Confused #1 (Confused Romance Series - book#1)

Confused # 1

Book 1 : Confused Romance
Series

By Amanda Lynne

This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are
either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 Amanda Lynne

Please be noted that this series contain
Cliffhanger at the end of each book

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Table of Content

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Confused # 1

Book 1 : Confused Romance
Series

P
rologue

“
Amy Weller, do I have to drag you out of there?”

My roommate’s question, and her
accompanying knock, made me look up from the clothes I’d laid out
on my bed. One glance at the clock on the bedside table told me
that time had gotten away from me, and I immediately felt a stab of
guilt. I had promised Michelle that I’d go out with her tonight:
the Myrmidons, a new band she was raving about, were playing at a
nearby pub. And now I had only half an hour to get
ready.

It was entirely my fault. I’d been
dragging my feet all evening, finding excuses to delay my
preparations. Though I’d already given Michelle my word, I still
wasn’t sure if this girls’ night out was a good idea.

“Amy!” she called again, rapping on my
door with increased urgency. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to
go!”

And that was the problem.
I
did
want to go.
I had no idea who the Myrmidons were outside of Greek mythology
(all I knew for certain was that their drummer was in Michelle’s
evolutionary biology class and she desperately wanted to get to
know him better), but I badly wanted to do something fun for once.
If it were up to me, I’d be dragging Michelle to every concert,
party, and poetry reading in the immediate vicinity of our college
until we collapsed from exhaustion, alcohol poisoning, or both. But
the matter was out of my hands.

My college education depended on my
ability to stay in my parents’ good graces, and I was pretty sure
they wouldn’t approve of tonight’s little outing. They were paying
my tuition, and their conditions for doing so were worse than any
scholarship board’s requirements. The need for good grades went
without saying, but I also had to text my Mom every night, call my
Dad at 8 PM every Wednesday, and drive all the way back home every
single Sunday for a family dinner. On top of that, partying was
strictly forbidden, as well as any extracurricular activities
beyond the school paper and the student council (neither of which
tickled my fancy). The one thing they didn’t explicitly ban was my
love life, but with all the restrictions already in place, they
really didn’t have to bother. Just a few weeks into my first year,
I acquired a reputation for being boring, and boys only talked to
me when they wanted to borrow a pen. Things weren’t shaping up to
be any different this year.

I opened the door for Michelle. “You
know I’m up for it,” I said as she breezed into my room like a
whirlwind in high heels. She was already dressed for a night out on
the town. “It’s just…”

“Your ball and chain, I know.”
Michelle tossed her short hair (it was red this week), and made a
face at me. “That really sucks.”

“Tell me about it.” I eyed my
roommate’s electric blue dress with considerable envy. Unlike her,
I didn’t have much in the way of party clothes. I’d opted to wear
my nice pair of jeans and my newest sensible boots, and was still
trying to decide on a top.

While I went back to
contemplating my clothing options, Michelle decided that she
would
tell me about it.
“You’ve been here for two years,” she said, “and you’ve been to
only one party.
One
.”

“And that was the one my department
threw to welcome the new undergrads.” I wrinkled my nose at the
memory. I’d met some really nice people at that event, but the
strongest drink there had been apple cider.

“So it’s really important for you to
get to another one as soon as possible. I kind of feel responsible
for making that happen.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” I said,
laughing. I reached for a red shirt, thinking that it looked
festive enough.

“No way. You’re wearing this one,”
said Michelle, holding up a black satin top. It was low cut and
sleeveless, and the soft material draped over my curves in the most
flattering way. Unable to pass up something that looked that good
on me, I’d bought it months ago, but I hadn’t had the chance to
wear it yet. This seemed to be the perfect time to break it
in.

“Okay.” I grinned as I took the blouse
from her. “We’re going to have the best night ever.”

I wasn’t wrong. The Myrmidons turned
out to be a lively indie band, and their unusual techno-folk tunes
had the entire pub on its feet. It took me a while to loosen up,
but there was dancing, and flirting, and more brightly colored
cocktails than I cared to count…

I just wish I could remember more of
it. To be more precise, I wish I could remember exactly how I ended
up in bed with an absolutely gorgeous stranger.

Chapter 1

The morning sunlight on my face woke me up, and I instantly
knew I wasn’t in my room. Hell, I wasn’t even in my apartment! The
rooms Michelle and I shared had west-facing windows. I blinked my
eyes open and what I saw only confirmed this. I was lying on a bed
with dark blue sheets (I only ever used white or cream-colored
ones) in a room filled with a very masculine mess (my own sleeping
space is tidy to a fault, and I’m pretty sure I don’t use Old
Spice), and it was definitely somewhere I’d never been
before.

