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  Style

  Copyright © 2016 Chelsea M. Cameron

  All Rights Reserved.

  Editing by Laura Helseth

  Cover by KassiJean

  chelseamcameron.com

  Style is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are use fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. All rights reserved.

  Other books by Chelsea M. Cameron:

  Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book One)

  Amazon

  Nightmare (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book Two)

  Amazon

  Neither (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book Three)

  Amazon

  Neverend (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book Four)

  Amazon

  Whisper (The Whisper Trilogy, Book One)

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo

  Deeper We Fall (Fall and Rise, Book One)

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  Faster We Burn (Fall and Rise, Book Two)

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  Together We Heal

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  My Favorite Mistake (Available from Harlequin)

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  My Sweetest Escape (Available from Harlequin)

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  Our Favorite Days (My Favorite Mistake, Book Three)

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  Sweet Surrendering

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  Surrendering to Us

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  Dark Surrendering

  Amazon Barnes and Noble KoboiBooks

  For Real (Rules of Love, Book One)

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  For Now (Rules of Love, Book Two)

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  Deep Surrendering

  Amazon

  UnWritten

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  Behind Your Back

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  Back to Back

  Amazon Barnes and Noble Kobo iBooks

  Bend Me, Break Me

  Amazon

  www.chelseamcameron.com

  Twitter: @chel_c_cam

  Facebook: Chelsea M. Cameron (Official Author Page)

  Novels By The Author

  Contact The Author

  Contents

  Dedication

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  For all the girls who like girls.

  This one’s for you.

  “She’s like . . . Satan in a blonde package,” Grace said as Stella Lewis walked by. Grace had it right. I slammed my locker and leaned my back against it as Stella went around the corner, her skirt flipping, but not showing too much. Just enough. Her ash-blonde hair was curled perfectly, as if she had a team of stylists in her home to get her ready every day.

  “Well, I don’t think she’s that evil. Just . . . driven? Assertive?” Grace just rolled her eyes.

  “Those are just other words for ‘bitch’, Kyle.” I shrugged as we walked beside each other to class. A few people stared as we went by, but I ignored them. Grace had the misfortune of being one of the only black girls at a small high school in Maine; and then there was me. They looked because I walked with a visible limp, mostly due to the fact that one of my legs was longer than the other, and even with multiple surgeries to lengthen it, there was still a discrepancy. Not to mention the scars. It was so much better than it had been, but in high school any physical anomaly was reason to stare, especially in a homogenous community.

  I took my messy bun down and then put it back up again. It was a habit I had when I was annoyed by something. Or nervous. Or stressed. Or tired. Grace took the seat next to me in AP Chemistry and sighed.

  “What?” I asked, hauling out the enormous textbook and dropping it with a thud on my desk.

  “Nothing. Just thinking.” She pushed her dark curls out of her face and glared up at them.

  “Be careful. That could be dangerous,” I said, pushing my black-rimmed glasses up my nose. Yeah, yeah, I was the stereotype. Girl who loved academics and wore glasses. I’d heard all the jokes before, so save it.

  Something was bothering her, and as usual, she was going to hold it in until she couldn’t stand it anymore and then it would burst out of her at a totally inopportune time. Like when we were in the middle of dinner with my parents. Or at the movies. Or in the library. Or in the middle of a test.

  “Whatever,” she said, pulling out her Chapstick and slicking it on her lips. Mrs. Collins started class and I knew I was going to have to wait.

  We were working on diagramming chemical bonds, so I let my brain be taken over by that and pushed Grace’s potential problem to the side. Science wasn’t my best subject, but I did well enough to make it to AP Chemistry my senior year, so that had to count for something. Grace and I split up, her to head to Art and me to AP Geometry and then we met up again outside the cafeteria. Like always.

  We got in line and filled our trays with pizza, and I decided to grab a salad because pizza and salad cancelled each other out. By the time we got back to the table, Molly, her boyfriend Tommy, Paige, Monica, and Chris were already eating.

  “Whoa, what’s with Grace?” Molly whispered in my ear as Grace glowered at her food like it had offended her in some way.

  “No idea,” I said back as Tommy and Chris debated something politics-related that would probably end in them agreeing to disagree. Again.

  “Hey, is anyone going to the game on Friday?” Monica asked. She, Chris, and Molly were in the band playing flute, bass drum, and clarinet respectively.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said. I tried to make most of the games to support them, and we all showed up for Grace and Monica when the drama club put on productions. My friends were pretty spectacular and I didn’t know what I would have done without them.

  “Everyone else in?” Monica asked, and we all agreed. I couldn’t have cared less about the actual sport (football), so I usually brought a book and only looked up or paid attention when the band was doing something.

