[Currently being rewritten and updated chapter by chapter]
Book One in the "Hard Love" series.
It's hard being knocked down. And it's even harder getting back up.
Thalia Carter grew up on the south side of Chicago with a dead-beat dad and never real...
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Friday night comes and goes and nobody questions my decision to stay home and binge Teen Wolf. Nobody meaning Hadley and Laura, because I'm pretty sure Fallon took personal offense to me saying no. But my sisters were fine with it under one condition.
We get drinks Saturday night.
We came to a town about twenty minutes away from Brookhaven that's a little more city-like, because there are only two bars in Brookhaven; the one Hadley works at, and what appears to be the sleaziest dive bar known to man. Both of those were out.
As my legal guardians, this would typically be considered a big no-no. But as my sisters, we like to have fun and go out and I've been able to pull off a fake ID since I turned sixteen, so back in Chicago I'd been able to basically do whatever I wanted.
Hadley is the one who first got me high with some homemade weed brownies, but with our families history of addiction I never tried it again.
Laura first introduced me to tequila when she had friends over for a girls night. It was just a sip and I was only fifteen, but she still counts as an instigator. She was a lot more laid back then, but then everything went to shit and she became this frigid nun.
"To fresh starts!"
Hadley raises her shot glass, and I can't help but snort at how expected that one was. We clink our glasses, slam them on the table and knock them back. I scrunch up my nose and make a face, and Hadley, the seasoned drinker that she is, just laughs at me.
"I need to pee," Laura declares, ordering us to stay close together before disappearing into the crowd.
"I don't know how she expects the night to go, but I certainly don't plan on going home with you guys," Hadley says into my ear, grinning.
I can understand why she's so excited. Hadley's kind of like a lion that's been locked in a tiny square cage; she needs to get out and stretch her legs, socialize. Nights like these don't come around as often as we'd like anymore.
Hadley flags a bartender down and orders us some fruity drinks, and I nearly burst out laughing when she leans over the bar and the guy starts fumbling over his words. She may not be blessed in the breast department, but she knows how to work with what she's got. With bold make-up and a little black dress, Hadley looks like the sexy femme fatal character out of a heist movie.
He gives us our drinks–for half price–and Hadley and I start scouring the room for a man for her to dirty dance with. I keep pulling at my romper, because it shows more skin than I'm used to and I've seen many guys that are way too old for my eyeing my legs. I'm very confident with my body, but I know how drunk guys get–they start forgetting about how much they'd like to keep their hands.
Unfortunately, it's one of my few cute outfits that still fit. After nearly a year of depression spiraling, I've lost more weight than I'd care to admit. So I guess I'm lucky that I've got enough curves to fill it out nicely. The top is basically two thick, stretchy white straps of fabric that cover my boobs and form a halter top, connecting at the front of my waist with the shorts part, which is a little shorter than what I'd normally wear.
