Spring Break (Phoebe & Madsen Part 1)

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Copyright

  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

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Additional Titles

  For the Sassy Romantics.

  Keep it classy, sassy, and a little smart assy!

  Copyright

  Spring Break

  (Phoebe & Madsen Part 1)

  Copyright © 2017 by Andrea Johnston

  Cover and interior design by Uplifting Designs

  http://www.uplifting-designs.com

  Editing by Kristina Circelli of Red Road Editing

  http://www.kristinacircelli.com/

  Cover Photo: Deposit Photos

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, people – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, characters, businesses, artists, and the like which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  There are a lot of things in life that should come with a warning label: potential allergens, poison, explosives – ya know, dangerous things.

  And then, well, there are the things that should be common sense and still have warning labels. In my honest opinion, a cup that says “Hot Beverage” is a little ridiculous. If you order a coffee, and don’t ask for an iced coffee, then it should be assumed said beverage is, in fact, hot. Furthermore, why do I need a label that tells me not to put my plugged-in appliance in a bathtub? I mean, did some dude somewhere in the world actually think to himself, “Self, let’s get in the tub and hold the microwave. Yes, brilliant plan!” I think not.

  What does this have to do with anything? Nothing, really. Just the random shit that runs through my head on any given day. But, since we’re talking about warning labels, something that really should come with a warning and doesn’t? College roommates.

  Sure, I’ll look back on this conversation fondly. In like ten years! But, today? Now? Not so much. Even I can acknowledge that one day Kelsey, my current college roommate, and I will sit around laughing about this day.

  Yes, my pessimistic and sarcastic self knows the time will come when, over a glass of wine, I will laugh about how I adamantly refused to do this one thing but ultimately relented and packed my bag.

  That future self will also stand at the altar next to Kelsey, in what I’m sure will be a horrific hot-pink taffeta gown, and smile like an idiot as I have flashbacks to these college years. Specifically, I’ll remember this as the moment I accepted my fate. The fate that Kelsey Morrison isn’t only my roommate but she is, in fact, my very best friend.

  At that same ceremony, I’ll also be plotting six different ways to kill Kelsey for putting me in a pink anything. When you are born with strawberry-blonde hair and a generous dusting of freckles across the bridge of your nose, pink is your enemy, not friend.

  “Come on, Phoebes, you have to come! It’s going to be awesome. Besides, what else are you going to do? Sit around here and read?”

  “What’s wrong with reading? I like to read. It’s healthy and stimulating.” If she only knew that by stimulating I meant horny-inducing. My Kindle is loaded with erotica romance. Sure, there’s a romantic comedy and the occasional romantic suspense tossed in for variety. But, give me a dirty-talking alpha and the occasional ménage a troi and I’m all in. Book wise. In real life, I’m a little more traditional.

  “Whatevs, come onnnn … Phoeeeebbbeesss.”

  “You know I hate when you whine. I can’t believe that shit works on Fuckan.”

  Duncan Alexander Stromberg IV, to be more precise. If that isn’t a mouthful, I don’t know what is. Kelsey has been dating Duncan for the last six months and has herself convinced he’s “the one.” I’m convinced he’s a lot of things, but “the one” isn’t one of them. Well, except the cheating asshole. He’s absolutely that.

  With a fucking gold star, he’s that.

  No, I haven’t been able to prove my suspicions, but I know he cheats on her. His excuse for his inability to pick up the phone or see Kelsey certain nights of the week scream “cheater!” not committed boyfriend. He’s almost twenty-two years old and the fact that he wants us to believe he’s volunteering at a soup kitchen every Wednesday and Saturday night is not only ridiculous but, quite frankly, it’s a little insulting. But, Kelsey refuses to listen to reason. She insists that I don’t get their love or something equally ridiculous. So, here we are, six months and many calls directly to voicemail later, with her declaring him the greatest thing to happen to her.

  “Kels, look,” I say, setting my Kindle down on my bed. I look her straight in the eye without so much as a single blink. Eye contact equals serious business in my family and I need her to see the seriousness I am conveying.

  “Nope. I’m not listening to your excuses.” Her response is typical Kelsey. She closes her eyes and shakes her head while covering her ears. This only causes the volume of her voice to raise while she sing-songs the word “no” over and over.

  This moment reminds me why most girls our age dislike Kelsey at first glance. Her long blonde hair, perfect button nose, long lashes, and long legs make you instinctively judge her. Her response to life is always kind and positive. It can be quite annoying.

  But, when you spend time with her and talk to her for just five minutes you realize that Kelsey Morrison is a class act. She’s smart, funny, and a ride-or-die kind of girl. The girl you want as your best friend. The girl you thank your lucky stars there isn’t a warning label for because you may have not given her the time of day.

  “You can easily read your damn books on the beach in Florida as you can here in the dorm. But, in Florida you’ll be with me and we’ll be in the sun! Come on!”

