Zathyn Priest - The Curtis Reincarnation, Nowe MM
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]The Curtis Reincarnation
By Zathyn Priest
Chapter One
A vision of pure horror scrambled down the stairs wearing a heavy clay face mask, a
midriff T-shirt, and a pink lacy thong. Her long red hair remained frizzed on one side
while straightened on the other. Shrieking like a banshee, she tripped over the last stair,
fell forward, bounced off the wall, regained her balance and lunged for the phone in
Jordan’s lap. The laptop fell next, saved by Jordan’s challenged reflexes while he
attempted to ease the pain of his sister’s merciless dive.
“Jesus Christ, Rebecca, what the hell are you doing?”
She ignored his high-pitched inquiry and frantically dialed numbers. Faced with a rear
end view, and seeing more of Bec than he ever needed to, Jordan attempted to blank out
the sight from his mind before it etched into his memory banks.
She paced the lounge room in barely-there knickers, continually dialing, hanging up, and
dialing again. Occasionally, her frenzy partnered with cursing, stamping feet, and
frustrated screams. After a few minutes of this behavior, Jordan raised his eyes from the
screen and took a chance at needing extensive therapy.
From within the tortured howls and cussing, Bec Braxton squealed like a piglet. “Shh! Oh
my God, it’s ringing!”
“Did I say anything?”
She frantically waved a hand with five hot pink painted nails. “Stop typing! Shh!”
Somebody finally answered and the squealing escalated into a scream loud enough to
wake the dead of centuries ago. Her hand clamped to her forehead, she was trembling and
trying to give her name in between moments of excited yelling and foot stomping. The
call ended with Bec in a teary quivering mess. She disappeared up the stairs without
another word.
Jordan peered into the furry orange face of the abnormally large cat beside him. “And
that, Furball, is why I’m gay!”
Relative peace followed during the next hour. When Bec reappeared she’d changed
appropriately, the clay mask had been washed clean, and her hair was in a braid. Rather
than sit in one of the armchairs, she unceremoniously booted Furball off the sofa and sat
with a wide smile. “You’ll never guess what’s happened!”
His blue eyes remained on the web page in front of him. “Probably not, no.”
She sidled in closer. “What have I wanted more than anything else in the whole world?”
“Straight hair?”
Grabbing the laptop, she closed it and set it aside.
He raised an eyebrow. “I was working.”
“The most amazing thing that could’ve ever happened has happened, the least you could
do is listen to me! What I have wanted more than anything else in the world?”
Jordan shrugged, twined his fingers, lifted his arms over his head and stretched. “Get it
over with so I can get back to work.”
When his arms lowered down to his lap, she grabbed his hand in hers. “Tyler Curtis!”
His eyes rolled. “What about him?”
“I won two tickets to his concert tomorrow night.” When he reached for the laptop she
slapped his hand away from it. “For God sake, Jordy, this is a defining moment in my
life!” Her hand grasped his chin and turned his face to look her in the eye. She took a
deep breath through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth. “Not any old
tickets, Jordan. Front row at Wembley Stadium!
And
…invites to the wrap party! Do you
know what this means? It means I’m going to shag Tyler.”
There elapsed a brief silence while they stared at one another, her expression deadly
serious together with a grave nod as though announcing world peace.
“Yes. Yes, Jordy. I know you can’t believe it but it’s the truth. Finally, after all this time,
I’m going to meet Tyler. We’re going to have hot sex tomorrow night. In his hotel room,
in his bed, all night.”
Jordan scratched his head and frowned. “Does Curtis know about this?”
“As soon as sees me he will. I’m exactly the kind of girl he likes to shag.”
“He’d shag a one legged Cyclops with halitosis so long as it was female.”
Tyler Curtis was a twenty year old Australian music sensation that burst onto the scene at
eighteen and hadn’t slowed down since. The definitive bad boy with a Goth/Rock image,
the face of an angel, and an attitude to challenge Satan on his worst day. Infamous for his
heavy drinking, heavy drugging, foul temper, and a different girl every night, his fans
loved to love him and the media loved to hate him. Press conferences were known to end
with tables upturned, chairs thrown, and tantrums. Unparalleled on stage, his live shows
were extravaganzas and sold out within minutes. No-one could doubt Curtis as a
performer: the epitome of blazing talent housed within an arrogant, surly, and unlikable
persona. For just over two years he’d been Bec’s obsession, Bec’s and every other female
on the planet’s. At twenty-five she’d slipped back into her teens with his pictures over her
bedroom walls and his music playing wherever she went. Bec idolized him and Jordan
couldn’t stand him.
