of light, to help me see better.

  She took my clammy hand and placed it on the fleshy part of her breast, just over the nipple. She didn’t flinch at all, but that was Meg. Fearless. Her skin was warm, smooth, easily the softest thing I’d ever felt.

  My breath hitched.

  I sat there, cross-legged across from her, afraid to move. I’d never seen tits in the flesh before, pulsing with life, just for me. It was like a buffet, where I didn’t know what to sample first. “You can touch them more,” she said. “It’s okay. They don’t break.”

  Swallowing, I molded my hand around one. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. In thousands of wet dreams, I’d imagined maybe a water balloon, but this was softer, more alive, and infinitely more exciting. I let out a slow, ragged breath, cupping her tit, feeling its weight, fighting the urge to breathe out the only dumb word that lodged itself in my throat.

  Wow.

  Meg was only seventeen and yet wise beyond her years. Not just in sex. In everything. When we’d arrived at North Hunterdon High as freshmen, most of the girls had a wide-eyed, innocent look. But Meg? Never. She always looked like she was up to no good. She turned every guy’s head but didn’t give a shit about it.

  In senior year, I’d proctored the computer lab, but it was usually empty, since most students had their own laptops. She’d come in every afternoon at three and sit at the Mac in the corner, staring at the screen, and though the green in her eyes was alive and sparkling, the mood in them was without a doubt, gloomy. She always looked unimpressed, sad. Her eyes were always rimmed with black, making her look sadder still. I wasn’t sure why she hung out there, to tell the truth. She always carried a notebook with her, was never without it, always jotting things down. I’d heard she was a closet writer, though I’d never had the nerve to ask to read any of her stuff.

  One day, unexpectedly, while I was ogling her, trying to figure her out, those sad eyes flashed away from the computer and landed straight on me. “Gabe?”

  I groaned inwardly. Busted. Still, part of me wanted to celebrate. She knew my name! “Yeah?”

  I waited for her to say something snide, like other girls would’ve. Take a picture, it’ll last longer. Instead, she stood up and edged over to where I was sitting at the teacher’s desk. She wore ripped jeans and a sweatshirt. Nothing special, like she didn’t have anyone to impress. I can only describe her way of moving as slinky and feline. Without warning, she slid the top half of her body across the desk and kissed me, hard, smearing her cherry red lipstick on my mouth.

  “When are you going to ask me out?”

  I just blinked at her. Never in a million years did I think she’d be interested in someone like me. Everything about me was mediocre, middle-of-the-road. Medium height, medium build, competent but not great at sports. Brown hair, brown eyes. Ordinary, but I’d gotten used to it. Not only that, I was a nerdy computer geek. Plus, even though I was a few months older than her, I’d never had a girlfriend.

  I waited for the punchline. But none came. Finally, I ventured, “This weekend?”

  That was three months ago. A dozen make-out sessions later and here we were. We always had to cut things short, though, one way or another. I had strict parents, and we had precious little privacy. But the week before, I’d gotten my license, and a whole new world had opened up to us.

  Now, we were sitting in the dusty, leaf-covered bed of my 2002 Toyota Tacoma, a birthday gift from my dad. A thin drizzle had begun to fall but it just made her tits more luminescent in the dim green light. My cock had been hard as a rock from the second she’d slipped off her bra.

  I reached over and cupped her other tit, getting into it now. My thumb found the nipple and it hardened as I ran a circle around it. Freaking fantastic. A miracle of science.

  But that wasn’t enough for Meg. She loved to make me pant. I could tell the way she grinned sadistically that she had more up her sleeve.

  She reached under her ripped denim skirt, her hands climbing up her thighs, straight to her hips, as she fell back onto her ass. Then, lifting her ass, she pulled her panties down to her knees in one swift movement. Raising her legs, one at a time, she took the barely-there fabric off, and waved it in my face. She gave me a defiant look as the lace tickled my nose. I smelled something musky and sweet on the fabric. “Have you ever had sex, Gabe?” she asked.

  She knew the answer to that. She knew that she was my first real girlfriend. I shook my head. “Have you?”

  She nodded. “Once. Do you want to? With me? Tonight?”

  I nodded mutely, wondering vaguely about the boy who’d come before me. Mostly, though, I was breathless with anticipation for what would come next.

  She studied me in the darkness. “Geez, Gabe, do you even have a pulse?”

