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  Strokes at Midnight

  LAYLA PINE

  Strokes at Midnight

  First Published by Layla Pine Author 2023

  Copyright © 2023 by Layla Pine

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without written permission form the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities are entirely coincidental.

  Layla Pine asserts the moral rights to be identified as the author of this work.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publisher and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First Edition

  ISBN 978-0-6455770-5-1

  Content Warning

  This is an adult romance, containing multiple, explicit intimacy scenes. It is written for 18+ audience.

  This book contains scenes / references to the following, which may be distressing for some readers:

  Unplanned pregnancy

  Emotional and mental abuse

  Physical abuse and violence

  Homophobia

  Fat shaming

  Breast cancer

  Infant death

  Parental death

  Abuse of prescription drugs

  PTSD and emotional trauma

  For all the girls who have ever compared themselves to someone else, and felt like they were less.

  Acknowledgments

  My husband, you’re always there to come up with weird names for people, places and things when my brain just won’t do it for me. You’ve encouraged this little authoring folly of mine.

  Lani Belle, critique partner, beta reader, all round cheerleader, you often have more faith in my characters than I do. This book is out in the world now because of your enthusiasm.

  Elena, as always, your feedback and editing have improved this book out of sight. If Mac gets his own book, it will be because of you!

  Leisha, you absolutely nailed the cover … again!

  Contents

  1. What Did You Do

  2. Freedom Tattoo

  3. A Night to Remember

  4. Abandoned Intentions

  5. Danger Boy

  6. Manifested Fucking Destiny

  7. The Big ‘It’

  8. Does Sex Feel Better With That?

  9. Somehow Cheapened It

  10. Old and Flabby

  11. Moon-Fox

  12. Like a Fucking Child

  13. Black Speedos

  14. Multiple Repeat Performances

  15. Not the Nastiest Surprise

  16. Pins In My Dick

  17. Follow Me Into Oblivion

  18. Phenomenal

  19. Double Fucking Fuck

  20. Not a Single Red Cent

  21. A Complicated Unicorn

  22. Envy

  23. My Friend Amanda

  24. Casual-Sex Friendship

  25. Slay Me

  26. Bubble of Denial

  27. The Me Problem

  28. Happy Birthday, Mum

  29. Retail Therapy

  30. Did You Google Her?

  31. The Power to Hurt Me

  32. Girl. Singular.

  33. Me in my Knickers

  34. Blow Your Load Early

  35. We Need To Talk

  36. She’s Moved On

  37. A Complicated Situation

  38. Go Time

  39. I’d Want to Get to Know You

  40. She Might Be His

  41. Tropical Holiday

  42. Two Little Games

  43. Welcome Home

  44. Inked Into My Heart

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  What Did You Do

  AMANDA

  “I can’t believe you think that going out, getting drunk and losing my virginity to some random guy is going to help me get over feeling the way I do when I drink!” I hissed to Alison, my best friend since we met back when we were just little nursing students navigating the stressful environs of Sydney University.

  “Look, I know I got a bit enthusiastic earlier about the whole ‘find a guy, bang the psycho out of your system’ thing. And yeah, I was probably a bit out of line,” Alison admitted. “I’m not advocating for you to lose your virginity to some rando in a bar!” Her voice was loud enough that a mother who was browsing racks with her teenage daughter nearby gave us the stink-eye. “I’m just saying, you need to make some new, happier memories around drinking, so you don’t always default to that night and that arsehole!” More stink-eye from the mother.

  “Keep your voice down,” I mumbled. “I’ve already agreed to your ridiculous plan, despite my misgivings. I just don’t see why I can’t wear something I already own out tonight, that’s all.”

  Alison thrust a pair of denim shorts into my hands. “Just try them on already!” she demanded. “I swear to God, they will look divine on you!”

  I sighed. Alison was a total pain to take shopping. She always tried to push me outside of my comfort zone when it came to fashion—my comfort zone being stretchy tights with oversized t-shirts for every day, and maxi dresses for going out. Both styles ticked the Three C’s for me: cute, comfortable, coverage. And they hid the three B’s: boobs, belly, bum. Not to mention the two T’s: my good old Thunder Thighs.

  “I still don’t think—”

  “Amanda McGregor, you are absolutely not going out for your first official night of Immersing Amanda in just any old thing! Get that peachy butt of yours into the changeroom, or I’ll come in there and change you myself!”

  “Alright,” I grumbled, stepping reluctantly into the change room. I pulled the curtain closed, avoiding the mirror as I stripped out of today’s maxi dress, too late realising I had nothing but my bra and underpants on. I had nothing to try on the bloody high-waisted shorts with anyway.

