Read My King (Two Prince's Book 1) Online
Authors: Mary Martel
My King (Two Prince's Book 1)
My King
A Two Prince’s Novel
By:
Mary Martel
Copyright © Mary Martel 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Mary Martel, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.
1st Edition Published: October 2015
Formatted by: Mary Martel
ISBN-13:
978-1511673372
ISBN-10:
1511673370
All Rights Reserved: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction in whole or in part, without express written permission by Mary Martel.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Dedication ~
To Chariety.
Thanks for being the best Aunt a girl could have.
Love you.
Shayne
What a great way to spend my Friday night.
At Lush.
Again.
It’s only the second week of summer break and already I’m so tired of this bullshit. I just have to keep telling myself I need the money and a job is a job. I can stick it out for the money, really, I can.
Doesn’t that sound like the kind of thing someone would say when trying to delude themselves? When trying to make something out to be better than it really is?
A job is a job?
Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Certainly not myself, that’s for damn sure.
A job is not a job and I am so not cut out for this shit.
Okay. Enough with the bitching for the moment. I should probably introduce myself. My name is Shayne Gracey. My friends (which are in actuality Anna May’s friends) call me Shay for short. As far as nicknames go it is certainly not original but it totally works for me. I’m a twenty-three year old college student on… Yup, you guessed it, summer break. I have grey eyes and long, straight brown hair. If I were a few inches taller I would be considered tall. But I’m not, I’m average. I’m not shy, I’m also not outspoken. I’m just… me. Nothing special. Boring and normal, that was me. There was not one thing exciting about my life and that’s exactly how I liked it.
I’m just a good old, all-around average girl, and that’s all there was to me. And I’m more than okay with that.
My normal, boring, predictable life worked for me. I was comfortable with it. Mostly because I’m lame and kind of a loser. Something I’m also more than comfortable with.
Lush is a bar that I work at. It’s pretty run down, but no one seems to care. It’s not far from the dorms, therefore business is steady year round. Cheap drink specials and scantily clad waitresses make it a popular hangout for the college kids. My friends, well, Anna May’s friends and I come here a few times a month to blow off steam, forget about homework, and just de-stress.
That’s all changed for me now because when the semester ended in late May, I got my job here.
Now I spend most of my nights here and it’s no longer happy-go-lucky, tipsy, fun time. It’s work time, and boy oh boy is there a difference. Quite a difference actually.
Talk about a wakeup call on that one, and not a happy one at that.
My job itself, is really not that hard. Take drink orders, make change, and deliver said drinks. Hell, I don’t even have to make the damn drinks myself. Easy-peasy.
It’s the people that are hard for me to deal with. Half the time they have been here for hours and they’re so intoxicated and blotto that I can’t even understand them. They get rowdy, out of control and sometimes even handsy… Although why they would want to get handsy with me when the other girls dress like wayward hookers I most certainly have no idea.
It sucks. Straight up, it sucks.
In the past two weeks, I have learned some things about myself that I never knew before I started working here. Things I could have gone the rest of my life without knowing but, here we are.
First, when sober, I do not like drunk people. Not at all. Not only do I dislike them, I absolutely loathe them. I do not find them funny, amusing, cute or any of the like. I find them to be obnoxious, rude and sometimes downright assholes. Sometimes perverted, over the top, assholes. Maybe it was just the college crowd that acted like this. I wouldn’t know because they made up almost the entirety of Lush’s patrons.
Another self-discovery, I am not cut out to work around the general public. This was news to me, I’d always thought of myself as a nice girl (albeit a quiet one). When the drunks got rude, after about two days of working here, I started to respond in kind, which is not my normal behavior. This does not always go over well with the drunk, party goer type that frequents Lush. Oh no, it tends to make them even more of an asshole, making me respond more in kind. Which sucks for my tips. And given the fact that I’m only here for the money this is not a win-win for me.
Because it’s worth repeating, my job seriously sucks and I hate it.
