Because BB Easton had so much fun writing her bestselling, award-winning memoir, 44 CHAPTERS ABOUT 4 MEN, she decided to give each of her four men his own steamy standalone! SPEED is the second book in the 44 Chapters spin-off series—a gritty, taboo love triangle overflowing with dark humor and tangible teen angst. It is based on a true story.After her possessive, psychopathic, rage-fueled ex, Knight, joins the Marines, sixteen-year-old BB is left trying, and failing, to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart. It isn't until she meets Harley James—an easy-going, tattooed mechanic with a face as angelic as his habits are sinful—that she learns how to live again. How to laugh again. But will she learn to love again?Over Knight’s dead body.
Check out the 44 Chapters Spin-Off series:
I needed something to do. I was going out of my mind checking my phone every five seconds waiting for Harley to call. I’d bitten off all my fingernails, applied and reapplied my makeup, worn a path into the carpet next to my bed from pacing, and smoked at least a pack of cigarettes—and I’d only been awake for an hour.
I even called in to work to see if I could pick up some extra shifts. I knew they’d say no, but it was worth a shot. I was so restless. I went from going to school full-time, working part-time, and spending every other minute with Knight to working twenty hours per week and spending the other hundred and forty-eight staring at a TV screen and wondering if I’d ever be able to feel again.
Well, I was feeling again. Feeling like I wanted to jump out of my fucking skin.
The night before had been more fun than I’d ever had. Don’t get me wrong, I’d had plenty of fun in my sixteen years, but it was always the bad kind of fun. The kind of fun that ended with somebody getting hurt. Or getting into a fight. Or brandishing a weapon. Or getting pregnant. Or vandalizing a drug dealer’s car. Or dying. Or getting arrested. Or going to the hospital. Or having a bad trip. Or puking up malt liquor all night. Or running from Latin gangsters. Or having to walk three miles to Juliet’s house at two a.m. with no jacket. That’s how my nights of “fun” usually ended. And I guess my night with Harley could have ended the same way if I’d gotten busted going twenty miles over the speed limit with beer on my breath. But I hadn’t.
Because Harley was an angel.
That was the only explanation. Harley was a golden-haired angel delivered to me from the universe to apologize for the utter shit show my life had become after Knight kicked his way into it. The gods must have been like, “Damn, that really went sideways fast. Our bad. Here’s a tattooed, muscle-bound, baby-faced sex machine to make up for it. Oh, and we’ll even gift wrap him in a vintage Mustang. Our treat.”
But if he really was a gift from the cosmos, then why hadn’t he fucking call—
“Hello?” I almost dropped the glittery Nokia that hadn’t left my hand all morning as I scrambled to answer it. “Hello?!”
“Hey, Lady.” The gravely sound of Harley’s voice and the lazy smile I could almost see on his face had me squeezing my eyes shut and pressing my lips together in an attempt to suppress the girlie squeal that was about to burst out of me.
“You called,” I squeaked in disbelief.
Harley chuckled. “Of course I fucking called. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Blink, blink.
“BB?”
“Huh?” I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave a message. BB is dead right now.”
Harley’s laugh danced through my head and into my heart and tickled my fucking soul. “Is she alive yet?” he asked.
“Let me check…nope. You killed her pretty good.”
“What about now?”
I smiled so big my face hurt. “Um…”
“I was really hoping she’d come see me at work today.”
“What time?” I blurted out.
Shit. Lost my cool again.
“Around four? I get off at five, and this afternoon is looking pretty slow.”
“Okay,” I said. “I mean, I’ll see if I can reanimate BB by then. She might want to eat your brains, though, so just be prepared.”
Oh, good save, I thought, rolling my eyes at myself.
Harley chuckled and said, “Tell BB she can eat any part of my body she wants.”
I blushed crimson at the innuendo in his voice.
“See you at four, little zombie,” he said before hanging up.
BB Easton lives in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia with her long-suffering husband, Ken, and two adorable children. She recently quit her job as a school psychologist to write stories about her punk rock past and deviant sexual history full-time. Ken is suuuper excited about it.
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