A Good Girl Read online

  A Good Girl

  By Jenny Siegel

  Published by J Hodge

  First eBook edition

  Copyright © Jenny Siegel 2015

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.

  If you are reading a copy of this book that has not been purchased from a licensed retailer please destroy it. Thank you for your support.

  Edited by Jenny Carlsrud Sims of www.editing4indies.com

  Cover designed by Robin Harper of www.wickedbydesigncovers.com

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Good Girl Playlist

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Sneak peek from Almost Perfect (A Good Girl Part 2)

  Dedication

  To my precious boys.

  Chapter One

  The bass vibrates through me as I lean against the wall and try, without success, to stop the room from spinning. Out the corner of my eye, I catch the curve of Lisa Myer's lip as she sneers in my direction before turning to her friend. "She's the one I was telling you about." Her voice travels over the noise, and I glare back. God, don't they ever get fed up talking about me?

  Because of my reputation, they think they can say what they like. Bitches. At least after tonight I won't have to deal with them anymore because I'm leaving in the morning. Sure, getting trashed at some party the night before isn't the smartest idea, but there was no way I was going to stay home, alone... again.

  Ignoring them, I throw back another shot and wait as the tequila starts to do its job. I've almost had enough alcohol to convince myself that I'm having a good time. Almost but not enough. So when the hot guy who's been watching me all night hands me a beer, I accept it and flash him an overly bright smile. Taking it as the sign of encouragement that I intended, he moves closer. Hmm, he is very good looking—tall, broad shoulders with dark jeans that land low on his tapered waist.

  “Hey.” The guy's arm wraps around my waist, and I gulp. I promised myself that I wouldn't. Not tonight. But when he looks at me through hooded eyes, I'm gone.

  His friend joins us and slings his arm over my shoulder. Squeezed between two well-muscled chests, I'd be crazy not to enjoy the attention.

  “I'm Tyler,” the first guy informs me, “and this is my friend, Riley.” Everything feels a little fuzzy, but I nod anyway. I've had way too much to drink, but it doesn't stop me from taking another gulp of warm beer, while I try to ignore the two girls glaring at me.

  “Do you want to take this upstairs?” Tyler looks at his friend for confirmation, a suggestive glint in his eye, and I know exactly where this is headed. Riley nods his head in agreement, and I open my mouth to say no. But then I see the contempt on Lisa's face, and I change my mind. What is the point in trying to change their opinion of me now? At least Tyler and Riley want me.

  Not giving a shit about what those girls think of me, I rest my hand on a bulky bicep and smile up at him.

  “Sure, let’s go.” I sway backward on unsteady feet and collide with a wall of abs. The guys share a smile.

  “I've got you.” Riley's hand grips my waist as he steadies me.

  Tyler pushes off the wall and entwines my hand in his to lead me up the stairs. I lose my footing on the first step and fall back. Riley saves me from landing flat on my ass and guides me up the stairs. Screw Lisa Myers and her uptight friend; this will give them something to talk about after I’m long gone. At the top of the stairs, I catch the look of disgust on her face, and if my hands weren’t full, I’d flip her off. I know what they all think of me, about the reputation I have. It has blighted my last year of high school, and although I pretend like I don’t give a shit, I do… just a little bit. It's what made me promise my grandfather that I would change and not end up like my mom. Who wants to end up dating an endless string of men who get what they want and never call the next morning? I know I'll never hear from Tyler or Riley again, and that suits me just fine. Come tomorrow I'll be on my way to the University of South Florida.

  Groaning, I roll over and freeze as my arm brushes a warm, muscular body. I crack open one sleep-encrusted eye to look at the naked guy lying face down next to me. So, last night did happen. My head pounds furiously as the hangover from hell takes hold. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Clenching my eyes tight, I groan again as I rack my brain for the missing details of last night. I remember the house party—too many beers and far too many tequila slammers—and there was a really attractive guy talking to me. Shit. What was his name?

  When I sit up, my head spins as I fight down a wave of nausea. I have to get out of here. I’ve stayed longer than I normally do, thanks to the amount of alcohol I consumed last night. The sound of mumbling interrupts my hysteria and I turn to the other side. Where another guy lies on his back. Wait, what? Still half-asleep, he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me tightly against him. I freeze, slapping my hand over my mouth to stifle the scream that rushes up inside me.

  Fuck. What in the hell happened last night, and why am I in bed with two guys? Two hot guys, but seriously, what have I done? I had stopped waking up in bed with strange guys, especially when I was, unable to remember what happened. With my head in my hands, I fight the panic rising in my chest. I can’t believe I’ve done it again. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself, but it doesn’t work and I begin to freak out. Guilt starts to set in; I made promises to my granddad that I would settle down and now I’ve let him down. He deserves a granddaughter that he could be proud of. And I was, up until last night.

