The perfect wrong, p.1
The Perfect Wrong, page 1
The Perfect Wrong
Nicole Snow
Ice Lips Press
Content copyright © Nicole Snow. All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
First published in October, 2022.
Disclaimer: The following ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is only coincidental.
Please respect this author’s hard work! No section of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. Exception for brief quotations used in reviews or promotions. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thanks!
Cover Design – Eileen Carey Design. Photo by Michelle Lancaster @lanefotograf.
Title Note: This book is an extensively revised, expanded, and re-imagined new novel loosely based on a previously published title, Stepbrother UnSEALed (2015).
Contents
About the Book
1. Green Envy (Delia)
2. Black Dragon
3. Rose-Colored Glasses
4. Yellow Gold (Chris)
5. Blue Lightning (Delia)
6. Grey Waters (Chris)
7. Purple Princess (Delia)
8. Glitter Dream (Chris)
9. Tart Red Disaster (Delia)
10. White Knight (Chris)
11. Yellow Fear (Delia)
12. Slate Grey Heart (Chris)
13. Pearl Paradise (Delia)
14. Black Magic (Chris)
15. Lime-Tinted Dream (Delia)
16. Carbon Bets (Chris)
17. Dancing Gold Stars (Delia)
18. Vantablack Abyss (Chris)
19. Green Heartache (Delia)
20. White Terror (Chris)
21. Blinding Truths (Delia)
22. Merlot Moods (Chris)
23. Silver And Gold Everlasting (Delia)
Still Not Over You Preview
About Nicole Snow
More Books by Nicole
About the Book
Everything that could go wrong did.
The evil smile on my bestie's face should've screamed bad idea. But I took her “easy” bet:
Find a man before summer ends. Renounce my V-card. Enjoy life.
I thought I was entitled to the same sweet ritual every girl deserves—until a force of nature blew in.
His name is Chris Triton.
Tattooed god. Moody ex SEAL. Zero filter. Born to drive me bonkers.
We barely spoke for ten minutes before he kissed my soul out.
Too fast. Too intense. Too flipping good.
Then I found out we'd be sharing the same roof the very next day.
Dad marrying his mom squashed our little chemistry experiment instantly.
You know, the normal reaction. But Chris doesn't do normal.
Or predictable.
Or sane.
Still, I'm sure he's playing some twisted game when he keeps teasing the unthinkable.
I think he won't scorch my heart black until the Vegas trip—another hilariously bad idea.
It's just us and a tension so thick you can chew it.
Just an unexpected hero charging to my rescue.
Just one freaking bed.
What the hell do you do when the perfect wrong feels undeniably right?
1
Green Envy (Delia)
Orange sunset.
Gold lights.
Red, red lips.
I don’t know her, but I’m already jealous of the girl’s siren-red lipstick as she kisses her date.
Yes, I’m feeling selfish.
Shallow? You bet.
No, I’m definitely not jealous of the way he’s grinding against her like a sex-starved hyena.
Still...it could make a nice scene for my canvas if I make it a little less X-rated. The lights are just right and if I make them silhouettes under these string lights glittering with reflected sunlight, I might have a win.
I fight the urge to snap a pic and turn around, surveying the other happy party people.
My muse smiles. There’s a lot of material here, honestly.
I like to paint scenes stolen from life, but not so badly it makes me some creeper. I’ll just have to rely on my memory and—
“Holy shit! Do you see the meat on that boy? Firefly McHottie at nine o’clock. Big. Inked. And totally your type.” Marnie’s high, whiny voice rips me out of my art trance. Her obnoxiously bright-blue nails tighten on my shoulder, pointing me at an older boy by the bar laughing with his friends.
Ugh.
She sounds so desperate for muscle that I half expect the gorilla in the speedo she’s been eye-licking for the last ten minutes to skip fetching our drinks. Maybe he’ll just drag her off to a quiet corner for some alone time right away and dump the whole small-talk part.
I doubt she’ll mind.
Especially when the eye-licking is mutual—and that’s saying it the nice way.
Judging by the wolfish glint in his eye, it won’t take much for this dude to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off Neanderthal style for the rest of the night.
“Delia, hello! Don’t tell me you’re up in your painter head again? We had a deal, Miss Modesty,” she sings in my ear.
Amazingly, I don’t shudder.
“Oh, damn. For a split second I thought you’d let me forget. Y’know, rather than reminding me for the tenth time today,” I say glumly, draining the last dregs of my water bottle. “He’s like the oldest guy here. I don’t know that I can do—um, that—with a guy over thirty...”
Her smile widens, showing off teeth that suddenly seem too sharp.
“Oh, come on! I’m trying to help, ya know. If you don’t find someone who meets that sky-high standard of yours, you’re not going to be doing that with anyone. Especially if you keep calling it that!” She rolls her eyes. “Can’t you even say sex just once?”
