Page 1 of Monster's Naughty List
Chapter One
TINSLEY
Dropping my keys onto the entryway table, I kicked my apartment door shut behind me with my heeled ankle boot and cringed at the loud bang. It shut probably a tad too loudly to be considered polite, and I had no doubt my downstairs neighbor would be banging on my floor with her broom to show her displeasure.
Normally, I would be profusely apologetic, as I never wanted to be an inconsiderate neighbor. Our walls were thin, and there truly wasn’t much I could do about the noise levels, but I never wanted anyone to hold a grudge against me. It just wasn’t in my nature, and I found myself constantly apologizing to anyone and everyone. It was exhausting, but it’s just how I was wired.
But, after yet another date gone wrong, my usual optimism and fucks to give had finally run dry. I was slowly giving up hope that Prince Charming was out there somewhere, waiting for me like I was for him.
That’s what I got for expecting a prince in the era of Tinder dating. Really, I should have expected ugly toads. Not because all the guys were unattractive physically—that wasn’t the case at all. But they were downright ugly where it mattered—in their hearts.
Right on cue, I felt the thudding beneath my feet as my elderly downstairs neighbor banged on the thin layer of my floor between us and yelled, “Quiet down up there! Some of us are trying to sleep.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Flicking my eyes over to the microwave in my kitchen to the right, I huffed and yelled back before I could think my response through, “It’s 7pm, Doris. Chill the fuck out!”
Oh my god, did I really just curse at my seventy-year-old neighbor?
My hands flew to my mouth after the words had already tumbled out, as if I could take them back and stuff them down my throat. The silence from downstairs echoed my own shock. I never mouthed off to people. I’d rather apologize for things that weren’t my fault than get into a tiff with anyone. It just wasn’t worth the headache.
A giggle bubbled up my throat. I smothered it with my hands, but it didn’t stay that way for long. In a matter of seconds, the giggle turned into full body laughs that had me hunching forward with my hands on my black denim-clad knees. My body shook as so many emotions poured into the laugh—like I had opened a valve that was releasing all the rage, resentment, and despair I had bottled up and shoved deep down.
Really, it was close to what I’d think a hyena laugh sounded like, but I was past giving a shit.
I mean, really. I was twenty-eight years old, Teacher of the Year, and had my own place. You’d think that I’d be happy and wake up every morning farting sunshine and rainbows—especially as a kindergarten teacher. And trust me, I was a master at plastering on that facade of cheerful rays of light for my kids and the people around me. But I was getting tired of it.
I was tired of ensuring everyone else around me had full cups while running on fumes myself. It was time to be a little selfish and choosemefor once. I’d come to realize that life was too fragile and short to continue living it just to make other people happy.
I had nothing left to give.
Tears streamed down my face from laughing so hard. When I straightened up and saw my reflection in the circular mirror above the entryway table, it sent me into another fit of laughter. With the black mascara running down my face and my dirty blonde hair soaked from the rain I had gotten stuck in without an umbrella, I looked like a monster.
It was such a far cry from my usual appearance that it felt as if I was crying away the old me, creating a clean palette to start fresh from.
“How could anyone not want to make this theirs?” I sarcastically joked, gesturing at myself dramatically in the mirror. I really was a sight to behold right now. My mother would be clutching her pearl necklace and chastising me for being anything but put together at all times.
Perhaps that was where a lot of my issues stemmed from. She’d forced me from as early as I could remember to have impeccably groomed hair and tasteful makeup, topped off with sensible, prim clothing.
For someone who expected so much from me, you’d think she would want me to have those same expectations for a partner, but that wasn’t the case at all. She loved to remind me that I was just setting the bar too high with my standards for a life partner and that I wasn’t getting any younger. That time was running out to produce babies. Really good advice, that one.
I preferred to think it was more that I understood my worth, but what did I know?
Kicking off my boots and peeling off my soaked socks, I padded into my cozy living room and took a moment to center myself and calm my erratic mood. The Christmas tree near the door to my balcony was lit up with white lights, and silver and blue decorations dangled from its branches. It instantly made me smile, and I closed my eyes, inhaling the calming scent of fir.
I felt the tension slipping away like the outgoing tide at the beach. I’d always loved Christmas. It spoke to my people-pleasing nature, I supposed. Nothing came close to the euphoric sensation I got from surprising people I loved with gifts and seeing their faces light up with joy as they unwrapped them. Well, maybe orgasms did, but those were so few and far between for me that they could also be considered holidays.
Opening my eyes, I set to work lighting the fireplace beneath the TV mounted on my wall. As I did, I cursed my mother—not for the first time—for ruining masturbation for me. As far back as I could remember, she’d hammered into my head that it was a sin, and that all of my ancestors would be watching me if I did it, glaring at me with disdain and judgment.
Now, every time my fingers dipped into my heat, my grandma’s face popped into my head. Nothing killed the mood like picturing your grandma in the heat of the moment.
As my fire built and the heat seeped into my muscles, I realized just how soaked to the bone I was. That’s what I got for leaving my date at the restaurant and telling him I’d find my own way home since he’d driven us. Silly me hadn’t noticed there was a freaking tsunami coming down on us before I’d stomped outside, completely enraged.
My pride hadn’t allowed me to go back into the establishment, though. Weather conditions be damned. Not after he had said, and I quote, “What’s a sweet girl like you doing alone this late in life? Do you have an odd looking vagina, or something?”
Suffice to say, we hadn’t made it past our appetizer before I’d politely told him I didn’t think we were a good match and left.
Really, he’d deserved for me to tell him what a pig-headed jerk he was in front of that entire restaurant—and probably throw my drink in his face, too—but I hadn’t had the balls. I envied the women who could say whatever was on their mind without caring who heard it. They had lady-balls of steel. The closest I could come to that was playing out the scenario in my head after the fact.