  Don’t get me wrong, sports are fine, but they’re not really my forte, considering running isn’t my thing and most of them require it. I would much rather spend my time reading or . . . doing anything else.

  “What the hell?” Grace said, finally looking up and turning toward a commotion on the other side of the cafeteria.

  “Oh God, what are they doing now?” I said. It was one of the tables for the football players and they were always up to something. Brad Harding was standing on top of one of the tables and chugging . . . something from a glass bottle.

  “What is that?” I said, squinting.

  “I think it’s hot sauce,” Molly said, shaking her head.

  Yup, definitely hot sauce. Brad’s face got red, he started gagging and then hurled all over the table before one of the lunch monitors hauled him off the table and down the hall to t
he principal’s office. A surly custodian came over to clean up as groups of students clapped in support.

  I was about to turn and say something to Grace when my gaze snagged on Stella. She stood with her arms crossed as she rolled her eyes. Tossing her hair over one shoulder, she just happened to look in my direction and catch me staring. I looked away fast, so she didn’t think I was . . . well, anyway.

  “I can’t believe people think that’s funny. I mean, how old are they?” Grace said, her brows furrowed. If she didn’t tell me what was up by the end of the day, I was going to confront her. Because this was downright ridiculous.

  “Well, he’s going to get suspended, again,” I said. Brad got suspended a lot, but it never stuck because his dad was a lawyer and a former politician and crazy rich. So Brad was basically the worst because he could get away with it.

  The topic changed from Brad’s idiocy to Homecoming weekend and I checked out. It wasn’t that I didn’t care . . .

  Okay, that was it. I just couldn’t get so whooped up about something that didn’t really mean anything. These weren’t the best days of our lives. I was always looking forward to college. If I could just get to college, I knew my life would start.

  I’d finally get a boyfriend and my obsession with academia would be appreciated and I’d be out on my own. Not that I didn’t adore my parents, but I was an only child and living with their expectations hanging over my head had been intense, to say the least. Good thing I was smart, or else I would have had to work my ass off at something else to meet their expectations of being an extraordinary child.

  College was going to be it. I just had to get to graduation and then I would be free.

  Instead of heading home after school, I always took my laptop downtown to the library and got most of my homework done. It was a hell of a lot easier to work on everything when I didn’t have one (or both) of my parents leaning over my shoulder asking what I was doing and if I was sure I wanted to use that exact word, or if that number was right. They put the hel in helicopter parenting.

  After I finished everything I needed to get done homework wise, I let myself do some work. Last summer I’d gotten a job at a small IT support company in town and my boss, Jason, had taught me a little bit of coding and graphic design, so I’d started doing a few freelance jobs here and there. Just basic stuff like Photoshop editing and basic web design, but you could make pretty decent money at it. I wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted to do when I got to college, but if I could make a few bucks and enjoy what I was doing, then why not?

  My current project was a blog redesign for a new book blogger. I hadn’t even known book blogging was a thing until I posted some of my ads in online forums. She was also a senior in high school and didn’t have a whole lot of money, so she couldn’t hire a real professional. We’d exchanged emails back and forth and I’d liked her and knew I could give her a great design. She’d already done part of the work; finding me stock images and colors and fonts that she wanted to use.

  I’d just gotten started, but she was happy with the progress. I put on my coding playlist (which included everything from Adele to the Hamilton soundtrack to Muse) and before I knew it, the head librarian was tapping me on the shoulder and kicking me out.

  Time to go home.

  “How was your day, honey?” my mom said the second I shut the door. She gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek and then Dad was there too.

  “Fine,” I said, knowing that wasn’t an acceptable answer. She gave me the Mom Look and I sighed internally.

  “It was good. Got a 98 on my AP Chem quiz and Mr. Hurley assigned us Jane Eyre for our next book.” I would be asked to give many more specifics, but that would happen at the dinner table.

  To be fair to my parents, they did only want the best for me. Neither of them had gone to college, but had been almost entirely self-taught and didn’t want me to struggle like they had. Granted, the economy was a hell of a lot different now than it was when they were growing up, but I didn’t want to burst that bubble. In the end, we both wanted the same thing. Me, at a good college and getting at least a master’s degree. In . . . something.

  Still figuring that out.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” I announced and escaped to my bathroom for a reprieve.

  My room was kind of a disaster, as usual. I nearly tripped over a pair of sweatpants on my way to the bathroom. Might be time to do some laundry. I picked them up and tossed them on top of the overflowing hamper.

  I turned the water on nearly all the way and stepped under, yelping a little. No doubt when I got out there would be no hot water. I was a fan of long showers, especially when my parents wanted to ask me to describe every moment of my day.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, letting the water soak my hair. Sighing, I slid my hand down my stomach and between my legs. I was paranoid that my parents would hear me somehow, so the shower was ideal for “relieving stress.” It probably wasted water, but whatever.