Last night must have gone better than
I thought.

That was my cue to bask in the happy
haze of a good morning after, but as much as I wanted to spend
another 15 minutes grinning sleepily at the ceiling, I couldn’t.
Your parents aren’t supposed to be the first thing you think about
after a one night stand, but that’s where my brain went.

So long as I didn’t tell them
anything, they wouldn’t find out that I’d hooked up with a
stranger, and I was definitely going to keep mum about this little
frolic. No, my main problem was that I’d hooked up with a stranger
at a very public event. The Myrmidons were bound to at least post
pictures of their gig, and their drummer knew Michelle – what if
they tagged her in one of those photos? And what if I was with her
in those pictures?

The mere fact that I’d been out
drinking would spell certain death for my college education, but
God only knew what I’d gotten up to at the pub. I certainly didn’t
remember. There might very well be pictures of me being drunk and
disorderly with whoever owned the bed I was in right now, and if
those existed, they’d get me disowned. I didn’t actually think my
parents were snooping around on social media to spy on me through
my friends, but I wouldn’t put it past them.

Damage
control
, I thought.
Must do damage control.

The first thing I needed
to do was find Michelle. From her, I could find out exactly what
had gone down last night, and, once I had that information, I could
make the appropriate plans. Like whether or not I should flee the
country and try to make a living reciting
15
^th
century Latin by the side of the road.

A soft sound beside me jerked me out
of my less than pleasant musings. I turned my head on the pillow to
see what had made it, and all my worries about my parents
evaporated in a puff of pleasantly surprised desire. Sprawled next
to me, asleep on top of the sheets, was the most gorgeous man I’d
ever seen in my life.

I’m not exaggerating. He was what
you’d get if you rolled Brad Pitt and Clark Gable into one, with a
generous helping of David Beckham on the side. His hair was a rich,
deep brown, the curls tousled from sleep and sex, and his face was
the kind that inspired sonnets and songs and epic poetry. I
couldn’t see what color his eyes were, but his dark lashes were
long (an unfair trait for a man to have when girls like me had to
struggle with false eyelashes and mascara), and you could have cut
diamonds with those cheekbones. He was also stark naked.

I lifted my head up from
the pillow and stared openly (the guy was asleep, he wouldn’t
mind). Every inch of his perfect body was beautifully tanned, and I
truly mean
every
inch. Most boys have tan lines where their shorts or briefs
cover their privates when they bask in the sun or on the tanning
bed, but my guy – if I could think of him that way – was golden
brown all the way down to the V of his groin and his dark thatch of
pubic hair.

I realized just where I was looking
and blushed. For the last couple of seconds, I’d been staring
fixedly at a sleeping man’s cock! I couldn’t truly blame myself,
though. His penis was just like the rest of him: mouth-watering and
pretty damn big. In fact, it seemed to be growing beneath my gaze.
I hurriedly looked back up at the ceiling, suddenly embarrassed
because I’d witnessed what was probably the beginning of his
morning wood.

The idea of his waking up to find me
practically drooling after his hard-on didn’t appeal to me, so I
decided that it was time to get up, get dressed and get out of
there – maybe after leaving a thank-you note for him to find. I
peeked under the blanket to assess the situation and found that I
didn’t have a stitch on either. Well, we were a pair.

Our similarity ended with the nudity,
though. I know I’m pretty enough, but I also knew that my level of
attractiveness didn’t even begin to approach that of the godlike
creature whose bed I’d just rolled out of. He was so beautiful that
I knew I’d never have worked up the courage to even approach him in
my normal state – I must have been so smashed out of my mind last
night. I didn’t know whether I ought to congratulate myself on my
extreme good luck, or start to count the seconds till this guy
threw me out once he realized he’d hooked up with an inferior
being.

I was utterly
self-conscious of my bare back and buttocks as I picked through the
clutter, looking for my clothes. My pink bra was easy to find, but
the rest of my ensemble was more difficult to locate. My slinky
black top was lost amongst the multitude of other slinky black
items of clothing (visions of a whole lot of other girls losing
their slinky black tops in this bedroom danced through my head),
and the situation was even worse for my jeans. There were
jeans
everywhere
.
And I had no idea where to start looking for my thong.

Biting my lip, I slipped
the straps of my bra onto my shoulders. It wasn’t much but I wanted
to get at least
some
cover while I continued my search. I was struggling with the
clasp behind my back when a deep voice rough with sleep said, “Good
morning, Amy.”