  I nodded again. I always played it calm. Sober. Quiet. Usually o
ut of acute worry of doing something wrong. Despite the fact that my pulse was raging in my veins, my nerves zinging under my skin, it wasn’t visible to her. Meg? She oozed passion out of every pore. Like a student of the theater, her every move and emotion were a hundred times bigger than it needed to be.

  Heaving a dramatic sigh, she crawled over to me, straddling me, her denim skirt riding so high that I could see the V of her pussy. I was still wearing my jeans, but my cock was uncomfortably hard now. The fact that so little separated us made it harder still. She wrapped her arms around me and whispered in my ear, “Do you talk anymore?”

  “Yeah.” Though I was having a damned hard time of it right then.

  “Do you love me?” she asked, her sad green eyes pleading.

  “Baby, I love you more than anything,” I told her, finally finding my voice, wrapping my arms around the small of her back and kissing her lips gently.

  “Good. Because if we do this, it means forever.”

  That was fine by me.

  She moved down, away from me, her tits swaying as she began to unbutton my fly. I took another breath as she slowly slid down my zipper. Heat crept into the neck of my favorite t-shirt. The air had been humid, hot even, and though drizzle was falling, it wasn’t doing anything to cool me down. I dropped my hands to my sides, clenching every muscle in my lower body. I threw my head back to look up at the dark canopy of leaves above, trying to think sterile thoughts as she ground her bare pussy into the legs of my jeans.

  But God, she was perfection, every one of my teenage fantasies come to life. I felt her hand, like a slow, soft whisper, reaching into the opening of my boxers. She found my cock without fumbling. Her warm hand wrapped around it easily, as if it belonged to her.

  That was all it took.

  I came, lurching forward, gasping out my release even as I tried desperately to hold it in. The spasm was so strong that my legs cramped up.

  “Fuck,” I said, still shuddering.

  She lifted her hand. It was coated in my come. In typical Meg fashion, she wiped it on my jeans, not her own. She was smiling. Not kindly. Mischievously. Triumphantly.

  “Maybe next time,” she said, looking at the clock. “It is past curfew, after all.”

  ***

  “What do you think, Gabe?’

  I snapped out of the memory and found myself at the head of the boardroom table, in my office in downtown Hackensack. It was late in the afternoon, and most people were going home for the day. All the office lights in the building across from us were blinking off as traffic raced below.

  Dan, the head of my creative team, had been ticking off a list of last-minute issues we had to address before the go-live of our investor marketing campaign. He sat there, waiting expectantly, as the rest of the team looked on.

  “The August date is still good.” I stifled a yawn and pressed my palms on the table. “The most important thing is that we make sure we hit target. Our investors are depending on it.”

  Dan nodded and signaled the end of the meeting. As he did, he turned off his laptop, and the display on the screen disappeared. It was our retargeting ad campaign, and damned if one of the girls in it didn’t have the same sad, green eyes as my first girlfriend.

  People began to file out, but Dan hung back, looking at me cautiously. By the looks of him, he was a surfer dude, with long, sun-kissed hair, a perma-tan and puka shell jewelry. He never wore anything other than flip flops, even when it snowed. But he was as professional and serious about E-Ventures Corp. as I was, a true asset to our company. I always depended on him to be a crack-shot when it came to his marketing concepts.

  He leaned over and said, “Don’t worry, dude. The dating world is never going to be the same once LuvMakr launches.”

  He must’ve mistaken my quietness for doubt about the app I’d developed. I grinned at him to show him it was fine. I was still middle-of-the-road and lukewarm on most things, but one thing I couldn’t be blasé about was LuvMakr. I’d developed other apps, starting in college, but for the past two years, I’d poured most of my sweat and time into it, and it was impressive. It would revolutionize the way people dated. I clapped Dan on the back. “Yeah. Good job on the ads, man. Solid work. See you tonight?”

  “You got it,” he said. “I’m always down for a party. Especially one where my work will be plastered on all the walls.”

  I waved him goodbye. When he was gone and I was alone, I sat back in my chair, removing my glasses and rubbing my tired eyes. Stress. That was why I was thinking of Meg, and the last memory I’d had of her. Also, I was damned horny. With everything going on, I hadn’t had time to think of a real relationship for . . . how long? Two years?

  After that night, my senior year in high school, I never saw Meg again. She wasn’t in school the next day. I asked around to her friends, but they all gave me the same answer: they had no clue. Meg was mysterious like that, a drama queen; you could never tell if she wanted to commit suicide or throw a party. She just blew town without a word. I’d called her cell phone, texted her, but the phone had been disconnected. I went to her trailer, but it was empty, an old FOR RENT sign tucked in the corner of one rusty old window.