After my shift I find myself seated at a table, like always, counting out my tips with Ray the bartender and Rachel a fellow waitress.
At twenty-eight Ray is big, bulky and sturdy looking, that’s the best way for me to describe him. He’s solid, built like marble. Made of muscle. He has dark brown hair that hangs down just past his shoulders, it curls a little at the ends. Tattoos run up and down his arms and one peeks out of the front of his shirt, just above his collarbone. He looks like he’s better suited to be stationed out front posing as a beefy bouncer rather than behind the bar. All around, Ray is gorgeous. If you’re into tattoos and muscles that is. I’m not really sure what it is I am into, but I know for certain I find Ray attractive.
Rachel is a tiny, petite, little thing. The exact opposite of Ray. If you were to blow hard enough in her direction she looks like she would sway in the breeze and then promptly fall over. She’s got flashing green eyes and short, pixie like, spiky black hair. She’s got quite the attitude, and despite her size, could probably kick a giant’s ass. Seriously, sometimes the girl can be downright scary. I find it to be endearing and I very much like her. Despite her attitude she’s never been anything but nice to me.
I did my job training with her. She showed me nothing but patience and kindness. Some of the other girls weren’t always so nice to me.
We sat around the table counting out tips. This could either be the highest point of my night or the lowest. Tonight, however, happened to be a good one. Despite all my bitching earlier about how much my job sucks and I hate it, I do alright. Any cash is better than no cash.
One hundred and thirty-two dollars.
Not bad for one night.
Not stripper good (not that I would know what stripper good is because I have never done it) but I imagine it’s better than one hundred and some odd dollars a night, but still, not bad for waitressing at a bar in a college town.
Thank god for spoiled rich kids with free reign of mommy and daddies credit cards.
I look up from counting my tips out a second time to see Rachel and Ray making doe eyes at each other from across the table.
Oh boy.
I needed to get out of here before the flirting and petting begins. I have seen it happen a couple of times and it is
so
not pretty. Once they get going the whole world seems to fade away and they don’t care who’s around to see their intimacy.
“Guys, I have to go. I’m beat.” I say, pushing my chair away from the table and standing up. “See you tomorrow night.”
I pick my purse up off the floor, hastily stuff my money inside, and head for the door. The whole time neither of them acknowledges my goodbye. They are too wrapped up in each other.
I can’t get out of there fast enough.
I practically run all the way to my car, only stopping to lock up behind me.
Affection, of any kind, makes me extremely uncomfortable.
*****
Fifteen minutes later, I cruise my trusty old Jeep up to the curb in front of my apartment and park. I drive a four door forest green Jeep Cherokee. It’s seen better days (as in
way
better days) and is a little rusted in some places. Okay, so maybe it’s rusted in a whole lot of places. Even though rusty and old, I love my Jeep. It’s got character. It’s paid for, which is great. But most importantly it gets me from point A to point B just fine. I don’t need a fancy ride for that.
My apartment building is less of a building and more of a giant, two story house. It’s an old building and in dire need of a paint job, kind of an eye soar and definitely lacking in curb appeal.
The house is split up into three decent sized apartments, one on each floor. The basement apartment, which is currently vacant, has its own entrance on the side of the house, separate from the others. I’ve never been down there before. I’ve never really wanted to, basements on a whole creeped me out.
I have called the top floor of this old house my home for the past three years.
There’s a small reception (what a joke and so not what I would call it but that’s what my land lady refers to it as) area. All that is there is a crappy old desk that sits in the corner with nothing on it. Seriously, there’s not a damn thing on it. No vase filled with flowers, no clutter of paper, no nothing. I think there might be a phone book in one of the drawers, maybe. That’s all. It holds no purpose whatsoever. The reception area is empty other than the desk and has an unwelcoming feel to it.
There’s a hallway that leads off to the door to the main floor apartment and a staircase leading up to mine.