  I kept my eyes closed and ran my fingers up and down the inside of my thighs. As always, I tried to picture my ideal man. I needed some sort of visual stimulation to get off. I created him in painstaking detail, but it just wasn’t working. He was . . . blurry. I stroked myself and tried harder. He would have blonde hair and wasn’t too muscular, just enough so that you knew he probably ran or did some sort of activity. He had a sexy voice and didn’t call me “baby” because that was patronizing. He had just a few tattoos on his chest.

  I growled in frustration. It wasn’t working. There was just too much on my mind to get myself there. That had been happening more and more lately. Stupid stress. Stupid senior year messing with my masturbation. I opened my eyes and gave up. Maybe I’d try again later when I was in bed.

  My mind drifted to other things as I washed my hair. I replayed the day and for some reason, I kept seeing Stella walking by me this morning. Like my brain was stuck and just kept replaying it.

  What the hell? I shook my head and shoved it aside, but the moment I did, there was a twisting in the pit of my stomach. My heart started to race, as if I was running from something, and I quickly finished my shower and got out.

  After I scrubbed myself with the towel so hard that my skin was red and raw I yanked a brush through my hair. It snagged more than a few times and I ripped out a few hairs. I told myself to calm the fuck down and get my shit together. It was nothing.

  It was totally nothing.

  “Pull up, pull up, you’ve almost got it,” I said to Joy as she attempted to hit her scorpion. She was so close to having her back arched perfectly with her foot pulled behind her head. Almost. Just a bit more stretching and she’d have it.

  She made a face at me and then let her foot snap back to the floor.

  “I feel like I’m bending myself in two,” she said, getting down on the floor to work on her splits.

  “Well, you kind of are,” I said, getting down on the mat and joining her. As a senior captain of the cheer squad, one of my jobs was to take some of the JV girls under my wing and help them out. Sort of like a big sister/little sister situation. It could be kind of a pain in the ass, but at least Joy wasn’t obnoxious and really seemed like she wanted to listen to what I had to say.

  After we stretched, we hit the locker room. Our big/little time was supposed to happen outside of practice, so we had to work it around both our schedules. If I didn’t hurry, I was going to be very late for work, so I took a quick “baby wipe shower,” changed my clothes, and said goodbye to Joy before rushing to my car. I knew I was sweaty and my hair was a mess, but that couldn’t be helped.

  I pulled into the vet’s office and I was two minutes late. Shit. I dashed in the back door and nearly crashed into Maggie, who was dealing with a very grumpy golden retriever who didn’t want to be doing whatever she was trying to get it to do.

  “Sorry!” I said as I nearly tripped over the leash and we got tangled together. I regained my balance and we untangled ourselves as the dog moaned
and groaned.

  “What are you doing to this poor boy?” I asked.

  “Giving him shots. I’m a terrible person, aren’t I, Gunnar?” We both looked down at the dog as he howled like we were murdering him. I just laughed and moved past her to the back room where I could stash my bag. My scrubs today had little hearts on them. I’d gotten them around Valentine’s Day, but I figured hearts could be worn year round. I hustled to the front desk where the receptionist, Margie, gave me a look.

  “Sorry, sorry,” I said, sitting down and booting up my computer. It was one of those terrible ancient desktops that was roughly the equivalent of a computer dinosaur, but the clinic didn’t have a lot of extra funds for new computers.

  I signed in and got to work. Since I wasn’t even a vet tech, I didn’t get to interact much with the animals outside of checking them, and their owners, in. Most of my job involved boring clerical work, but if I wanted to get into vet school, this was one of the first steps.

  I worked on schedules, checked people out, filed, organized, and did a bunch of other little tasks, and soon it was time to clock out. That was one of the reasons I loved it. Never a dull moment. I ended up breaking up a potential fight between a dog and a very old, very mean cat whose owner refused to use a cat carrier, and then ended up consoling a girl whose hamster was put to sleep.

  “Busy day,” Margie said as I organized my desk again. I wanted it to look the same every day when I came back. I was weird that way.

  “Same as always,” I said, giving her a little wave. “See you tomorrow.” She covered a yawn with her hand and I made my way into the back to grab my stuff. A few of the dogs who were there for overnight observation barked as I went by, begging me to release them.

  “Not today, guys,” I said, but they didn’t listen and kept barking. My stomach yelled at me as I got in my car and turned it on. Shit. I was almost out of gas.

  “Perfect,” I sighed. Just one more thing I had to do today.

  “I’m home,” I called an hour later when I came through the door with a few bags of groceries.