Accent Hussy (It Had 2 B U)
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Authors: V. Kelly
ACCENT HUSSY
BY V. KELLY
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Copyright © 2016 by Vanessa Kelly.
Accent Hussy by V. Kelly
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copy-right reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without written permission of above copyright owner of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Editor: Toni Michelle
Cover Design: Vanessa Kelly
Cover Art License TBD
Printed in the United States of America
First Edition: April 2016
Library of Congress Cataloging-In-Publication Data has been applied for
Kelly, V
Accent Hussy – 1
st
Edition
ISBN-13:
978-1530400652
ISBN-10:
1530400651
Accent Hussy
I LOVE accents!
I HATE Caleb Conaway.
It’s true, I despise him! Caleb Conaway is an unaccented pain in my ass. No matter how many times I tell the sexy boxer I’m not interested in him, he just doesn’t listen to me. People call me an Accent Hussy. That’s because I’m only attracted to men with sexy accents, dripping in butter, oozing with sex and hit me straight in the vagina. Yup, that’s EXACTLY what I'm looking for. Caleb’s voice does nothing for me; it assaults my ear drums and makes me want to gouge out my eyeballs. I finally thought I got away from him, until a foolish date with a sexy Irishman ends with me arrested . . .
All I wanted was to complete my community service and go home. What I didn’t expect was to fall in love with the kids at the Youth Center or run into the one man that I love to hate . . . Caleb Conaway.
They say that every person has an Achilles’ Heel. I just wasn’t expecting mine to be Caleb Conaway.
This book is book two in the It Had 2 B U series. Though it is meant to be a stand-alone there are some things from the first book that may get ruined if you don’t read Innuendos first. This novel takes place around the same time as
Innuendos
ended, where Max is the older brother to Everly. I just wanted to warn my readers in case they do not like spoilers from other books.
I want to thank you for taking the time to read
Accent Hussy
. Writing has always been a dream of mine that I finally get to share with the world. Every reader is an important part of the writing process. If you love this book, or even if you hate it, please take the time to leave a review. Every review, whether positive or negative, help an author become a better writer.
I also need to mention that every translation in this book was done with
Google Translate
. There may be some discrepancies in the way the phrases are translated through and it is not my intention to offend anyone. I am relying on
Google Translate
to get the translations right. I would love to be fluent in all these languages, but unfortunately I only have limited Spanish in my arsenal when it comes to speaking foreign languages.
Thank you again for picking up this book. I hope you enjoy
Accent Hussy
!
V. Kelly
This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever imagined a certain kind of person for themselves and realized they were totally wrong.
I’ve decided that Pepe LePew is my cartoon doppelganger. It’s true, I’m quite certain Pepe and I were cut from the same cloth. Okay, so maybe I’m not a stinky rodent that’s in major need of butt plugs, but I am notorious for chasing after what I want—just like him. Although, my prey is a little more challenging than a stupid cat who somehow always ends up getting painted with a white stripe down her back. No, my targets are tall, dark, handsome, and foreign. I’m pretty sure if I don’t seek help soon, I’m one step away from chasing down every foreign man I find, and peppering them with suffocating kisses until they run screaming away from me like the defenseless cat in the cartoon. That’s the problem with having an addiction. You spend most of your time chasing after what you want, and less time realizing you’re slowly turning into a monster.
Hi, my name is Everly, and I’m addicted to foreign accents. I think I need a twelve-step program to relieve me of this addiction. There has to be other women out there that get all hot and bothered over men with foreign tongues. It’s impossible for me to be the only Accent Hussy in this world. Just because I do a touchdown dance every time I find a man who harbors the verbal drug I’m after, does
not
make me weird. So what if I cabbage patch, and running man, all over the place when I actually find a foreign dude to chase after.
It’s normal . . . I think.
I remember the exact moment I fell in love with foreign accents. I was thirteen and sitting in the middle of my French class when
he
walked through the door. Never in my life had I seen someone so repulsive, and yet, when he spoke for the first time, he turned into the Zac Effron of my French class.
“Bonjour, la classe,” he said in a perfect French accent.
I swear it was like being sucker punched in the face. That accent hit me like an uppercut to the chin. Immediately, he had my attention, and the more he spoke, the harder I fell. My best friend Jessi thought I was crazy. She didn’t understand why I was doodling Mr. Yokum’s name all over my notebooks. To her, he was grotesque, but to me, he was a dreamboat. Who doesn’t love a balding, middle-aged man, with short, fat, chalk-stained fingers, salt and pepper hair combed over his head, a giant black mustache that made him look like a pedophile, and body odor that reeked of peanuts? Top all that sexiness off with a smooth French accent, and I was smitten with my very first crush. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper when I found out he was married and had seven children waiting for him at home.
Talk about crushed! I had dreams of that man singing
Frère Jacques
in that sweet accent of his to me before bed, every night. Despite Mr. Yokum’s un-cooperation with serenading me to sleep, I did manage to snag an A+ in French class. It’s also where I learned about my infinity for picking up foreign accents and mimicking them almost perfectly.
