Living With The Walkerson Boys (ON HOLD)

Chapter 1

Hey guys! Welcome to Living With The Walkerson Boys. I started this book in 2012 and am only just getting back to it after a busy and difficult couple of years. If you want more, then I need to hear it from you. I've received so much support already and I try to pass it on. So, if you like this book, please show some love! Now, on with the story!

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Sunlight streamed through my bedroom window, signalling a new day. Today was Monday, and as soon as my brain released what that meant, I let out a loud groan and mumbled something along the lines of 'please no'. Turning my head to my alarm clock, the numbers 8.12 blinked back at me, telling me that I had 8 minutes left until Beyonce told me to get the hell up.

Deciding to get up with a little head-start to the day, I switched off the clock and sat up from my messy double bed, thankful that my dad had gone for the biggest size so I could spread out the clutter, shoving my suddenly all-too-pink duvet off me and stumbling to my dresser. I sat in my chair and stared at my reflection, looking into the mirror and seeing which part of me would give first. I grimaced at my appearance; my chestnut hair fell at just below my shoulders in knots, last nights make-up was smudged across my face and there were bags under my eyes. I think I could even smell the beer I'd spilt on my now stained tank-top from last night.

I guess you could say I was a natural frigging beauty.

I walked over to my en-suite bathroom and into the small but sleek walk-in shower room. My house was no over-priced, obnoxiously large LA mansion or anything, but my dad was pretty well off, and therefore, so was I. I was lucky enough to have never experienced what it was like to have to scrape through the year. In fact, the opposite. We had 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms and a linked kitchen and living area, not to mention the pool outside. I wasn't rich but I sure as hell had more money than most of my friends. Which is probably the only reason I had so many.

After stepping out of the bathroom, freshly showered and a little bit more human, I threw on a denim bra-let and my favourite studded shorts, which finished about 3 quarters up from my knee. I had a feeling if I were to wear a bra-let and hot pants I would get a few too many stares from the guys at school. Don't get me wrong, I can't say I don't enjoy walking past people and knowing that I'm making them sweat, but when you get cat-called and touched below the belt, it kinda takes away the fun. Especially when you're expected to be grateful for the attention.

God, sometimes I wished I was a lesbian.

I threw on my white cotton, oversized cardigan, still unbuttoned, brushed out my hair before pulling it into a messy bun and putting on eyeliner and mascara along with my light pink lipstick. I shoved my sunglasses on top of my head and grabbed my shoulder bag, taking a last look at myself in the abyss of the mirror, looking into my eyes to see if anything broke. If the simulation shifted. I put on my black converse and tied up the white laces before making a run for the front door, breakfast could wait till later, I wanted to get the day over and done with.

Father dear, of course, had other plans.

"Ashleigh Rose, kitchen, right now!" Dad's voice just about reached a shout, which would have been almost cute if I wasn't itching to leave.

"Damn it, fine!" I snapped back without meaning to sound quite so spiteful.

I walked over to the kitchen, purposely taking my time. When I finally reached the cold marble counters, my dad had set two pop tarts and a glass of orange juice on the counter, a stern look on his face. When he saw my messy bun his face softened and he gave me a light smile; it was how he'd always done my hair as a child, mainly because that was about all he could manage. I smiled internally at the thought.