  She does have a point. I do love warm weather. And the beach. And vacation is pretty high on my list of loves. It’s not like I have any intention of going home, and staying here, in small town nowhere Midwest where I spend most of my days, holds no appeal. Nope. I would rather double date with Kelsey and Duncan than do that. And, considering I’d prefer a visit with the gynecologist once a month instead of hanging out with Duncan, that’s saying a lot.

  “If,” I begin as she squeals and jumps from her spot on her bed. Good lord. Her cheerleader history is really obvious right now. “Calm your tits, Kels. If, and that’s a big huge fucking if, I go, there have to be ground rules.”

  “I can totes do ground rules.”

  “Sit down, you’re freaking me out with all the cheer moves.”

  I wait for her to sit. Which takes a solid sixty seconds becau
se she must move her three, yep three, suitcases to the side to sit down. Then, we can’t have her hair a mess for this conversation so she must fluff and primp that. Good grief, we may be here all day.

  “Are you done, princess?”

  “Shut it. Continue, please.”

  I shake my head at her. Seriously, she’s perched on the end of her bed with her ankles crossed and hands clasped in her lap. Kelsey prides herself on being a “good girl” when the reality is, she walks the fine like between good and bad every minute of the day. I love her for it.

  “Rule one, never say ‘totes’ again. Unless it is followed by ‘magotes’ and we are drunk.” I point my index finger at her, to which she nods enthusiastically before I continue. “Rule two, do not even think of ditching me so you can go spend time with Fuckan.” My look is serious as I raise a single brow. Her response is another enthusiastic nod. I’m certain she’s ready to pounce from her seat, but pauses when I call Duncan by my favorite nickname for him. She hates it, but regardless of how much she protests, I won’t stop.

  “Agreed, so are you coming? Say yes, Phoebe”

  “Slow it, one more rule. Rule three. This is very important, Kelsey; you have to agree to this or it’s a hard pass.”

  “Okaaayyy.”

  “Rule three, do not try to hook me up. I am not interested in some random hookup on Spring Break.”

  “Deal. Phoebe Jane Stromberg, we are going to have the best time!”

  Oh yeah, Fuckan? I mean, Duncan. He’s my twin brother. And, a complete asshole.

  Spring Break.

  Spring Break is stupid. I mean, sure, you get to party and blame all your poor life choices over a five-day span on the fact that you were wasted. But, it’s not only plain stupid, it is mother-fracking expensive. Why can’t we come down here next week when the hotel costs about half of what it does today? Why can’t we come down and relax in the sun and sand at a time when there isn’t the equivalent of the population of a small country staying in said expensive hotel?

  Yeah sure, we’ll have class any other time, but it isn’t as if each of us haven’t skipped for less important reasons. I know for a fact that Duncan has skipped class because, well, it was a day that ended in “y.” Kelsey missed her lab last week because her hair wouldn’t curl properly. I’ve been known to miss a day or two should the overconsumption of a mushroom pizza be involved. And, Madsen? He misses class because he’s dick deep in a co-ed.

  Madsen Secksin, Duncan’s best friend and my arch nemesis. Yep, his last name is actually Secksin. Pronounced exactly as you think it is – sex sin. He uses his name to his advantage too. Sure, he also uses his thick, shiny, jet-black hair and dark-as-coal brown eyes to hypnotize a girl, but then he’ll take the same girl’s hand in his and place a gentle kiss on the knuckle. If he’s really laying it on thick, he’ll add a fake-as-hell accent.

  Oh, and he’s hot as hell. Yep, Madsen, all six foot whatever of him, who has been my brother’s best friend since freshman year, is hot as all get-out. He exudes sex and sin from every pore and it’s fucking ridiculous. I’ve seen grown women turn to mush in his presence. It’s sad, really.

  I, on the other hand, remain unimpressed.

  In public.

  Behind closed doors? That bastard stars in more than one of my personal pornos. What? I’m a red-blooded American woman, I am allowed fantasies. So what if a lot of them star Madsen.

  Shirtless.

  Pantless.

  Taking me from behind.

  “Hello, titlicker, are you ready?”

  “Fuck off, Dunc. I told you not to call me that.” My brother is such a pain in my ass. I used to tell him that I’m sure when we were in the womb he was literally poking me to the point that I kicked him out of the womb first just to be rid of him.

  “Well, you’re all spaced out again and it’s the only thing that gets your attention.”

  “Honey bunny, be nice to Phoebe. I want to have a good trip, please?” Kelsey coos to Duncan as she snuggles up next to him, her bottom lip pushed out and her eyelashes fluttering. Jesus.

  “Of course, kitten.” Duncan kisses the tip of Kelsey’s nose. He’s such a dick. “Sorry, tit … I mean sis. Can we go now? I’m fucking thirsty and ready for a beer.”

  My brother, the gentleman.

  “Here, Phoebes, let me get that for you.”

  “Thanks, Madsen, but I’ve got it.”

  “Come on,” he says while displaying that panty-dropping smile of his. The one I catch myself returning. “I know you have it, but let me be a gentleman. What would my mom say?”

  “Fine, but only because you pulled out the mom card. You know I love your mom.”

  “And she, you. Let’s go before Duncan blows a gasket.”