  “You can thank me later,” Alison snarked from the other side of the curtain as she shoved a black silk tank top through the gap to me. I took it with a roll of my eyes, slipping the tank on over my head, trying my best not to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror until I dragged the denim shorts up my legs and buttoned them at my waist.

  The first thing that shocked me was that I didn’t feel completely horrific. The shorts, while … well … short, had a wide, flirty leg, so they didn’t squish my bum until it looked like a raw whole chicken in a bag. They also, incredibly, fit comfortably at my waist.

  I hazarded a glance up into the mirror.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, just as Alison, in typical Alison fashion, zinged open the curtain, making me jump.

  “Total effing babe!” she crowed, stepping closer. “Only, you just need to fix this one little thing.” Before I knew what was happening, she had her hands at my waist, inside my shorts, as she tucked the tank into them. I squirmed under her ministrations. No one touched me like that. Not even Thomas—my longest relationship by a good three months—had touched my stomach.

  I shivered. Not just because of her touching me, but because I’d thought about … him. I hated thinking about him. I hated that, eighteen months after everything had happened, he still had the power to ruin my mood. Which was exactly why Alison had come up with this crazy plan of hers. Immersing Amanda was her strategy to help me get over the tipsy night that had started the whole traumatic experience with Thomas. I was just along for the ride. Alison’s will was as fiery as her naturally bright red, curly hair.

  “Much better!” Alison sighed in satisfaction, while I tried to shake off the memories, tentatively taking in my reflection.

  “OMFG, look at that tiny little waist!” the sales lady cried out, shouldering Alison out of the way and coming in to turn me to face her. I flushed beetroot, staring down at my feet. I hated when people made my body the centre of attention.

  “I keep telling her to stop hiding that gorgeous hourglass figure under baggy clothes!” Alison agreed, as both she and the saleswoman eyed me up and down.

  “I don’t have an hourglass figure!” I protested, but Alison slapped me on my arm, a scandalised expression on her face.

  “Big, bouncy tits, little waist, gorgeous round hips and arse! It’s the literal definition of hourglass! You’re like Marilyn bloody Monroe, you twit!”

  “Maybe if you stuck a bunch of Marilyn’s together …”

  Alison sighed dramatically. “I think you have no flipping clue, my beautiful, sexy friend. But whatevs. You’re buying that whole thing, and you’re wearing it out tonight.”

  “Denim shorts on a night out? Isn’t that a little … casual?” I asked, feeling suddenly shy, as I peeked in the mirror once more. They were so short! My thighs were totally on display. I wore longer shorts than this to go swimming!

  “Oh, don’t be silly!” the salesgirl said, flapping a dismissive hand in my direction. “You team that ensemble with some heels, really pop those shapely calves of yours, and holy shit, you
won’t be able to fend the boys off! Now, take them off and I’ll start ringing them up for you.”

  “It’s your job to flatter people to get a sale,” I muttered darkly as I closed the curtain, handing the items out to the salesgirl. I changed back into my maxi dress, which suddenly seemed like a big, dark blue sack on my body. I felt fatter wearing the dress than I had showing all that skin, which was just weird.

  Mel texted as I walked out of a shoe shop with a new pair of black stiletto pumps that Alison had insisted would look “so freaking sexy” with my new outfit.

  Mel: You free to catch up? I fly out for Dubai on Monday, miss you.

  Amanda: I’m at Eastmeadow, doing some clothes shopping (vomiting emoji). Can you meet me here for lunch?

  Mel: Sure, I’ll get Joel to drop me off for a girl’s only lunch - Sushi in 20?

  Amanda: Perfect!

  “Mel’s going to meet me for lunch. Do you want to hang around, grab some food with us?” I asked Alison. She watched me calculatingly. I really mistrusted that gleam in her eyes.

  “I’ve actually got a special secret mission that I need to complete without you being around to make it difficult. So how about you text me when lunch is over, and I’ll come find you.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What special secret mission?”

  Alison grinned, winking cheekily at me and flipping her long red hair over her shoulder. “It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you, now, would it?”

  I frowned, but let it drop, telling Alison I’d take my purchases to the car and then head to the food court to meet Mel.

  “Have fun, MM!” she crooned as she walked off. MM? What on earth did she mean by that? My high school nickname had been Mandy-Moo, but Alison had never heard anyone call me that.

  I was heading back from the carpark, up the escalator to the restaurant level when I realised what Alison had meant. I laughed in disbelief. Marilyn Monroe. For crying out loud.

