Sizzle (Bad Boy Rockers) (Volume 1)

Sizzle


Bad Boy Rockers

Book 1

Lexi Buchanan




Dedication


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I would like to dedicate this book to two special people:

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Kristy Louise Garbutt, my Australian friend who read the very rough draft of this book and helped me to rename the characters when it was pointed out to me that all the characters names began with the letter J, apart from Thalia!!

I’m not going to mention the scene you suggested for the book, or I’ll make you blush. LOL

Kristy, you are my best friend and I love chatting to you at all hours of the day and night. I hope you know how grateful I am to have you for a friend and how much I appreciate everything you do for me. I love you loads. xx

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Nadine Winningham, my American friend who also read the very first draft of this book. You helped me to get untangled, spotted inconsistencies, pointed out the “J” names and stayed up nearly all night reading Sizzle. How many times have you read it now? LOL

You are always there at the end of an email for my cry of help, for which I will always be grateful.

Nadine, you have become a great friend and I hope you know how much everything you do means to me. Love you babe. xx





Chapter 1


Thalia


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The lumps of the new sofa dug painfully into my back as I wriggled to a new position; equally as uncomfortable as the first. I would never understand how Callie had convinced me to purchase it. I hated it – from the color, a sickly brown; sienna according to the designer, to the numerous lumps and bumps that you couldn’t escape, regardless of how you were sitting on it. It reminded me of the old, beat up sofa in my mom’s sunroom. The very one my uncle had hauled out and deposited in the tree house we’d built behind the tall cottonwoods.

I smiled at the memory. My first make out session had happened in that tree house, on that sofa. Ethan. Ethan Rock; the school jock and biggest *. He’d sweet talked his way into the tree house with every intention of getting to third base. I’d ended up kneeing him in his junk when my father shouted at me from the base of the tree; he’d frightened the shit out of us. Ethan, of course hadn’t spoken to me again, but what a memory.

“Thalia, what the hell are you grinning at?”

“Ethan Rock,” I replied to my roommate Callie, her voice shaking me from the memory.

“Huh, I don’t think I know him. You going to eat this Spaghetti Bolognese?”

I turned my head to look at her and burst out laughing. “Is there any left in the pan?” Her apron seemed to have a hell of a lot of red sauce all over it.

Callie was the world’s worst chef, and always insisted the next meal she cooked would be better than the previous one. That was so not going to happen.

“Ha, funny.”

“When’s it ready?”

“Ten minutes,” she said, before turning back into the small, cramped kitchen.

“Okay.” I hoped I wouldn’t regret eating what she’d made.

I’d met Callie within a couple of weeks of starting our freshman year at college, both of us studying English Literature – close to three years ago. After the summer break we’d be back as seniors. We couldn’t wait to strut our stuff around campus. Shit, who was I kidding? We had it all planned, or at least Callie did. I had no clue as to where I wanted to go, or what I wanted to do, but I figured if I had an English degree, it would open more doors for me, once I’d fully made my mind up.

All I did know was that I wasn’t going home when I graduated next year. I shuddered at the thought.

Both of my parents treated me like a child when I was home, right down to the nine pm curfew. I sighed thinking of them. I was twenty-one and, wanted to be like most twenty-one year olds; allowed to enjoy myself before I got completely snowed down with a job and other responsibilities.

Wherever I ended up, I knew that it would be with Callie, although at that thought I realized I’d have to learn to cook if we didn’t want to survive on take-out or die from food poisoning.

Dragging my carcass from the sofa, I walked the short distance to the bathroom, which was as small as the kitchen. In the tight space, I could touch the toilet, washbasin and shower and feel cramped in doing so. There was barely enough room at the sink to wash up for dinner.

Rent was cheap so I guess I shouldn’t complain too much. My parents gave me a monthly allowance that covered the rent, bills and food. I even had some left over, which I put away for rainy days or when I’d finished college, along with the money from my part-time job.

I sighed, turning the faucet on, I splashed cold water onto my face. Green eyes returned my gaze in the mirror. Groaning, I realized my dark curly hair, which had been secured in a band at the back of my head, had come loose. Stray hairs were sticking up all over my head in disarray. I pulled the towel from the rail and dried my face, with an extra swipe over my freckled nose, in hope that one or two freckles would get stuck on the towel. I hated freckles! My red hairbrush was in the container to the side of the tub, so I quickly grabbed it, removed the band from my hair, and ran the brush through it, deciding to leave it hanging around my shoulders.