  Slowly, I extract myself from the arm that is around my waist and gingerly climb out of the bed, looking down and cursing the fact that I am totally naked. Any doubt about whether I slept with either of them has long gone; of course, I did. Scrambling around on the floor, I frantically look for my clothes. Thrilled to find my dress, I pull it on, not worried about a bra because I didn’t wear one. But after a moment of searching, I finally give up on finding my panties.

  When I straighten, I feel dizzy and sick, desperate to get out of here and hide. I spy my high heels and snatch them up. Avoiding the mirror because I am too ashamed even to look at myself, I sneak out the door and down the stairs. Thankfully, no one is up. The house is trashed; and I’m glad I don’t have to clean it up.

  I close the front door quietly behind me and run down the path in my bare feet, praying no one I know sees me doing the walk of shame—again. The sudden urge to hurl sweeps over me, and I have to stop once to, get sick behind some bushes. Real classy, I know, but then I’m not classy, am I? I’m the girl who all the people at school talk about. I sleep with guys when I’m bored, or drunk, or just for the hell of it. But all that really needs to stop now. I can’t keep waking up in strangers’ beds with no recollection of how I got there, or how I ended up with yet another tattoo.

  I’ve never had a problem attracting guys, but maybe that isn’t such a good thing. It's all fake anyway; they only want me because of how I look. My long brown hair is enhanced with extensions, my
long eyelashes are false, and I wear more make-up than I need. In fact, the only part that isn't fake is my tits. And my clothes? The shorter and tighter, the better.

  Obviously, I’m out of control—drinking too much, sleeping around, and then not remembering what the hell happened. My heart seizes as a sudden thought flits across my mind and fear grips me: God only knows if I used protection last night. Oh shit! Anxiety causes my heart to race, and I break out in a cold sweat. I make a mental note to visit the free clinic.

  It used to be fun, but this isn’t fun anymore. This is taking it too far. It's the wake-up call I desperately need. Last night has really shaken me up. What in the hell was I thinking? Two guys, for fuck’s sake, just because I liked their attention. A good chance I didn’t use protection, which is just stupid, not to mention the fact that I have absolutely no memory of any of it. In high school, I gained a reputation for sleeping around. All the attention flattered me, even if it was just for one night. Now that I’m going to college, I can't have the same reputation. That is why I’m going away to school, even though staying local would be the easier option. I need a new place with new people to make a fresh start. No more drinking or sleeping around.

  • • •

  When I get home, I still feel sick. My head is pounding, and I just want to crawl into bed and hide under the covers, but I need to take a shower first.

  Luckily, my mom isn’t in when I get home. She must have stayed over at her date’s house last night. No wonder I behave the way I do…she doesn’t set the best example. She doesn’t know where I am half the time and pretty much lets me do what I want.

  I turn on the shower. While I’m waiting for the water to get really hot, I take off my false eyelashes and clip-in hair extensions, and throw them in the trash. Once in the shower, I scrub away last night, washing off all the make-up, the smell of sex, and any trace of those two guys. I wish it were just as easy to scrub away the memories of waking up with them, but unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that. My brain is racing as I chastise myself for my reckless behavior. Here I was thinking how well I was doing and that I had turned over a new leaf when all it took was one argument with my mom to revert to my old behavior.

  Was it too much to ask that we spent my last night together? Obviously, it was because she would rather go out on another date than spend an evening with me. That was when I said fuck it and decided that I was going to the party to get drunk and forget about my mom issues and my granddad's death.

  Ours isn't the typical mother-daughter relationship. Most of the time, she treats me more like a friend than a daughter. She has never set any boundaries and pretty much lets me do what I want. My granddad was the only one who ever told me no or grounded me when I really overstepped the mark. I have grown tired of the number of times she’s locked herself in her bedroom with a broken heart over some loser who wasn't worth her tears. After a couple of days, she would bounce back and start all over again, never seeming to learn from her mistakes. I vowed then that I wouldn't let any man treat me like that, which is why I have only ever had one-night stands. I am not interested in getting my heart broken again and again. No way am I about to make the same mistakes as my mom by thinking that guys stick around.

  The tears I have been fighting all morning finally come, and I give in to them, sinking down to sit in the shower cubicle. Sobs wrack my body, the sound echoing off the wall as I break my heart, wishing he was still here. Once I’m all cried out, I wash my face and mentally pull myself together.

  The time has come for me to take control of my life. It’s not enough just to avoid parties and stop drinking. Starting now, I need to make some drastic changes and learn to keep a promise, starting with the one I made my granddad.

  Once the hot water peters out, I finally get out of the shower and towel off then stand in front of the mirror to take a good look at myself. I’m leaving for college today, and I refuse to go there as the person I am now. So I pick up the scissors in the drawer, grab my long dark hair that reaches down my back, and I cut it. I watch, fascinated, as the long strands fall to the floor and I start to feel better. When I’ve finished, my hair is uneven above my shoulders. It doesn’t look great, but I feel satisfied—there is no going back now.

