Seventeen Days
Authors: D.B. James
SEVENTEEN DAYS
Copyright © 2016 by DB James
Kindle Edition
Editor and Formatter: Wendi Temporado of Ready, Set, Edit
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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to my mama, Alicia. Without her, I wouldn’t be a reader. She passed on her love of reading to me at a young age. (She may have also passed on her love of book hoarding.) She's my best friend, my rock-solid foundation, my everything. Without her late night Ambien serenades, I don't know what I'd do. <3
I love you Mama.
I met the love of my life when I was eighteen. Sounds cliché, I know, but it doesn’t change it from being true. We may have been young but we knew it was
real.
Worth fighting for. And fight for it, we did. At first, we fought our attraction, then we fought about our individual life paths. But we always made it past any hurdle life could throw at us.
We were
that
couple. You know the one.
The couple that makes you sick to your stomach by being in the same room. That was us.
Unbeknownst to me, one day I'd grow to regret the events in my life leading me to Harrison Dean Montgomery. The summer when I first met him changed my life. He brought down rays of sunshine to my otherwise dark and stormy path. His soul lit mine up like a fucking shooting star.
He set me on fire.
I'd celebrated my eighteenth birthday two weeks’ prior in Paris. I've never wanted for anything in my young life, at least not for long. Whatever I wished for, I was given. Oh, don’t get me wrong, Sienna may have paid for them, but I did earn these things after all, which was how I ended up spending my birthday in Paris with two of my closest friends.
Three teenage girls on their own in a foreign city may not be typical, but for Sienna Young’s daughter, it was. Sienna was my mother and a complete bitch. She’s an international super model. Having been discovered as a teenager, she’s been fighting father time ever since. Why she had me, I haven’t a clue. She doesn’t know who my father is, or, at least, she’s never told me.
He’s probably dead.
Or a deadbeat, felon, rapist … who knows? Use your wildest imagination; your guess is as good as mine.
Both of my girlfriends’ parents thought we'd be on a three-day birthday shopping trip. Not to mention the fact they didn’t know we went there unsupervised. My mother had supplied us each with plenty of cash
—you don’t want to know what I did to earn it.
Sienna doesn’t give a shit about what I do. If it doesn’t hurt her, she couldn’t care less. I can hear haughty judgmental tone now, “Stay out of the spotlight, Morgan.
We
have an image to upkeep. If you’re going to drink, don’t drink to get drunk. At least, not in front of the cameras. If you get into trouble, don’t bother calling me, call Mr. Dawnbres. And if you run out of fucking cash, use the Amex card. Don't forget though, you’ll have to earn whatever you go over in budget once you’re back home.”
Ladies and gentleman meet my lovely mother.
Isn’t she a peach?
All about protecting herself and
her
image. Of
course
she would want me to call her lawyer if I got into trouble. She couldn’t be bothered with it. Finding myself in trouble would probably cause her to miss a facial or a shopping trip. We both knew she’d rather not spend any time with her only daughter. She couldn’t be bothered to fly to Paris to see me, and it was my damn eighteenth birthday. Oh well, I’d rather spend it with people who care about me.
Hearing ecstasy made dancing amazing and never trying it ourselves, we decided it was an experience we didn't want to miss. I’d never even smoked pot; why I thought a hallucinogenic was the way to break my drug hymen, I’ll never know. Gathering as many pills as we could, we headed out to the dance clubs.
Such a bad idea.
By the time we reached the first—and only—club, I was high out of my damn mind. Couldn't form a sentence to save my life. When the bouncer asked for my birthday, I didn’t answer him and barely managed to shove my ID in his face. All the while, I was giggling and couldn’t stop touching myself. Everything felt
ah-maze-ing
.
“Happy birthday, Morgan,” he said as he led us through the velvet rope. While holding onto his bicep, I stood on my tiptoes placing a kiss upon his cheek.
Holy shit, this guy is built.
Come to think of it, I wanted something else for my birthday. Him. In my bed. Naked.
“Come back to my hotel tonight,” I told him in the sexiest voice I could muster. Yeah, I didn’t ask, I was confident he liked what he saw. They all did.
He replied in his sexy French accent, “I’m married. Move along inside before I change my mind about allowing you in.” Well, that was a mood killer.
Pffft, his wife could’ve watched.
“Sh-Sh-Shots! We need to do more need shots,
now
,” Celene yelled at me on the dance floor. Amanda was busy dry humping a random dude, but Celene and I were dancing with each other, on each other, touching each other. After the debacle with the bouncer, I popped two more pills and planned to dance the night away. So far, my plan was working out perfectly.
“‘Kay,” I mumbled. “Let’s get some more shots. Tequila ought to do the job and sounds heavenly to me. Then we need to dance and dance and dance.” I may have twirled around in circles while replying. Movement of any kind was
awesome
. We dance-twirled our way over to the bar. Bumping into every single person I could along the way. Touching people, or myself, felt incredibly
good
. Like every sensation was being felt all at once. It’s like I could
feel
sounds. The bass bumping from the speakers felt like it was bumping through my veins. The lights strobed across the dance floor, and I swore I could
feel
the fucking lights as they glittered over my body. I could
feel
the blood pumping through my veins with every heartbeat.
Bumpbump. Bumpbumpbump. Bumpbump.
