Page 1 of Beautiful Mess

Prologue

Grace, Fourteen Years Ago

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in here all alone?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I turn my head, taking in the seedy, unattractive man with the horrendous comb-over and the tobacco-stained teeth as he sits down at the bar beside me. The stench of his cheap cologne is so strong it brings tears to my eyes. It could wake the dead.

“Looking for my next victim,” I say sweetly. Batting my eyelashes, I take a slow sip of my third vodka cranberry of the night. “Is that you?”

The left side of his mouth quirks up into a predatory grin that makes my stomach roll. “Depends,” he drawls and leans in closer. Seriously, I wouldn’t be surprised if I fell off my chair from how strong and bad his cologne is. “What’d you have in mind, honey?”

Honey.Barf.

There’s nothing I hate more than a middle-aged man calling a younger woman “honey.” Nine times out of ten, it’s condescending, and on the rare occurrence that it’s not, it’s just plain icky.

I finish the rest of my drink and indicate to the bartender for a refill.Thank gosh for fake IDs.Really came in handy tonight.

“Did you know that pigs will eat just about anything they’re given?” I ask the creepy man beside me, who somehow keeps getting closer.

Glancing over at him, his eyebrows hike up his forehead. “I did not know that.”

“Including human bones,” I add with a sickly-sweet smirk.

I can see the confusion in his gaze, the thin purse to his lips as he more than likely attempts to figure out why I’m telling him this.

Why am I telling him this?It’s some fact I saw on one of those crime scene television shows last weekend. I was holed up in my dorm room, dying of food poisoning, and binging shows was the only way to pass the time in between puking my guts out.

The cute bartender with the glasses and the eyebrow ring sets my drink down in front of me, giving me a wink. At first, it sends flutters all around my stomach. But then I remember why I’m here, and the same scowl I’ve been wearing all night slides back into place as I turn away from him, finding the creepy manstillsitting beside me.

“Did I mention I own a pig farm?” I ask, before sucking down a mouthful of my cocktail that tastes more like vodka and less like cranberry this time. Hmph. Maybe the cute bartender knows I’m trying to drown my sorrows.

The man stands up in a hurry, brow furrowed as he stares down his wide nose at me. “You’re fucking weird,” he mutters before, thankfully, walking away.

Chuckling to myself, I spin around on the bar stool, taking in the scenery before me. I don’t own a pig farm. Hell, I’ve never even been to one, but it sure as hell got him to leave me alone, so I’m taking it as a win.

Why do men have to suck so bad?

And why on earth must I be attracted to them anyway? Not him, but in general. Anybody who thinks sexuality is a choice should take a serious look at my life for a moment, because if they did, they’d see there’s absolutelynoway I’m choosing to like men.

Why can’t I like women instead?

What’s so great about men anyway? Yeah, they smell nice sometimes, and they look really damn cute sporting a baseball cap. And sure, it’s mouthwatering when their arms get extra tan in the summer and their corded veins pop out when they’re doing simple stuff like throwing a football or opening a water bottle.

But other than that, what’s there to like? I know it can’t be the sex, because it’s not even that great. They get horny and become a one-track mind, needing to get you naked as quickly as possible and stick their dick in you—no foreplay, might I add. And then what? A couple of minutes of them grunting and breathing heavily in your ear, and then they’re done?

Pass.

Maybe it’s the type of men I’ve dated.

Or rather, I should sayman. I’m twenty years old, in my second year of college, and I’ve dated exactly one guy in my entire life. A whole lot of good that’s doing me now. God, how fucking embarrassing. Maybe I need to find a more…sophisticated type of man. A man who knows how to treat a lady right. Because I’m starting to doubt that my Prince Charming is a twenty-year-old frat boy, whose idea of a fun night is doing keg stands and ripping off his shirt like the hulk.

My gaze lands on a cute couple in the middle of the dance floor. They look like they could be my parents’ age, but they’re lost in the moment together. Bodies moving to the beat of the song pulsing through the bar, eyes locked. I watch them for a moment, desperately trying to keep my thoughts from gravitating back to the place it’s gone for the last thirty-six hours; walking into my boyfriend’s dorm room and finding him naked in bed with some chick. Cole and I started dating when I was fifteen. We grew up together and were each other’s firsts. We even decided to go to the same college last year. He was supposed to be my happily ever after.

As pressure builds behind my eyes, my vision blurs.No!I willnotcry again. A man whose balls frequently hang out of the worn-out holes in his boxers isnota man worth my tears. Period.

It’s the whole reason I’m here tonight.Lustrous Lounge, a brand-new bar and nightclub in downtown Westbrook. Desire meets a new place.At least that’s what the ad on social media told me when I stumbled upon it earlier. It’s a cute, intimate place. Relatively new, if I’m not mistaken. It’s about twenty minutes outside of my hometown, Blossom Beach, South Carolina, in the opposite direction from my college.

“Surprised to see you here.”

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