  Dropping my sunglasses from atop my head to the bridge of my nose, I nod in response and follow the trio to the hotel’s shuttle bus. The humidity is out of control and my skin feels like little needles are pricking each pore. Is it possible for my skin to actually expand? It sure feels like it.

  Once I climb aboard the shuttle and into the air-conditioning, my previously tingly skin starts to cool. Thank goodness. I knew when we left school winter was becoming a memory, but this is full-blown summer weather and last I checked it is not summer.

  I’m sorting through my tote and wondering why it’s necessary for me to have fourteen lip glosses, three packs of gum, and ten thousand hair ties when all I need at this point is my sunscreen. Eureka! I finally find the tube at the bottom and pull it out with gusto. I squeeze a little out onto the tip of my finger and begin to spread it across my nose when a big paw stops me. Madsen grabs my hand and takes the remaining goop from my finger and begins his own work to my face.

  My eyes go wide because, maybe, I had this dream once. Okay, I did. But, instead of sunscreen it was whip cream and, instead of us being in a sweaty bus, we were naked on my bed. Whatever.

  “What?”

  “What, what?” My confusion is genuine.

  “You were looking at me like I have two heads. There, all done. You should have put sunscreen on before we left the airport.”

  “Thanks. I wasn’t looking at you any which way, except wondering why you were in my business. And, how was I going to get anything done at the airport with your friend over there demanding we leave?”

  My eyes motion to where Duncan and Kelsey are basically dry humping. Classy. I look to Madsen, who isn’t looking at the live show but instead at me. My mouth goes dry and a large lump of uncomfortableness forms in my throat when our eyes meet.

  It shouldn’t be legal for a guy to be this hot. And have sweat that smells this good. Seriously, my spank bank is overflowing with his, well, whatever it is.

  Clearing my throat and visibly shaking my head to put some distance between us, I scoot over so we aren’t sharing personal space. My hands begin flattening the skirt of my dress as Madsen laughs. I pray I didn’t say any of my thoughts out loud. That’s just what I need.

  Once Duncan and I have secured our room key cards from the front desk, we meet Kelsey and Madsen near the elevators. The closer we get the more I notice the look on Kelsey’s face. I know this look. It’s the one she uses when she wants to get out of laundry day.

  “Fine, but you explain,” Madsen grits out between his teeth.

  “Who is explaining what?” I ask, handing Kelsey a key to our room. Of which, she hands to Madsen and then takes Duncan’s hand.

  “Excuse me, but why did you just give Madsen your key?” My eyes dart from each of the three standing before me. Kelsey is fidgeting while biting her nails, Madsen is looking at me with a predatory sneer, and my douchebag brother is inching his hand up Kelsey’s side and about to cop a feel.

  “Kels?” I question. No answer.

  “Dunc?”

  “Huh?”

  “Ugh, Mads?”

  “Looks like we’re roomies,” Madsen responds with a slow appearing smile. And now I need to change my panties.

  “Nope.
Kelsey, you promised.”

  “Phoebe, give me a break. You know Kels and I are together. Why would you think she was rooming with you? I mean, I like some kinky shit, but having my sister listen to me fuck isn’t one of them.”

  “Classy, Duncan. Mom will be so glad to hear your education has improved your vocabulary.” My retort is chock full of vinegar.

  “Come on, Phoebe, we can share a room. It’s no biggie,” Madsen says, nudging my arm with his own.

  How exactly am I supposed to polish the pearl when there’s a chance he’ll walk in the room? Talk about awkward. Four years rooming with Kelsey, and we’ve developed a signal for personal time in our room. And yes, I said “polish the pearl.” It’s a thing. Also known as “flipping the switch,” “fiddling the bean,” and “diddling the skittle.” I just like referring to my bits as the pearl. Pearls are my, our, birthstone, so it seems fitting.

  “Kelsey, a word please?” I snap while grabbing her arm and pulling her from Duncan’s clutches.

  Once we’re far enough away from the guys that there is no way they can hear us, I lay into her. She smiles in response. What is with these people? Are they all on something? Have the sun and heat already warped their brains?

  “Why are you smiling? I’m pissed, Kels. Three rules. I gave you three fucking rules and you are breaking them!”

  “Not true, I have not even thought of saying ‘totes!’” The smile on her face is contagious. Dammit. I want to stay pissed.

  “This is not funny!” I say, stomping my foot.

  “Oh, come on, maybe you’ll finally live out your fantasy and wake up with Madsen between your legs licking you like a popsicle.”

  “Shh,” I demand. I knew I shouldn’t have told her about my dreams. “We agreed to never speak of that again. And a popsicle? I don’t have a cock. What the fuck kind of kink is my brother into? Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

  Kelsey starts laughing and I hush her again. “I’ll deny ever saying this, but I guess Duncan is right. Never tell him I said that,” I order, pointing my finger in Kelsey’s face. She nods enthusiastically because she knows I’m about to give in. “He’s never right, never. But, I’d rather not sleep with noise-cancelling headphones on and don’t want to risk walking in on you two bumping uglies. Even saying it makes me want to puke.”