Two guys, in what I’d guess to be their early twenty’s, live on the main floor. They haven’t lived here for very long. Maybe a month, tops.
What with school just getting out and then right after starting a new job I have been so busy that I have only ever seen them on one occasion. And that was when they had just moved in, I passed by one of them in the entrance way. Which, just to say, is totally fine with me. I like my privacy and I don’t want to have neighbors that are up my ass and in my business all the time. No, Mr. Neighbor Man you cannot borrow a cup of sugar. Or, anything else for that matter. You stick to your apartment and I’ll stick to mine, thank you very much.
My apartment has two large bedrooms, one bathroom, an eat in kitchen, living room, and a laundry room the size of a closet. I am so very grateful for the laundry room and the amount of time and money it saves me by not having to haul all of my shit to the laundry mat and then back again.
I live with my best friend in the whole world, my only real friend. Her name is Anna May. We have been friends for just over three years. We met in an art class our freshman year. Instantly, I loved this girl. We bonded and a month after we had met we each packed up our rooms in the dorms and moved in here together. I’ve never once regretted it. I had hated living in the dorms, this was so much better.
Anna May and I are as different as night and day. Where I am plain-Jane, brown haired, slender, and average, she is all golden-goddess, voluptuous and leggy like. She’s got thick, golden blonde hair that falls in layers down her back. Her eyes are the color of the sky on a clear day. She has a heart shaped face and her lips are full and always pouting. She’s got freaking legs to die for. Altogether, she’s one pretty hot package. I kind of want to hate her a little bit for those legs. Hell, who am I kidding? I kind of want to hate her a little bit for all of it. What girl wouldn’t? She’s my best friend though so there’s no real hate there at all. I’ve got nothing but love for that girl.
A few months ago, out of the blue, she dropped out of school on a whim and got a job as a receptionist for some shit hot lawyer. It was an extremely unexpected change, one that blindsided me because I never even saw it coming. She is so smart, and in school she excelled at everything without seeming to really have to try. We have one year till graduation and for me it seems crazy to quit now, wasteful even. But… As long as she’s happy I am going to try to be supportive of her. To each their own and all that. Still, I worry. She’s the only person I really have in my life that I can rely on in any capacity and I would be a shit best friend if I wasn’t a little worried about her.
I was hoping to beat her home so I wouldn’t have an awkward moment when I accidentally walked in on her and her date getting frisky on the couch and judging by the empty driveway, I have. She is supposed to be out on a hot date tonight with some gorgeous stud muffin (her words) that she met earlier this week at a coffee house downtown. I swear, the girl could pick up a man anywhere. All she had to do was flash a little bit of leg and bat her pretty blues and they came running. Lucky girl. The only problem was she tended to bring them back home with her and instead of using the privacy her bedroom afforded her she’d end up fooling around with them on the couch until I eventually walked in on them. It never failed. As for me, I’ve been single since, what feels like, the dawn of time. Like the loser I am, I’ve never even had a boyfriend.
I get out of my car, slam the door shut behind me and skip up the front steps. We never locked the front door. The door to our apartment is always locked up tight but the front door to the building never gets locked. Pure laziness on our parts.
I push the door open, ignore the ‘reception’ area and start to climb up the stairs.
I am half way up the stairs when I hear it.
A huge crashing noise coming from the first floor apartment. I come to a complete stop on the sixth step up. It sounded like something large and heavy had hit the wall with extreme force. Then the next second, total silence again.
I retreat back down to the base of the steps where I can see their apartment door. I stand there holding my breath, waiting and staring at the door for what feels like an hour but in reality is probably no more than two minutes. I stand there clutching the banister and straining my ears. I hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing. Not even a floor board creaks.
After minutes of nothing but heavy silence I reluctantly head back up the stairs, chalking the noise up to my new neighbors being weird. All the while, telling myself to forget about what I’ve heard. That seems safer than knocking on a strangers door to ask them what the problem is at two o’ clock in the morning.