  Marching back into the bedroom, I drag out my meticulously packed suitcase and dump it on the bed. Clothes, shoes, and toiletries cover the bed and spill onto the floor. Nausea washes over me and I sit down for a minute to stare at the mess I’ve created. I am leaving in a few hours; why did I think it would be a good idea to go to a party and wake up in bed with two strange guys. Now I have uneven hair, and my suitcase needs to be repacked. There is no way I am taking any of that with me now. I hope to God that my granddad can't see me now, or that, if he can, he is turning a blind eye to my recent behavior. Last night was a new low, even for me.

  With determination, I gather most of my make-up in my arms and throw it into the trash. I only save the mascara and lip-gloss; after all, I have to have something to make me look better. Then I stride purposely over to the mess on my bed and begin sorting my clothes into two piles. No provocative, tight, short clothing will be coming with me to college. Unfortunately, that drastically decreases my choices. I neatly pack what’s left into the suitcase and then I realize I don’t have any shoes that aren’t fuck-me heels.

  While pondering my shoe dilemma, I hear the front door slam then my mom’s footsteps as she climbs the stairs.

  “Charlie, honey, are you in?” she calls out to me.

  “Up here, Mom,” I shout back, and wince at the pain shooting through my head.

  My mom is always put together and beautifully made up; even though we don’t have a lot of money, she always looks amazing. This morning is no exception; although she was out on a date last night and stayed over, she has on different clothes and doesn’t look like she just rolled out of someone’s bed. No walk of shame for her.

  “How was your date last night?” I ask, still a little pissed that she left me.

  “Okay.”

  “Will you see him again?”

  “Meh.” She makes a non-committal noise in the back of her throat, and I fight to keep my expression neutral. An ‘I told you so’ would just annoy her. It is the same way all her dates end, and I experience a familiar rush of terror that I’ll end up the same way. Not that my track record is any better; I just skip the date and go straight to sleeping with them. Shit, I’ve been so worried about not repeating her mistakes that somewhere along the line I’ve done just that.

  “Are you okay, Charlie? You look a little funny.” Mom stands in the doorway, surveying the mess in my bedroom. Her brow furrows as she takes in all the clothes that are lying in piles on my bed, and the open suitcase that I’ve begun packing.

  “What are you doing? You’re leaving in a matter of hours.” She looks worried.

  “Just some last-minute packing,” I say as I straighten up and turn around, giving her a good look at my new haircut. She stares at me open-mouthed.

  “Oh, my God, Charlie, what have you done to your hair?” She rushes over and fingers my uneven hair, and I can’t meet her eye.

  “Um, I wanted a change,” I say, embarrassed at her scrutiny.

  “So, you just attacked your hair with the scissors?” She scans the mess of the room again, realization dawning on her face as it is starting to click into place.

  “And what are these piles of clothes? I thought you had already packed? Why haven’t you packed any shoes? What is going on?” she asks incredulously.

  “I don’t need to take that stuff.” I point to the clothes in the “slutty” pile. “I’m going to study, not party all the time.”

  “You are allowed to have fun, you know. You’re young.”

  I shake my head at her defiantly. “No, I need to grow up and take things more seriously. I need to make some changes in my life, and this will be the perfect opportunity for a fresh start.” I cross my arms over my chest, determined not to be swayed from my deci
sion.

  “You are a smart girl and you work hard and study hard. You deserve to have a little fun,” she says softly. Her supportive tone is no surprise; she’s always treated me more like a friend, but there are some things even I don’t feel comfortable telling her.

  Fidgeting with my suitcase, my hand trembles a little before I look up to meet her eyes.

  “Yeah, well, sometimes I have a little too much fun and then I can’t always remember it,” I say quietly. Her mouth forms a little O, and she looks uncomfortable. I don’t need to elaborate any further; I think she understands what I’m saying.

  “So, what are you planning on doing?’ she asks expectantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

  I smile shyly at her. “I’m going to reinvent myself.”

  “How?” Even though she’s trying to be supportive, I can’t miss the skepticism behind her question.

  “Well, my hair is the start, less make-up, no false eyelashes, no slutty clothes. Not just that, but my behavior, too. Most importantly, no more drinking.” Under my breath, I add, “And no more sleeping around.” I don’t want to tell her about the promises I made to my granddad.

  After a minute of chewing her lip, she shrugs her shoulders. “Okay, if you’re sure, but can we go and get your hair cut properly? It looks terrible, all uneven and sticking out. A little make-up never hurt anyone, although I see your point about the drinking. But remember, Charlie, you are still entitled to have some fun.” She walks over and hugs me, and I squeeze her back.

  “Come on, I’ll help you pack. Then we can go to the hairdresser and afterward do a little clothes shopping,” she says excitedly. “We don’t have a lot of time.” My mom loves shopping and a girls’ day out.

  I nod slowly in agreement and bite my lip. I’m not finished yet, and she knows there is more.

  “What is it?” my mom asks warily.

  “I want to change my name.”