  Later, much later, I found out by chance that her mother had died. I was wrapping up old computer parts in newspaper to put into storage and saw an old picture of a woman who looked exactly like Meg, maybe a few years older, with the dark brown hair and those gloomy light eyes. It was an obituary for Sarah Leed Baker, Meg’s mother.

  Sarah Leed Baker suffered from depression. She was a nice woman who treated her daughter well on her “on” days, which, unfortunately, didn’t happen very often. The rest of the time she spent in bed, and Meg might as well not have existed. I’d met Sarah twice, and she’d been nice to me, offering me cookies and milk, despite Meg rolling her eyes. I would’ve gone to the funeral. That is, had I known where it was. Or even if it was.

  After that, I pieced together what had happened. Sarah overdosed on her pain medication the night Meg and I were fooling around in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. The details were sketchy, so I wasn’t exactly sure when during that night she’d taken the fatal dose. I wondered if Meg had ever considered that if she’d made curfew, she might’ve saved her mom. Maybe that was why she never got in touch with me. Maybe she blamed me. Still, that didn’t stop me from thinking about her, even now, seven years later. Where had she gone? What had she done with her life?

  But did it even matter? I had so many things on my mind lately. We were just a few months away from the official release of LuvMakr, tagline “Why Date Blind?” I had to get this launch right. I had a lot riding on it. Everything riding on it.

  My hand scraped down to my five o’clock shadow. I just had enough time to shave and change into the suit I’d hung in my office.

  I pushed out of my chair and wandered down the hall, still dwelling on that night in the back of my truck. As I passed by the corner office, I saw Heller, my business partner and CFO, who was already in a tuxedo, plugging away on his laptop. Not looking up from the screen, he scratched a salt and pepper patch at one temple and asked, “What’s with you?”

  Heller was nothing if not direct. “Huh?”

  “Dan said you looked distracted in the meeting. Everything all right?”

  I leaned against the doorjamb and shoved my hands in my pockets as yet another image of Meg, flashed through my mind. My cock twitched. “I’m good,” I replied, willing my dick to behave.

  “Yeah?” He leaned back in his chair and appraised me over his bifocals. “I don’t know about that. You look like shit, Gabe.”

  Thanks for the vote of confidence, pal. Truthfully, I felt like shit. All those late nights leading up to launch, I felt like a cold was coming on. Or maybe it was the specter of dread for the upcoming party hanging over me. I pointed toward my office. “Just going to—”

  “Do I need to remind you how important this party is?” he asked.

  The answer, of course, was no. He’d alread
y done that at least once every hour since the invitations to our elite users went out. One hundred and twenty-six, to be exact. Users, not hours.

  I could understand why he was stressing, he had as much riding on this deal as I did. I was the brains, and he brought in the muscle, in the form of investors. He’d secured all the financing, schmoozing with the deep pockets, buttering them up about how LuvMakr was going to be the greatest thing since sliced bread. This party was to introduce them to the new app, wow them, and inspire confidence that their money was well-spent.

  But I was a behind-the-scenes guy. I wasn’t about to wow anyone. As much as I told Heller that it wasn’t my thing, he seemed convinced that I needed to at least pretend it was my thing for this one three-hour period. They wanted to meet me, the “man with the vision,” the man who’d brought LuvMakr from idea to reality. Thus, shaking hands, pouring effusive thanks upon our big contributors, doing all the shit I positively detested, all while wearing a monkey suit and drinking watery cocktails.

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  I let out a sigh. “Got it. I’m going to get changed now.”

  He checked his watch and shook his head. “I’ve got to make a stop, so I might be late. But you should leave to get down there in fifteen minutes. Traffic won’t do you any favors.”

  “Roger that,” I said, stalking down the hallway, wondering why Heller had to treat me like a child. When I got inside my office, I closed the door, unbuttoning my shirt. Pulling it off, I went into the bathroom and started to lather up my face for a shave.

  Then I said fuck it and decided to forego the shave. At least the five o’clock shadow look was in. Although, I wasn’t one to care about the latest trends.

  I stared at myself in the mirror. That eighteen-year-old computer geek was still there, but I was three, almost four years out of college now and all of those awkward lines and angles had filled out. My face was more mature, my jaw more chiseled, my chest more pronounced. Meg probably wouldn’t recognize me anymore.

  As I wiped my face with a thick towel and replaced my glasses, I wondered if I would even recognize her now. I thought of those singular, sad green eyes and decided that yes, it wouldn’t be hard at all.