Can I? I stare at her, hating how my cheeks heat.
“See? By the time you make your move, you’ll be down to geeks and dad bods. And not the hot kind,” she warns. “Honestly, I don’t even want to pick a guy for you. I only made this dumb pact so you’d choose. But a deal’s a deal and you pinky swore. That’s sacred.”
Barely an hour into this little shindig, and I’m ready to roll my eyes right out of my head.
I still want to blame that dumb bet on one glass of wine too many. But really, it must’ve been my own stupidity.
Why else would I ever make a pact with my friend, Miss Tinderella Incarnate, knowing she’s been on a mission to make me give up my V-card for years?
But I had all summer when we made the deal.
Now, it’s closing in on late June and fall is creeping closer.
Now, I can practically taste my future—along with whatever overgrown, shallow prick she gets to match me up with in September like a one-woman hookup app if I don’t get off my butt and get laid.
Laughing, she shakes her hips, causing her beauty queen body to bounce.
I don’t know how she tolerates her skimpy, skintight bikinis. Not that one wouldn’t feel awfully nice right now in the balmy California evening.
“It’s fine, Marnie. Really. He’s a decent option. He’s just...old.” I pause before I look at her. “And I’m not you. I just don’t see the appeal of the age gap thing yet. It’s not my style.”
Really, I don’t see the appeal of this party when I could be upstairs in my room, laying another gorgeous sunset in bright paints that try to translate my soul.
I stare down at my tank top and shorts. I’m decked out in the most conservative beachwear by far tonight. What else is new?
Sometimes I wonder if Marnie just keeps me around for the real estate.
Everybody else enjoys these summer parties on Dad’s cozy little stretch of beach way more than I do.
But Marnie drains her Bellini and tosses her head back in another gut-ripping laugh before she smacks me on the shoulder.
“Oh, girl. Just what the hell is your style? I’m still trying to figure that one out.”
I shrug as she leans in closer, smelling like peach-breath and booze.
“Why wouldn’t you try it with Kyle? Jesus, lady. I almost fell over when he told me you two were together that long and you never got past first base. You’re about to finish college and you’re still a virgin. I’m not letting my best friend walk off campus with a fancy degree and her cherry intact.”
I wrinkle my nose and stay quiet.
She’s not letting up, but that’s what Marnie does.
After a few strong drinks, she’s a lioness. I make a mental note to slip away once she’s had a few more, right about the time she tumbles into the arms of her latest overbuilt surfer bum for the night.
“I will make it happen, you know. Whether it’s tonight or whenever things are cooling off in September. You promised, Cordie, and the clock’s ticking.” She wags her finger at me with a flip of her blond hair with the pink highlights. “I know you own at least one bikini. Why don’t you grab it? Show off your sexy, and maybe I’ll ask Big over there if he’s got a hot friend after I’m done with him.”
God.
The smile she’s wearing makes her look like a shark.
Shaking my head, I fold my arms, one more reminder that I’m overdressed even if I feel like I’m half-naked out here with all this skin surrounding us.
“We’ll see. I’m just here for the sunset and a martini or two. Oh, and please flip Kyle the bird next semester for talking about personal crap he really shouldn’t.”
I mean it.
In hindsight, it’s hard to believe the idiot I broke up with over a month ago was supposed to be the one.
We lasted a few months since late winter—longer than my other boyfriends by far—and I’d actually been getting a little impatient about jumping his bones toward the end.
He was the first man in a while I could actually imagine tumbling into bed with—until he sat me down after a nice dinner and spilled all the nasty stuff he wanted me to do.
The kinky stuff he was clearly expecting.
Look, I’m no stranger to getting freaky, even if it’s only been theoretical.
My taste in smut books says I crave it.
When I’m not painting, I love stuffing my nose in tales of bad boy billionaires and flaming hot firemen with filthy mouths and a spank-happy mindset.
But what turned Kyle’s crank?
Picture the exact opposite.
His bedroom interests made me drier than the Sonoran desert.
No, I wasn’t going to tie him up and slap him across the face while he called me mama.
Not in this lifetime.
Not with anyone.
Seriously.
Why the unholy hell is it so hard to find a normal red-blooded man with a good head on his shoulders?
Do men with an alpha bone in their bodies still exist outside romance novels and thriller movies?
“Aw, hey, don’t feel too bad,” Marnie says. “I’m sure it wasn’t all so one-sided with Mr. Bitter. We’ve got to do lunch soon. I’d love to hear what the little rat was really up to...”
I open my mouth to change the subject, but then I see Mr. Tangerine Man strutting toward us with neon-green martinis and a beer dripping condensation.
Thank God, at least I don’t have to wait for my drink.
“Cheers, ladies,” he says, pushing a martini into my hand and flashing me a wink that says I’m not just the annoying third wheel.
Oof.
Awkward.
I can’t believe some of these beach bozos have the balls to try for two girls at once.
