First and Only Read online

  FIRST

  AND

  ONLY

  OLIVIA HOWE

  Booktrope Editions

  Seattle, WA 2016

  COPYRIGHT 2016 OLIVIA HOWE

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions

  should be directed to: [email protected]

  Cover Design by Nancy Hardy

  Edited by Kathryn Galan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  PRINT ISBN 978-1-5137-0881-2

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-5137-0982-6

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016902675

  ALSO BY OLIVIA HOWE

  SERIES:

  The Dark Love Series

  Book 1: Dark Love

  Book 2: Seeing Red

  The Killer Novella Series

  Episode 1: Killer

  Episode 2: Savage

  (And more to come)

  STANDALONE:

  Pretty Bird

  7 Days of Christmas

  I’m Yours

  COMING SOON:

  Fugitive, Episode 3 (The Killer Novella Series)

  The Prisoner’s Wife

  Trying To Remember (Book 3 in The Dark Love Series)

  E-mail: [email protected]

  Visit my web site at www.oliviahowe.webs.com

  CONTENTS

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  ALSO BY OLIVIA HOWE

  DEDICATION

  QUOTE

  PROLOGUE

  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

  EPILOGUE

  FIRST AND ONLY PLAYLIST

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  SNEAK PEEK OF PRETTY BIRD BY OLIVIA HOWE

  MORE GREAT READS FROM BOOKTROPE

  For him.

  “Six billion people in the world, six billion souls. And sometimes all you need is one.”

  —ONE TREE HILL

  PROLOGUE

  10 years ago…

  ADAM SLIDES HIS FINGERS through his curly brown hair.

  Why am I always thinking of a boy who isn’t my boyfriend? I should be staring at James like that—intrigued by his every move. James King is my high school sweetheart, not Adam Wilson. Adam belongs to my best friend, Clarissa.

  I squeeze James’s hand tighter and feel his eyes piercing me. Instead of catching his look, I continue to stare at the back of Clarissa’s head as we walk down the hallway in school. I wish it was me holding Adam’s hand. Why can’t it be me? No, I could never put a move on him. He’s off limits. Even though, if I did, he would most likely push me away. James has been his best friend since childhood.

  James says something that makes Adam laugh. I stare at Adam, watching his lips part and a smile spread across his face. Perfect white teeth. Dimples on each side of his face.

  “Mandi, hello?” James pulls me from my trance.

  “What?” I snap, not meaning to.

  He scrunches up his eyebrows. “What’s your problem today? It’s like you’re not even here.”

  I watch as Adam and Clarissa walk hand in hand to their next class. My eyes stay on Adam’s back until he’s out of sight.

  “This is what I’m saying. You’re not even paying attention to a word I say.” James gets frustrated and stomps away. If he only knew…

  I walk to class by myself. All I seem to think about nowadays is him. Don’t get me wrong: I love James, but it’s different with Adam. When he and I are alone, it’s like the world has vanished and it’s only us.

  I just… I think I’m in love with my best friend’s boyfriend.

  ***

  I enjoy watching Adam wrestle for our school team. He’s the best West Ashley High School has and never loses a match.

  Adam wraps his hands around his opponent’s face. He’s wearing a thin-strap singlet, a tight one-piece made of spandex that shows off every inch of Adam’s body, hugging it tighter than a glove.

  As I sit in the bleachers, I watch the coaches shout then watch the match closely. The referee circles around Adam and the other guy from the Panthers.

  The whistle blows. Adam has pinned the other guy to the floor. He wins! The whole crowd roars with excitement and applause. He always wins.

  Adam and I walk back to his house. His mom invited me over for dinner. Other than Clarissa, he’s like my best friend. We’re always together.

  We enter his house and find his mom in the kitchen cooking. “I won.”

  His mom smiles. “Of course you did. You always win. I’m so proud of you.” She hugs Adam and places a kiss on his forehead. “I’m glad you could make it, Mandi. Dinner should be done in about thirty minutes.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. W.” She hugs me, and then Adam and I make our way up to his room.

  “How do you do it?” I say, bouncing on his bed to get comfortable.

  “Do what?”

  “Win every single match you’re in.”

  His face lights up. “Because I’m the best.”

  We both laugh. I’m always laughing when I’m with Adam.

  He turns on his Xbox and sits down next to me, handing me a controller. “Are you ready to kill some zombies?”

  “Always.” Adam stares at me, catching me off guard. “What?”

  “Your hair is different.” He continues to stare.

  “I straightened it today. It looks horrible, doesn’t it?” I look away from him, putting my head down.

  He lifts my chin. “You’re beautiful, Mandi. Stop thinking so badly of yourself.”