  Mel and I had been friends since high school, and even though our lives had gone in very different directions—hers into professional tennis and a jet-setting lifestyle, mine into university and a nursing career—we still made time to hang out whenever her busy life, and my work roster allowed. As I approached the table, she bounced to her feet and hugged me tightly, looking tanned and grinning. She’d never used to be such a hugger. Not until Joel came along.

  “Before I sit down,” I began, looking around dramatically, “am I going to get inadvertently papped sitting here with you, you big star?”

  Mel rolled her eyes. “I fucking hope not. I can’t guarantee we won’t be harassed by randos wanting to get a selfie though. The downside to winning the Australian Open—sometimes I wonder if it’s really worth it.” She sighed dramatically, winking to let me know she was totally joking.

  “You’d be well and truly used to it by now, wouldn’t you?” I asked, hopping up onto the bar stool and eyeing the sushi as it travelled past on the little conveyor belt. “I mean, how many Grand Slams is it now? Three?”

  Mel sighed. “Melbourne makes it four. I swear Joel’s head gets bigger every time. You’d think he was the one playing the tennis, honestly!”

  She sounded annoyed, but the quirk in her lips and the sparkle in her eyes told me otherwise. She and Joel loved teasing one another. I was sure that it was a form of protracted foreplay for them.

  “What’s that blush for?” Mel asked, reaching out and pinching my cheek gently. I reddened some more. It wasn’t like I could say to her, ‘oh, just thinking about you and your boyfriend using teasing as foreplay’.

  “Alison just made me buy a risqué new outfit, and I am under strict instructions to wear it out tonight for drinks.”

  Mel grinned. “Ooh, I wish I didn’t have dinner plans tonight, otherwise I’d one hundred percent be tagging along to see this outfit! It’s high time you wore something that didn’t hang off you like a sack!”

  I gaped. Mel, who was the most clueless woman I knew when it came to fashion, had noticed that I dressed in baggy clothes all the time? I’d always thought I looked fine in what I wore—always thought that feeling comfortable would help me look less overweight. But it seemed I’d let myself fall into a fashion rut.

  I knew exactly how, and I was so cross with myself for letting him take up so much space in my brain today. He wasn’t someone I felt comfortable talking to Mel, of all people, about. Not after what he’d done to her. But I needed to get something off my chest.

  “So …” I began, opening a container of sushi and splitting the disposable chopsticks, busying my nervous hands. “Alison thinks that I need to make some new drinking memories, so that I don’t think about that time in Melbourne, when I met … you know … every time I get drunk.”

  Mel stilled, a piece of sushi poised mid-air between the table and her mouth. I flicked my eyes to hers for a second, before letting them fall back to the table, focusing on drizzling soy sauce over my food.

  “Are you trying to say that you still feel bad about drinking because of that fuckwit Thomas?” she asked, putting the sushi down, staring hard at me.

  I shrugged. “Um … maybe?” I swallowed once, but the words were forcing themselves up my throat and out into the world. “I just think that if I hadn’t been drinking that night, he might never have been able to—”

  “No!” Mel snapped, slapping her hand down on the table. “That is such bullshit, Mandy, and you know it! He would’ve found some other way. He was a complete psychopath.”

  She flopped against the backrest of her stool, huffing out a frustrated breath. “Have you been feeling this way since he confessed?”

  I paused, shoving sushi into my mouth so I couldn’t talk. And then I nodded.

  “Amanda, you have nothing to feel guilty about! And you know what?” she added, leaning forwards, stabbing up a piece of sushi and shoving it into her mouth, “I think Alison is totally right! You need to go out, get tipsy, or write yourself off completely, I don’t know—have a fantastic night, flirt with some random hottie in your sexy new outfit, maybe pool-shark him, that would be hilarious! And then go home with no regrets!”

  She picked up another piece of sushi, poking it in my direction for emphasis. “I am one hundred percent behind this, and I want an update when I get back from Dubai.”

  “Alison has dubbed this experiment ‘Immersing Amanda’,” I said, dropping a piece of sushi directly into the wasabi and cursing.

  “Yes! I always knew I liked Alison!” She stuffed the next piece of sushi between her teeth and chewed furiously. I thought I heard her mutter, “Fucking Thomas,” under her breath.

  “Melanie Black?!” an excited voice squealed. I bit back a smile as Mel tried not to sigh, turning and plastering a grin on her face as two teenage girls stood wide-eyed, holding out their mobile phones in shaking hands. “Can we get a selfie with you?

  “Sure!” Mel said, flipping me some side-eye as she turned in her seat, picking a piece of seaweed out of her teeth and putting her arms around the two girls. Within seconds other people started realising who was eating lunch in the same restaurant as them, and there was a short line of people awaiting Mel’s attention. She took it all calmly in her stride, as if this was her everyday life now.