It’s almost nine years later and my obsession with foreign accents hasn’t changed. I actively seek them out now. I consider myself a chameleon, able to change my voice and create a new persona just to attract men of the opposite sex.
My brother Max calls me an Accent Hussy because of it. It’s not my fault that every boyfriend I’ve had since the twelfth grade has had an accent. Normal men are obnoxious and a pain in my ass. I get bored within five minutes of them opening their mouth to talk. Men with accents are simply intoxicating! They ooze sex appeal. Just hearing a man talk with an accent has me so wet it’s like a fucking slip and slide between my thighs.
There is one bad thing about being an Accent Hussy . . . I lie . . . I lie a lot. It’s not something I’m proud of, but I’ve tried to get men’s attention without stealing their accent and it doesn’t work . . . like ever. Men like women who have things in common with them. By pretending to be from where they are, we already have something to talk about, which normally solidifies that initial first greeting into a second date. Second dates usually turn into relationships, but once the initial lie has been revealed, that I have no accent whatsoever, relationships turn into singlehood. That’s the main reason that I’m currently between boyfriends.
My last boyfriend’s name was Jesus (pronounced hay-suess) He was Spanish and probably my most successful attempt at wooing a man with an accent. We met at a party and he made it pretty easy for me to lie to him. He actually thought, because of my olive skin and dark hair, that I was Spanish just like him. Fortunately, my minor is in foreign languages, so I’m practically fluent in Spanish. It made understanding him a whole lot easier. Because of him, I’ve rolled my r’s so much my tongue is practically a snare drum.
Jessi has never been in my corner when it comes to dating foreign men. She always tells me that a boy will come along who will love me for the way I am, not because I pretend to have his accent. I usually lose her after that, most of the time, when she’s on her “guys need to love me for who I am” soapbox. That’s when her voice turns into the teacher from the
Peanuts
cartoon. All I hear is “Waa wa wah wah, be you, Wa wah wah wa.” I love the girl to death, but come on, why fix something that isn’t broken. Faking accents has sorta worked in the past, no reason to stop now.
Jesus and I lasted a total of seven months before he dumped my ass. The bad part about pretending to be Spanish is that sometimes you forget to keep your accent going, and it’s usually at the most inopportune times—say, right in the middle of an orgasm, while in your head you’re screaming ¡Ay caramba! in reality, you end up yelling “Dio Mio!” In perfect Italian. Who knew it was inappropriate to yell out “Oh my God” in any language other than Spanish.
To say Jesus was not impressed with my sudden language change is an understatement. He started questioning me about my Spanish heritage after that, but it wasn’t until he asked me to cook him and his mother an authentic Mexican feast that I failed as the typical Spanish girlfriend. How was I supposed to know that buying premade taco shells and frying up hamburger meat wasn’t the correct way to cook tacos? That’s how my mother makes them; I was only following her example.
All it took was one bite and Jesus’s mother was spitting my tacos all over the carpet. I pretty much could only make out the swear words in her swift tongue-lashing. When she started pacing the room and cursing me with her rosary, I almost called a priest to schedule an exorcism. That bitch was one step away from spinning heads and projectile vomiting.
Jesus broke up with me on the spot for the taco incident. Turns out he was a closet momma’s boy and was looking for the mini version of his mother to marry. Glad I dodged that bullet, that woman made hippos look anorexic.
“Earth to Everly, are you going to pay attention to what I’m saying, or are you going to keep day dreaming?” Jessi snaps her fingers in front of my face.
That blank stare people get when they’re so absorbed in thought and have no idea what the other person is talking about sits proudly on my face.
What was she saying?
“I’m sorry, but if I didn’t love you as much as I do, you’d be eating lunch by yourself,” she scolds. “It’s like talking to a wall.”
“Sorry, I was lost in thought and missing Jesus.”
“Why? He was kinda an asshole.”
“He was not an asshole! I deserved the way he treated me. I lied Jessi, straight to his face.”
“You lie to every guy you date. I’m still surprised the Jamaican dude thought you were actually from Jamaica. I’m still not sure how you pulled that shit off.”
Ah yes. Kai. By far, the best man I’ve ever slept with—also one of the dumbest. We met at a rave; I was pretty messed up on ecstasy when I met him. I thought the pill was a damn Altoid. When I started rubbing my body all over every person within a three-inch radius, admiring my hands like they were made of gold, and started hallucinating pink gorillas dancing in tutus, I knew that Altoid I took from the random guy with glow sticks was not what it seemed.
Kai and I ended up casually dancing together. That boy could shake his hips like Shakira and twist his body like a contortionist! I was so lost in the music and his dancing that we didn’t say a word to each other until about the fifth song. That’s when I heard his accent and was instantly in love. Two minutes later, I was answering him with quite possibly the best Jamaican accent ever, and he was asking me out. Fourteen days of amazing sex, and the best performance I’ve ever given, he dumped me. Turns out, when his high finally wore off, my pale skin wasn’t really what he was looking for in a girlfriend. He still thought I was from Jamaica, though, stupid idiot.