Bec poked him in the arm with a pink talon. “I asked Julie to come with me, but I
changed my mind. I’m taking you.”
There came an outburst of disbelieving laughter from Jordan. “Like hell!”
“It’s only logical I take you. If I take Julie there’s the chance he could like her better.
True, it’s a slim chance seeing as she’s got hardly any boobs but you never know. If
Tyler’s really drunk he might think her padded bra is the real deal. I can’t risk it. This
opportunity will never happen again and if you love me you’ll do this for me.”
“So what you’re saying is, if I really loved you I’d willingly take you to this party and let
you shag some guy who screws around with groupies, will be smashed, and then will
kick you out in the morning with a severe infestation of crabs?”
She peered up at the ceiling and gave a sharp nod. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. Except
Tyler doesn’t have crabs.”
“Phone an ugly friend, I’m not going.”
Taking the laptop, and himself, out of Bec’s company, Jordan retreated to his bedroom to
work for the following three hours. Hunger convinced him to brave the downstairs and
venture into the kitchen. He’d barely made it to the linoleum floor when she tailed him
once more. He remained dubious when her conversation appeared to have flown off on a
tangent.
“Jordy, I worry about you. You’re twenty-seven, twenty-eight in two months, and you’ve
been single for…” She trailed off and peered at him sympathetically. “Well, forever.
Why?” Taking the loaf of bread out of his hands, she then ushered him into a seat at the
table.
“You’ve been working hard, a sandwich isn’t enough. I’ll make you dinner.” From the
freezer she took out a TV meal and threw it in the microwave. With that done she sat
opposite him at the table. “Why are you still single?”
His chin rested in his palm. “I haven’t met the right guy.”
Her chin rested in her palm. “You never will.”
A frown creased his brow. “Right, well thanks for that!”
“Hear me out.” Her index finger rose to drive home her point. “Firstly, you don’t go out.
You mess around on the stupid computer all night. Secondly, because you always come
across as a prick.”
His frown deepened. “Thank you again!”
The microwave sounded and Bec left the table to retrieve the contents. Removing the
plastic film, she then took a fork from the drawer and set the unappetizing meal in front
of him. She took a beer from the fridge and placed it next to the tray.
Jordan handed the beer can back to her. “Since when do I drink?”
“You should try it, it could lighten you up!”
She gave him a can of cola and kept the beer for herself. Jordan stabbed at the greyish,
unrecognizable meal and then set the fork aside.
“You have your fantasies and I have mine.”
“Hear we go!”
“You want a nice boy you can cuddle on the sofa while you watch romance movies and
feed each other popcorn. You want to get married and spend Sunday mornings doing the
newspaper crossword together and Sunday afternoons strolling hand in hand in the park
while you pick flowers and declare your undying love. It’s sad, Jordan! You work
yourself into the ground to build a nest egg for a boy you haven’t met yet, who’d
probably not go out with you because he’d think you’re a bastard, and who doesn’t exist
anyway.”
He pushed the plastic tray out of his sight. “Now I’m a prick and a bastard? And what’s
wrong with doing the crossword together?”
“Only nerds and geeks do crosswords! Where are you going to meet this wonderful,
crossword doing, park strolling, flower picking, love of your life if you never go out and
give everyone the cold shoulder? You’re a great looking guy. If you weren’t my brother,
and if you weren’t gay, I’d shag you in a second.”
He grimaced, losing his appetite even more.
Cracking open the beer with a hiss, she took an extremely unfeminine swig and wiped her
mouth with her arm. “You could have any boy you wanted if you weren’t so bloody
picky! You’ve got gorgeous blue eyes, you’re tall, great body, your hair’s that middle of
the road brown that if he likes blondes you’d fit in and if he likes brunettes you’d fit in.
Get out and about, Jordy. If you don’t you’ll be sixty and still designing websites to
feather a nest that doesn’t have another little birdie in it. I want you to meet your dream
boy. I want you to spend the rest of your life shagging the same person.”
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]