  Our eyes lock, and I stare deeply into Adam’s eyes. An exhilarating feeling washes over me. His lips move closer to mine. Butterflies are swarming through my stomach. Is this really about to happen?

  His bedroom door flies open, bringing us both out of that trance. We quickly move away from each other.

  “What are you two doing?” Clarissa asks, sitting down next to Adam and kissing him.

  “Adam won his match!” I announce, breaking the awkwardness between us all.

  “That was today? I forgot.” She always forgets. Everything always has to be about her. She has only gone to a few of his matches.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were busy with your parents,” Adam asks, focused on the TV screen as he gets everything ready for us to play Left for Dead.

  “I called over here and your mom invited me over for dinner. And plus, they were arguing and driving me nuts.”

  “Oh…,” is all Adam says.

  “What are you doing here, Mandi?”

  “Serena invited me over for dinner.”


  “Oh…,” is all Clarissa says. Why is everyone being so awkward?

  Adam’s bedroom door swings open again. “Dinner, kids. Come on downstairs before it gets cold.”

  We do as Mrs. W says. I wish Clarissa had never even showed up. It’s not like she really even cares about Adam, anyway.

  ***

  After Adam, Clarissa, and I have dinner with the Wilson family, Clarissa goes home to do homework and have a movie night with her parents. All she did all night was complain about spending time with them. It was aggravating.

  Adam gets his clothes ready and then goes to take a shower, leaving me alone in his room all by myself. I stare at the wall, waiting for the video game to load, which seems to take forever. That or I’m the most impatient person I’ve ever met.

  There is a quiet knock at the door. “Can I come in?” Mrs. W asks.

  “Of course.”

  Her cheeks are pink and she wears light eyeshadow that makes her face looks five years younger. “How do I look?” She is dressed in tight, dark blue jeans and a white blouse, and her hair is curled half way down her back.

  “You look beautiful!”

  “Thank you. I’m going out tonight with my friends. It’s Alex’s birthday, and she couldn’t wait for the weekend.”

  “Well, you look stunning, Mrs. W.”

  “You’re always so nice, Mandi. Thank you.”

  She’s about to shut the door when I call out, “Hey, Mrs. W., can I ask you for advice?” The words slip from my mouth before I can think about it. This kind of advice is something I should be talking to my mother about, but she’s too busy hounding me about keeping my grades up for college.

  “Anything.” She takes a seat next to me on the bed.

  “How did you know you were in love with Mr. W?” I ask, not knowing if I’ve stepped over the line with my question. I’m curious to know how someone knows they’re truly in love.

  “I met Zeke in high school. I was about your age, too. I was with all my friends at the park, where the cool kids hung out.” She giggles. “Zeke was driving around in the car with all his friends. See, back in my day, that’s what everyone did for fun. Well, anyway, the car parked in front of me and my friends. Zeke stuck his head out the passenger side window and called me over. I went and he looked into my eyes and said, ‘I’m gonna marry you one day.’ I was speechless. I smiled, and he smiled back. We stared at each other for a while, and right then and there, I knew I would marry him one day.”

  “You didn’t even know him?”

  She shakes her head. “Not really. I mean, I would see him around school, but it’s just a feeling I can’t explain. Maybe call it intuition. I knew Zeke was the man for me, and I knew I didn’t want anyone else.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “You’ll have this instant chemistry with someone, something that feels right, perfect almost. You’ll never want it to end. You’ll always want to be around this person. And did I mention the never-ending butterflies? That’s also how you’ll know he’s the one, deep down inside.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Having special thoughts about James?” she asks. He’s not who this question was aimed for.

  “Yes,” I lie.

  “Trust me, you’ll know when you’re in love with someone. You’ll feel it all through your bones.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Chicago, 10 years later…

  WHY DID I PICK A CAREER in writing books? I’ve been staring at a blank Word document on my computer for three hours now. My brain is mush and full of a bunch of nothing. Damn you, writer’s block. My publishing company is expecting this book in less than a month, and I have absolutely nothing, besides a document with the page title “Chapter 1.”

  I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman living in a small one-bedroom apartment with two cats named Mimi and Bea. No wonder I can’t write. I have no muse. No new experiences. I sit in my house in front of the computer every day, and when I’m not doing that, I run errands or take myself out for a drink.

  I’m not surprised my other book was rejected by Barbara, my editor at Birdie Publishing. It was a romance novel without any romance—those were the exact words from my boss. When I read back through it, I knew she was very right. There was no spark. It was flat and boring. The two main characters were uninteresting and poorly developed.

  I need to get out of this house before I rip my hair out. My only friend, Karen, is a workaholic. She works at our big local newspaper, the Chicago Tribune. Every time I call her, she’s either following a big lead for her article or she’s at the office writing it. I swear, that woman doesn’t know how to take a moment and breathe. My high school best friend, Clarissa, now lives in Italy, and I only hear from her once in a great while. My parents live in Maine, while I’m all the way here in Chicago.