“Kai was great in bed.”
“Sure, so was Jesus, and that Canadian guy Kevin, what about that Australian guy . . . what was his name again?”
“Alexander,” I mumble, taking a swig of my Jamba juice.
“Right, Alexander. I can’t keep up with them all. You’ve dated so many foreign guys, you could probably map them out on all seven continents.”
“Close, I’ve haven’t mastered the art of penguin speak yet, thus, Antarctica will probably never have a pin.” The Cheshire cat has no chance of winning a smile-off against me right now, I’ve got this big grin stuff down.
Jessi almost spits out her drink she’s laughing so hard. “So what are you planning on doing after we graduate?”
Graduation. It’s not something I’ve been looking forward to. I have no idea where I’d like to take my business major after I get out of school, and though I’m fluent in four languages, there really isn’t a call for it in the business world at the moment—at least not in a job that I want.
“I think I’m going to con my mother into letting me come home. I kinda miss Max and my parents, even if they annoy me.”
“Oh god, your brother is the hottest thing on this planet. If I even remotely had a chance with him, I would be all over that sexy beefcake and throwing my b-cup tits right in his face.” Jessi isn’t a bad looking girl; she’s actually quite pretty. Most guys are all over her, but my brother is so in love with his best friend Breezy that he’d be the last person who would notice Jessi. That boy is sprung!
“Eww, can you please not talk about my brother like that. It makes me want to vomit. Besides, he’s an idiot. He’s been in love with the same girl for ten years but too much of a chicken shit to tell her.”
“I’ve met the girl, his best friend, right? She’s fucking beautiful,” Jessi sighs.
“Jessi, you’re beautiful, too. I mean look at that long, silky blonde hair, beautiful brown eyes, and petite little figure. If I was a guy I’d be all over, you.”
She laughs. “With the dry spell I’m having, I may just have to take you up on that.”
My mouth opens to answer her when my vagina starts hyperventilating. A thick, male, English accent, floats between the cluttered voices that litter the mall. I’m not sure if it’s actually loud enough for me to hear, or if my super senses have the ability to filter out all the crappy voices around me. Whatever it is, that accent has my full and undivided attention now.
Like a hungry hyena, I stalk my prey.
He has to be in this food court somewhere.
It doesn’t take me long to find him.
Alert! Alert! Target at four o’clock!
Two tables over, eating a Mrs. Fields cookie, sitting with a group of guys is the English Muffin giving my lady parts an asthma attack.
Long legs spill into the aisle, showing off his massive combat boots and safety pinned cargo pants. He must be skyscraper tall. His hair is a neon yellow and is cut short to his head. Two piercings dot his ears, and a nose ring embellishes his nose. A Clash t-shirt peeks out from a green army trench coat. Okay, so he’s not my typical guy. I’m not really into the anti-everything image he’s rocking right now, but I don’t need a pretty face to make me happy, just a sexy sounding voice to fall asleep to.
“Uh oh, I know that look. You hear an accent, don’t you? I swear you’re like a dog, Everly. You can sniff out foreign men like they have their own odor.
I glare at her. “Shut up, Jessi.”
“Who is it this time?”
“Don’t be too obvious, but there’s an English sex god at your four o’clock.” I admire him over her shoulder and practically have to squeeze my legs together when I hear him laugh. I swear my vagina is its own entity; she’s practically skipping between my thighs when he speaks again.
She looks to her left. “Not your ten o’clock, your four o’clock. Geesh, didn’t anyone ever teach you how to tell time?”
“Which guy are you looking at?” She asks, ignoring me.
“Combat boots, on the left.” I briefly glance over my shoulder again; he’s not even looking our way.
“Eww Ev, he’s not cute at all. His face is covered in zits. He looks like a damn pizza!”
I try to examine his face once again, but then he speaks and every little flaw I could possibly see on him instantly disappears. It’s just me and his accent now.
“He’s bloody hot,” I tell her in a nearly perfect accent.
“Jesus Everly, how do you do that? Two minutes of listening to him, and it’s like you’re a transplant from over the pond.”
“It’s a gift,” I tell her, keeping my accent intact.
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to go over there and talk to him, Ev. Let this fish go. He’s not worth the catch.”
He speaks again and my body is compelled to get up from the chair. His foot is sticking out from under the table so if I walk by just right with my tray, he’ll end up tripping me. It’ll be perfect. Jessi is shaking her head when she sees me rise from the table. I hear her mumbling how stupid I am as I get up to leave. Combat boots is so wrapped up in his conversation that he doesn’t notice me walking up, but his friends do, and each of them is smiling at me. I plan my position, hit his foot, and go sailing to the floor.