The Darkest Secret: A New Adult Romance Novel Read Online Free PDF

He leaned close and I could see faded freckles on his cheekbones. His hand was on the small of my back and I should have swatted him away, but those freckles did something to me. I saw him as an overconfident kid, someone who still had no idea what his life was going to be. Someone just like me.
    It just happened. That's what I told Everglade after, when she started asking me if I felt weird, if I'd put my drink down anywhere where someone could have spiked it. One minute I was standing there at the bar thinking I should slap his wrist and the next I was kissing him. His tongue was hot and agile and his hands came down hard on my ass. I didn't even know his name and I didn't even care, because he felt so good and he tasted wonderful.
    His hand snaked up under my t-shirt and I could feel his fingers working their way beneath the underwire of my bra, but I still didn't care. I had a tattoo. I was half drunk in a strange town, and kissing a boy whose name I didn't even know. I was so dizzy with the sense of my own new-grown adulthood that he could have stripped me naked right there at the bar and I would have let him.
    I felt a hand on my shoulder, tugging me backwards. Then I turned around to see Everglade standing there, hands on her hips, the world's least likely chaperone. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she said to him.
    My lips were wet. I was conscious that my t-shirt was bunched up, caught on the cup of my bra. I pulled it down quickly.
    "None of your damn business," he said.
    "She's in high school, you scumbag," she said, loud enough for the bartender to hear. Oops.
    He laughed. "Come and find me when you graduate," he said, compounding my humiliation. "What's your name, cher?"
    "Ruby," said Everglade. "Her name's Ruby. Now fuck off."
    "Amber," I yelled, as she dragged me away before someone asked to inspect our fake ID's. "It's Amber!"

Chapter Four
    Jaime
    M y sister is right about one thing; Emily really can dance.
    "You wanna sit this one out?" she says, smiling up at me. I'd like to go again but she's breathing fast and there's a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and upper lip.
    "Yeah, I'm good," I say. "New shoes - I think I'm getting a blister anyway."
    "Do you want a band-aid or something? I think I have some in my purse." One look at her shoes and I don't doubt it - the heels are nearly three inches high and make her shiny, muscled legs look awesome. Rebeca wasn't kidding about her figure either - little waist, flaring hips, firm boobs. All this in a blazing red dress. Her hair is jet black and falls nearly to her waist in natural curls. She looks like a doll but I know, on the strength of Beca's recommendation alone, that Emily is her kind of girl, the kind of capable, Catholic girl who can diaper a baby with one hand, fix a banquet with the other and still somehow find the time and the extra pair of hands to thread the neighbor lady's eyebrows.
    I wonder what it says about me that I can't stop thinking about a white girl who looks like she might shake to pieces in a strong breeze. Nothing good, I'm sure.
    Beca looks way too pleased with herself. "I told you," she said, handing me a cup of the unspecified weak 'tropical fruit punch' that's been a staple of church socials ever since I can remember. Nobody's ever figured out what it is, but most theories involve someone mixing a couple of different flavors of Kool-Aid together and watering it down past the point of confession and then some.
    "You're right," I say, watching Emily across the floor, rummaging in her purse. "She can dance. And she's hot. Really hot."
    "I didn't say anything about hot."
    "You implied it heavily enough. You did everything but pin up a poster of her saying WANTED: SISTER-IN-LAW."
    Beca shakes her head. "I just think you'd be good together. It's not right for a man to brood like this."
    "Brood?" Oh, here we go. Now I know what this is all about. "Who said anything about brooding? Is this about Melissa,