Dirty Friends (Beautiful Friends #1)
Read Dirty Friends (Beautiful Friends #1) Online
Authors: Paige Steele
Copyright © Paige Steele
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 Paige Steele, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.
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.
1st Edition Published: March 2015
Cover Designand formatting by: Cassy Roop of
Pink Ink Designs
Cover Model: Steven Brewis and Kattie McKane
Photographer: Adam Bouska and Carl Stone
Editing by: K. Hrdlicka, Corset Book Services & Kellie Montgomery
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events portrayed in this book either are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, establishments, events, or location is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Please do not take offense to the content, as it is FICTION.
Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders, The authors acknowledges the trademarked status in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Edition License Note
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This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situations are adults over the age of 18.
All characters are fictional. Any similarities are purely coincidental.
Published by Paige Steele
Dedicated to:
All my dirty, flirty friends.
Cooper
JUST ANOTHER DAY IN the Brewis household; Dad is usually in his office for the day, while Mom is out doing her charity work. My dad, Christopher Brewis, a dark haired, tall, well-built, forty-seven year old man, runs a multi-million dollar software corporation, where he’s both the owner and CEO. His main headquarters are housed right here in Tallahassee, Florida. Although he’s busy twenty four hours a day, he has only missed a few holidays and birthdays over the years; he always tries to be around for those, but there are no guarantees. Due to how busy he is, my mom, Dana, forty-four, keeps herself busy by donating her time to the local charities, as well as sitting on the hospital board. She’s a beautiful woman, always put together with her blonde, shoulder length hair and designer clothes. It is just them and me, Cooper. I look a lot like my dad with the dark hair and blue and green flecked eyes, but my hair is cut shorter and always a mess, which seems to drive my mom absolutely crazy. Along with hair and eyes, I also share the same six foot stature and charm with my father, which makes it easy to keep a lady at my side. Aside from that, I am like my mother. We have the same heart, meaning we both feel that you should believe in what you do and remain true to who you are. I am an eighteen year old college freshman, studying graphic and web design as part of an agreement I made with my father to get a college degree. In turn he promised to support my decision to follow my dream of becoming a Pro Motocross racer. It is tough knowing they have so little faith in my desired career path, as I have always sought out their approval in everything I do. Yet, all my dad has ever said to me is, “No son of mine is going to play in the dirt all day and not make something of his life.” I am not sure why he cares so much what I do and I am really tired of hearing about how you “can’t make any real money riding around a track all day.”
You see; we didn’t always live the lifestyle we have now. So, let me start by telling you how I grew up and when I first fell in love with dirt bikes…
While my father was climbing the steps of the corporate ladder, we lived in a three-bedroom ranch style house. My mother was a stay at home mom, raising me. Our house was on the outskirts of town, in a cul-de-sac, with an open field behind the house. I used to watch a lot of TV on the weekends, keeping myself busy and out of her hair. While flipping through channels, my eye caught a Motocross race on FOX Sports. I was only five, yet it fascinated me. I remember how fast those riders went around the track, thinking,
Wow, I want to do that
. I don’t think I even blinked during the entire Glenn Helen race that was broadcast live from California. It was so cool. From that moment on, I started to watch the races on TV every Sunday.
Two years passed, and I fell even more in love with every race I was able to catch. On my seventh birthday, I begged to get a dirt bike. Much to my surprise, they bought one for me, a bright yellow Suzuki. I’d ride for hours at a time out back, around and around, trying to beat my own lap time. My mother practically had to drag me in to take a bath and get ready for dinner every night. Mom told me all the time; she was getting gray just watching me ride that thing. God, I loved that bike.
Ryan Evans lived two doors down the street from me. We’ve known each other since we were in kindergarten. Our mothers worked on the same school fundraisers, which meant we spent a lot of time together outside of school. He stood a bit taller than me and had short brown hair. Shortly after I turned seven, we started meeting on Sundays in the backyard to ride together; my Suzuki could beat his Yamaha. We practiced hard but raced each other harder. He was my best friend. For his tenth birthday, Ryan decided to ask his dad if he would take us both to a track on a Sunday afternoon. Ryan told him it was all he wanted for his birthday, so his father agreed. After that, we were obsessed. It was fun riding in the actual dirt instead of part grass, part dirt out back. Then every other Sunday, we started going to different tracks. His dad used to ride when he was a teenager, so he encouraged us and taught us a lot.
Then, when we were about twelve, Ansley Young moved in between our houses. With her petite frame and long platinum blonde hair, she stuck out at school. She wore her hair in a ponytail most of the time, which made her green eyes and long lashes stand out. She didn’t fit the tomboy type but that’s exactly who she was. She started coming out to watch us ride out back. By then, both Ryan and I were on bigger bikes and getting into trouble all the time with our neighbors in the area for making too much noise every night. Needless to say, we stopped riding at home and only rode on the local tracks. The three of us became inseparable. We talked every day at school and at home. When she could, Ansley would go to the track with us on Sundays. She would often be found at my house, hanging out with me. The two of us were closer only because Ryan would have to have family days where no friends were allowed over. This was something I never experienced growing up, nor did Ansley. She only lived with her mother and she worked a lot. Ansley’s dad wasn’t around; he left when her mom was pregnant. She’d never met him and had no desire to find him. Her mom said when she was ready that she will give her an envelope with all the information she had on him. But Ansley always said she would never ask for that envelope.
Cooper
IT’S SUNDAY AND YOU KNOW what that means…track day. Our junior year of high school just ended a couple of weeks before, and now we’re entering our first official race, ever. Packing Ryan’s father’s truck and trailer the night before made this morning a bit easier. I slept over at his house, and I don’t think either of us got much sleep. We got here bright and early this morning; signups begin at eight a.m., which meant we were up and on the road by six. The track in Cairo, Georgia is just about an hour from our hometown. Arriving about seven means we have enough time to set the tent up, get our bikes out of the trailer, and sign-up.