  I find my sweater and keys, slamming the front door behind me as I leave my apartment.

  ***

  The fall air swarms up my nostrils. I love the Chicago weather. I’m glad I moved after graduate school. It’s been my home sweet home for almost five years, and I have loved every minute of it.

  Mickey’s Bar is down the street from my place, and I head there quickly, avoiding a yellow taxi cab just in time. I push the door open and take a seat at the first open stool in front of the bar. Mickey waves to me and comes right over.

  “What can I get for you, Mandi? The usual?” Damn, old man. He always reads my mind. When I do get out for a drink, I always come here and order the same thing.

  “Yes, a Bud Light, please.” He pops open the bottle and slides it in front of me. “Thank you, Mick.”

  “No problem, dear.”

  “Looks like you’re busy tonight,” I say sarcastically, looking around at the three people playing pool and four others at the bar.

  “You always have jokes, sweetheart. It is only a Tuesday night.” He hands the man two seats down from me another Scotch. “How’s the book writing coming?”

  “Not coming along at all.”

  He stands in front of me and lifts up his finger. “I’m not a book writer, but maybe you need a boyfriend.”

  I laugh. “Maybe you’re right, Mickey, but not in this lifetime.”

  “Why not? You’re beautiful and smart. I’m surprised the boys aren’t waiting in line for you.” He winks. That’s Mickey for you. Always making me feel good about myself and giving me a confidence boost right when I need it.

  “I think I only attract cats.”

  Mickey laughs loud. “Always cracking me up, darling.”

  He’s right; I do need to find a boyfriend. But it has never felt right with anyone.

  “If you need anything, just holler. I gotta get some cleaning done around here.”

  I watch as he walks away. What a great old man he is. He’s always been there for me; he’s like my grandfather. Occasionally, I come here when the bar is closed, and we have dinner together, or I help him on the nights he’s busy. Sometimes I peek in to say hi, and other times I’m crying because I’m so lonely and afraid of failing at my job.

  The door pushes open and the bell rings from above it. A man walks in and sits one seat down from me. I can’t see his face. He’s looking the other way, like he’s searching for the bartender.

  “He’s getting some cleaning done. He should be back in a few minutes.” I get up from my seat and go behind the bar. “What can I get you?”

  His hazel eyes meet mine. My heart drops. I would recognize that face from a mile away. “Mandi? Mandi Gale?”

  “Adam Wilson? What are you doing in Chicago?” I stutter. I haven’t seen him since high school.

  “For a family reunion. Can I get a Canadian whisky, please? Neat?”

  “Sure.” I take a glass down from the shelf and fill it halfway with Canadian Club.

  “Thanks.” He takes a sip and sets his glass down onto the bar. “What are you doing here?” His face is lit up, which brings butterflies to my stomach.

  “I’ve lived in C
hicago for a while now.” I have so much I want to say to him, so much I want to ask, but none of the words come out. “I didn’t know your family lived around here! How didn’t I know that?”

  “Ivy got accepted into the University of Chicago. And, well, you know my mom. She can’t let her little baby move from Charleston to Chicago all by herself.” Adam swipes at a piece of hair that’s falling into his face.

  “How long have they been living here? Did your whole family relocate?” I ask, so intrigued to know everything there is about the new, adult Adam.

  “Nope. Just my dad, and Ivy. But the rest of the family is all coming to town to get together. We try to do it every year, but usually not everyone can make it. This time no one has canceled… yet.” He sips his drink and relaxes, seeming to enjoy its taste.

  “I miss the Holy City so much.” Holy City has been the nickname of our hometown in South Carolina since the 1600s, because it was so welcoming to all religions and has so many historic churches—nearly four-hundred.

  “The Holy City misses you and your adventurous ways.”

  “It’s crazy how your mom has lived in the same town as I do for years.”

  “You probably have seen her but just didn’t notice her. Mom has changed a lot. She’s very into doing the hair and makeup thing.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t understand why woman plaster war paint on their face.”

  “War paint?” I giggle, slightly applauding his comparison. Makeup does help women feel better about themselves, boost confidence, and all that, but I do think his comparison is typical, coming from a man, and yes, it is funny.

  “Yes, war paint. That’s the closest thing I can find to compare it with. Pretty slick, huh?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, Adam.” I lift my nose in the air, making it known I’m making fun of him.

  “Mom’s doing great, though. Now that her kids are all grown up and out of the house, she’s been working on herself a lot. She attends church every Sunday. Exploring art and literature at the local college. It’s never too late to go back, right?”