There’s no earthly way I’m falling for it.
I nod my thanks and turn my attention back to Marnie. She gives me the look, as if to say watch this.
“Ohh, is that the new local brew? I heard it’s really citrusy,” she says, closing the tiny gap between her and Tangerine Man.
It’s a quick, exaggerated movement that makes her bang her martini glass rim against his thick chest.
Green cocktail.
Sticky peach-red man chest.
Her face glowing like fire as she lies her little butt off.
“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry,” she slurs, batting her eyes.
Yeah. It takes a saint’s restraint not to roll my eyes and laugh.
The beach bum laughs, wipes the mess off his skin, and then pulls her closer with a growl that would shame a tiger.
“You know I’m gonna make you lick that off, right?” He purrs softly in her ear. Still loud enough to overhear.
Ick.
And there goes Marnie’s panties. Gone with one bad tan and a whiff of testosterone.
I look away with a sigh, taking a long sip off my drink, praying the strong alcohol beneath the fruity kiwi-apple sweetness will help me forget the train wreck I’m witnessing.
Who the hell invited him anyway? I wonder. There are always a few guys like him buzzing around, obviously too old to be students. Unless he’s like a grad student in sports science or something.
Regardless, Marnie’s a bigger social butterfly than I’ll ever be.
With her outgoing style and charm and just as many special connections as mine, that could be useful. For now, it’s enough to put up with her shenanigans.
I drink more martini, marveling at how big the crowd has gotten. There must be several dozen people milling around, double fisting drinks, some already making out by the fires sparking up across the dark horizon.
Every time Dad lets me open up the beach and fire up the bar, Marnie promises it’ll just be a small group. And every time, our party beach becomes a magnet for a good slice of the Bay’s hot, rich, pretty youth—plus a few interlopers who are anything but.
“Thanks again for letting us borrow sand from daddy dearest!” Marnie calls drunkenly. “If anybody leaves their shit behind and litters, come to me. I’ll kick their asses.”
I smile because I know she means it.
Her life may be messy, but the girl has good manners.
“Yeah, me too,” Tangerine Man adds lazily, not even pulling his eyes off her boobs.
“Go have some fun! Talk to ya tomorrow,” she says with one last flutter of her blindingly bright fingernails.
I’m too upset to turn around until I’m sure they’re gone.
It’s not just my friend’s too-loud-to-live attitude or her sweet tooth for two-dimensional man candy.
Everything just reminds me I’m stuck being the good girl again, and...
...and maybe I don’t want to be.
Just once, I wish I could be somebody’s little firecracker, even for one night.
I wish I could get over myself and sample Marnie’s good life.
I wish a tall, dark, and mysteriously freaky man would swoop in like lightning and blow my hair back.
But none of the boys tonight fit the bill.
Maybe I really am too picky.
But the longer I stare at the clean-shaven, athletic twenty-somethings who are still laughing with each other and not dancing with a girl yet, the sleepier my ladybits get.
College sucks when your standards are sky-high.
That’s why I made this stupid summer pact with Marnie to give up my V-card before my last semester.
I thought it’d be the push I needed—a little urgency to grow up, to get past this big, scary coming-of-age thing everybody obsesses over until the day it finally happens.
But as I glance around at the laughing couples and semi-drunk single men who flick their eyes up and down my body, maybe it’s not a push I need at all.
I need a pull.
I need gravity.
I need to feel a spark with a man who has a brain and a beating heart behind his boyish smirk before I let him be my first.
* * *
It’s a couple hours after sunset, and totally shaping up like every other summer party I’ve hosted for Marnie.
I watch the last glittery embers of sunlight fade below waves like churning ink. Every curl of the nighttime shore comes alive with lights and small bobbing yachts lit up like Christmas.
I’m a fair distance away from the nearest couple now, retreating into my own little world on a big, smooth rock not far from where the tide nips at my feet.
I’m just finishing my third drink, an extra tall Long Island iced tea.
The gaping yawn that slips out of me says I should go soon, but I have a reason to linger. To delay the inevitable.
Sigh.
I’m running behind on my senior paper pitch and I just...I don’t want to deal with it tonight.
Professor Thosser might be the biggest hardass in the whole journalism department. He’s also the teacher holding all the keys to a nice post-grad internship, or maybe a full-blown career after school.
Needless to say, I’m determined to impress him.
Unfortunately, that means turning in a thesis, outline, and starting on a draft before summer ends. Ideally, something interesting enough for him to cite in his Op-Eds to the big papers and endless seminars.
A few simple citations for other students over the years landed them gigs with serious money and mobility. One guy wound up a full-time author, launching multiple books onto bestsellers’ lists.
Oh, and I’m also supposed to meet my new stepbrother tomorrow.
Stressed?
Yes, I am.
When Dad tied the knot for the second time in his life a couple months ago, it flipped my whole world upside down.
