Losing Me, Finding You

C.M. Stunich

Sarian Royal

Losing Me, Finding You

Copyright © C.M. Stunich 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 1863 Pioneer Pkwy. E Ste. 203, Springfield, OR 97477-3907.

www.sarianroyal.com

ISBN-10: 1938623444 (eBook)

ISBN-13: 978-1-938623-44-8 (eBook)

"Triple M" Name Used With Permission From Melissa, Mireya, and Megan of "Triple M Bookclub"

Edited by Brandy Little of "Little Bee's Editing Services"

Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

"Optimus Princeps" and "Ultra Condensed Sans Serif" Fonts © Manfred Klein

"Ink In The Meat" Font © Billy Argel

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

to the lovely Triple M Bookclub in all its many eccentricities.

thanks for the names, the (perverted) suggestions, and the continuous enthusiasm that you show for every book you read.

the world could use a whole lot more just like you.

in no particular order, I dedicate this book to: Melissa, Mireya, and Megan (the fearless leaders of the group). Jodie, Kimberly, Mint, Brandi, Jen, Amy, Sali, and all the other wonderful members of Triple M who let me use their names.

to the book bloggers who wanted this so bad, they were willing to wait.

and of course, to my street team and my Kitty Crew: Jennifer M., Leanne J., and Marlena F.

couldn't do it without you.

I wake to a dull roar that quickly becomes deafening. The sound rattles the windows in my bedroom and sends my father into a raging fury about
those darn criminals
which I can only assume refers to the motorcycle gangs that have been rolling into town lately for the antique bike show. My father does this every year, says these things every year.
I should really move out.

“Amy,” my mother says, opening my door the same way she has every day since I started kindergarten. “Time to get up. We're meeting your aunt over at the church to plan the potluck on Saturday.” I smile and nod, hold my tongue and refuse to tell her that a potluck plans itself. People bring dishes; other people eat them. There isn't much to figure out.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say and blow her a kiss as she backs away and resigns herself to listening to my father complain. What he conveniently forgets is that those 'criminals' make up a pretty hefty portion of our town's summer economy. Without them, I don't think many of the shops downtown would still be in business. I sigh and stand up as another wave of noise approaches from the direction of the highway. Moved by my curiosity, I stand by the window and part the drapes so I can catch a glimpse of the men and women who are so far outside my realm of being that they might as well be aliens. They wear leather and have piercings and tattoos. The open road is their home and mine, mine is this three bedroom, two bath prison which is perfectly nice but so stifling that sometimes, it makes me sick.

I watch the wave of bikers drive by and press my fingertips to the shaking glass.

“Take me with you,” I whisper as they fly by and disappear around the corner. I imagine what it would feel like to just run away with them, try something new, something different. I shake my head and turn away. It's not going to happen, not for me. Girls like me don't wrap their arms around men in leather, straddle massive hunks of metal that my mom refers to solely as
death traps,
drive to cities we've never been. Girls like me put on their yellow camisoles, their white sweaters and their below the knee skirts. We grab our purses, slather on some clear lip gloss and sit in the passenger seat while our mother talks about the nice boy who just moved to town with his parents.
Poor guy,
I think as I imagine his fate. He may as well have the words 'fresh meat' tattooed on his forehead like one of those biker boys. The girls from my church are going to be all over him. After all, in a town of five thousand people, it's not as if we have many choices.
I should go to college,
I think as my mom continues to talk in the background.
Maybe somewhere far, far away.
I sigh and smile at my mother who's patting my knee. Like I said, me, coward. Period.

“I'm so glad you're here!” my aunt says as she comes out the front doors of the church in an outfit disturbingly similar to mine. “We have a serious problem.” She sighs and makes the sign of the cross which bothers my mom because we're not Catholic. My aunt loves church functions, church rummage sales and church gossip, but I don't think she really likes church in and of itself. I bet she'd be hard pressed to even remember Jesus' role in the whole of things. I'm not judging her, but I just think she's shallow and as see-through as a piece of glass. I'm like that, too, I think, but I wish I wasn't. I wish I had some substance.

I tune out my aunt and turn slightly, so I can see the main thoroughfare of the town down the hill from us. It's absolutely packed with people, humming with this wild energy that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. I've never been to the motorcycle show which seems strange since I've lived here my whole life. My father, however, has always forbidden me to go. This year, even though I'm twenty-one years old, isn't any different. I really should put my foot down and let him know that I'm an adult and can make my own choices, thank you very much, but I haven't felt passionate enough about anything to take a stand.

When my mom and aunt start to move inside, I follow them and sit at the table with the other lunching ladies while they plan the same potluck we have every month, the one that doesn't really need any planning. Of course, under the table I have the greatest treat of all, one that doesn't involve church or yellow sweaters or cheese casseroles. Under the table, my book boyfriend is sucking on my toes.

“
I want you like I've never wanted anyone else,” Adam says to me as he kisses the arch of my foot and starts to move his way up my leg, ever so slowly, teasing my skin with his teeth, tasting my thighs with the hot heat of his mouth until he comes to my –

“Amy?” my mother says, waving her hand in front of my face. I look up and see seven curious expressions staring back at me.

“Hmm?” I close the book around my hand, determined to dive back in as soon as the setting permits; it's the only way I'll stay sane. The rest of the day isn't exactly looking up as we have plans to help my cousin try on wedding dresses. My mother wanted to wait until the motorcycle show was over, but Jodie's having a shotgun wedding (don't tell anyone outside the family, please) and she needs a dress like yesterday. The wedding is in two weeks after all, and there isn't much time left. My bridesmaid dress is going to be fuchsia. I know it is. I just know it.

“Can you make your caramel sticky buns for Saturday? The ones with the pecans?” Oh. Yes. Sticky buns. Maybe I can steal a few for myself, put them in my room and get ready for my hot date with Micah, the book boyfriend I haven't met yet but am absolutely thrilled to climb into bed with.

“Of course,” I say with a smile as I tuck my chestnut hair behind my ear. It's the same color as the tabletop we're all sitting around. That's kind of depressing. The ladies go back to discussing the tablecloth colors and the chair arrangements in the dining room while I duck my head and reopen my book.

“
Fuck me, Adam,” I say as I turn over and put my ass in the air for his viewing pleasure. “Fuck me until the cows come home.”

I snort with laughter and once again manage to draw attention to myself.

“Are you laughing at a
book
?” my mother asks, like that's so strange. I know she reads romance novels, too. She hides them from my dad under the sink in the bathroom and takes extra long showers so she can finish them. I shake my head and clear my throat.

“No, I just had a little something in my throat.” I gesture vaguely around the area of my neck and try to keep smiling. I manage to divert their attention and make it out the door and into the car without further incident.

“I doubt we're going to be able to find a parking space,” my mom says with a sigh as we wind down the road back into town, my aunt trailing too close behind us. “I may have to drop you off at the door so Jodie knows we're here. You know how moody your cousin's been lately.”
Yeah,
I think,
because she's like three months pregnant.
I smile and try not to think about Adam's deliciously sexy body. I'm almost finished with him, so I brought along an extra. Daniel's ready and waiting inside my purse for me to finish these last few chapters.

“Okay, Mom,” I say with a cheerful smile that quickly turns into an open mouthed gawp as we hit the first traffic light downtown and find ourselves in a sea of colorful characters that make little beads of sweat appear between my mother's eyebrows. “It's okay,” I tell her before she starts to hyperventilate. “They're just people.” My mother scoffs.